THE BOOK OF THE TARPON 



chance of escape. I had only to handle the line 

 carefully, paying it out to meet the quick rushes 

 of the quarry and keeping a steady strain upon 

 it at other times, and within an hour the tarpon 

 would surely be in the skiff. Then came the 

 "cut-off," which I had forgotten, but which the 

 tarpon remembered and entered. 



This was a deep, crooked creek, scarcely ten 

 feet wide, which led to Broad River, only half 

 a mile distant. Yet the creek twisted and 

 turned, flowing a mile and a half to cover a scant 

 half mile. Snags rose from the bottom and 

 roots thrust out from the banks. Trees on op- 

 posite banks united their branches above, 

 shrouding the stream with a cavelike gloom. 

 Fat spiders had bridged it and sat in their fes- 

 tooned dens at just the height of my face. I 

 was slapped in the eye by one and my face cov- 

 ered with its web as I entered the creek, holding 

 to the line that led to the tarpon. I held the line 

 taut and kept as near as possible to the fish, 

 while the boatman jammed his oar into bank, 

 trees, and snags in his attempts to follow the 

 twists in the creek. Sometimes the skiff 

 stranded on a half-submerged log, or caught in 



