TALES OF FISHES 



away from me there came near to being disaster. 

 However, Dan got straightened out and anchored 

 in the chair and began to haul away again. It 

 appeared we had the fish almost done, but he was 

 so big that a mere movement of his tail irresistibly 

 drew out the line. 



Then the tip of the rod broke oflf short just even 

 with the splints and it slid down the line out of sight. 

 Dan lowered the rod so most of the strain would 

 come on the reel, and now he held like grim death. 



"Dan, if we don't make any more mistakes we'll 

 get that fish!" I declared. 



The sea was almost calm now, and moon-blanched 

 so that we could plainly see the line. Despite Dan's 

 efforts, the swordfish slowly ran off a hundred feet 

 more of line. Dan groaned. But I yelled with 

 sheer exultation. For, standing up on the gunwale, 

 I saw the swordfish. He had come up. He was 

 phosphorescent — a long gleam of silver — and he 

 rolled in the unmistakable manner of a fish nearly 

 beaten. 



Suddenly he headed for the boat. It was a strange 

 motion. I was surprised — ^then frightened. Dan 

 reeled in rapidly. The streak of white gleamed 

 closer and closer. It was like white fire — a long, 

 savage, pointed shape. 



"Look! Look!" I yelled to those above. "Don't 

 miss it! , . . Oh, great!" 



"He's charging the boat!" hoarsely shouted Dan. 



"He's all in!" yelled my brother. 



I jumped into the cockpit and leaned over the 

 gunwale beside the rod. Then I grasped the line, 

 letting it slip through my hands. Dan wound in 



70 



