TALES OF FISHES 



I was overjoyed, too, but I contained myself, for 

 I expected dire results from that run. 



Zee! Zee! Zee! went the reel, and the rod 

 nodded in time. 



"We must get rid of that seaweed or lose him. 

 . . . Pull up your anchor with one hand. . . . Careful 

 now." 



He did so, and quickly I got mine up. What 

 ticklish business! 



"Keep a tight line!" I cautioned, as I backed the 

 canoe hard with all my power. It was not easy to 

 go backward and keep head on to the wind. The 

 waves broke over the end of the canoe, splashing me 

 in the face so I could taste and smell the salt. I 

 made half a dozen shoves with the paddle. Then, 

 nearing the piece of seaweed, I dropped my anchor. 



In a flash I got that dangerous piece of seaweed 

 off R. C.'s line. 



"Good work! . . . Say, but that helps. . . . We'd 

 never have gotten him," said R. C, beaming. I 

 saw him look then as he used to in our sunfish, bent- 

 pin days. 



"We've not got him yet," I repHed, grimly. 

 "Handle him as easily as you can." 



Then began a fight. The bonefish changed his 

 swift, long runs, and took to slow sweeps to and 

 fro, and whenever he was drawn a few yards closer 

 he would give a solid jerk and get that much line 

 back. There was much danger from other pieces 

 of floating weed. R. C. maneuvered his line to miss 

 them. All the time the bonefish was pulling doggedly. 

 I had little hope we might capture him. At the end 

 of fifteen minutes he was still a hundred yards from 



130 



