SEVEN MARLIN SWORDFISH IN ONE DAY 



down and tried to plug out to sea. Alas! that human 

 steam-winch at the rod drew him right up to the 

 boat, where he looked to weigh about one hundred 

 and twenty-five pounds. 



"Six!" I exclaimed, as we watched the freed fish 

 swim away. "That's the record. . . . And all let go 

 alive — unhurt. . . . Do you suppose any one will be- 

 lieve us?" 



"It doesn't make any difference," remarked my 

 brother. "We know. That's the best of the game 

 — ^letting the fish go alive." 



"Come on!" boomed Dan, with a big flying-fish 

 in his hands. "You're not tired." 



"Yes, I am tired," replied R. C. 



"It's early yet," I put in. "We'll cinch the 

 record for good. Grab the rod. I'll enjoy the 

 work for you." 



R. C. resigned himself, not without some remarks 

 anent the insatiable nature of his host and boatman. 



We were now off the east end of Clemente Island, 

 that bleak and ragged corner where the sea, whether 

 calm or stormy, contended eternally with the black 

 rocks, and where the green and white movement of 

 waves was never still. When almost two hundred 

 yards off the yellow kelp-beds I saw a shadow darker 

 than the blue water. It seemed to follow the boat, 

 rather deep , down and far back. But it moved. 

 I was on my feet, thrilling. 



"That's a swordfish!" I called. 



"No," replied R. C. 



"Some wavin' kelp, mebbe," added Dan, doubt- 

 fully. 



"Slow up a little," I returned. "I see purple." 



14 209 



