TALES OF FISHES 



strike. The tuna threw the hook. Another got 

 the bait and I hooked him. He sounded. The line 

 broke. We tried again. No sooner had we reached 

 the school when the water boiled and foamed at 

 my bait. Before I could move that tuna cleaned 

 the hook. Our next attempt gained another sous- 

 ing strike. But he was so swift and I was so slow 

 that I could not fasten to him. 



"He went away from here," my brother said, with 

 what he meant for comedy. But it was not funny. 



Captain Dan then put on a double hook, embed- 

 ding it so one hook stood clear of the bait. We 

 tested my line with the scales and it broke at fifty- 

 three pounds, which meant it was a good strong 

 line. The breeze lulled and fanned at intervals. 

 It seemed, however, we did not need any breeze. 

 We had edged our school of big tuna away from the 

 other schools, and it was milling on the surface, 

 lazily and indifferently. But what latent speed and 

 power lay hidden in that mass of lolling tuna. 



R. C. from his perch above yelled: "Look out!. 

 You're going to drag your bait in front of the leaders 

 this time!" 



That had not happened yet. I glowed in spite 

 of the fact that I was steeped in gloom. We were 

 indeed heading most favorably for the leaders. 

 Captain Dan groaned. "Never seen the like of 

 this!" he added. These leaders were several yards 

 apart, as could be, told by the blunt-nosed ridges of 

 water they shoved ahead of them. That was another 

 moment added to the memorable moments of my 

 fishing years. It was strained suspense. Hope 

 would not die, but disaster loomed like a shadow. 



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