BYME-BY-TARPON 



show, to splash, to play, to roll. It was as though 

 they had been awakened by the stu" and murmur of 

 the miniature breakers. Broad bars of silver flashed 

 in the sunlight, green backs cleft the little billows, 

 wide tails slapped lazily on the water. Every yard 

 of river seemed to hold a rolling fish. This sport 

 increased until the long stretch of water, which had 

 been as calm as St. Regis Lake at twilight, resembled 

 the quick current of a Canadian stream. It was 

 a fascinating, wonderful sight. But it was also 

 peculiarly exasperating, because when the fish roU 

 in this sportive, lazy way they will not bite. For an 

 hour I trolled through this whirlpool of flying spray 

 and twisting tarpon, with many a salty drop on my 

 face, hearing all around me the whipping crash of 

 breaking water. 



"Byme-by-tarpon," presently remarked Attalano, 

 favoring me with the first specimen of his English. 



The rolling of the tarpon diminished, and finally 

 ceased as noon advanced. 



No more did I cast longing eyes upon those huge 

 bars of silver. They were buried treasure. The 

 breeze quickened as the flowing tide gathered 

 strength, and together they drove the waves higher. 

 Attalano rowed across the river into the outlet of 

 one of the lagoons. This narrow stream was un- 

 rufl3ed by wind; its current was sluggish and its 

 muddy waters were clarifying under the influence 

 of the now fast-rising tide. 



By a sunken log near shore we rested for lunch. 

 I found the shade of the trees on the bank rather 

 pleasant, and became interested in a blue heron, a 

 russet-colored duck, and a brown-and-black snipe, 



3 



