62 
FOREST AND STREAM 
February, 1919 i 
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In search of Game up 
West Coast Waterways, 
Three Explorers of a Lit- 
tle-known Land, Encoun- 
ter Strange Fish, Animals 
and Men. The Earlier 
Stages of a Remarkable 
Trip that Ended in Egret 
Rookery Perils. 
By W. LIVINGSTONILARNED 
Drawings by the Author 
|T should be understood that Mr. King and his party 
were now entering upon a mile-stone of their jour- 
ney that promised genuine thrills. Parts of Flor- 
ida have never invited either tourist or sportsman. 
There are definite reasons for this: inaccessibility, 
arduous navigation, uncharted rivers, of which there 
seem to be an amazing number, and the certain 
knowledge that these water-lanes give wild refuge to 
men who have sinned against society. The brigand 
at heart or the murderer by actual practice have 
kinship with Lossman’s and Chokoloskee. Only the 
^ Seminole feels absolutely at home there — and he 
iji never talks. White men swing wide of a course that 
r ' is apt to take them where there is no returning. The 
tortuous rivers and creeks, with their shallows and 
sand bars and confusing vegetation, form a per- 
petual, yet ever-changing mosaic puzzle. Strangers are not 
wanted here. A new face is a marked face. And always, day or 
night, the shining barrel of a fifle is slid through damp wet 
leaves, at the approach of boats. 
It is different on Shark River, farther down. Tarpon Lake is 
now open game country. Sportsmen take the trip around to it 
without thinking very much of it, one way or another. 
They all agree on one significant point, however. Up these 
silent, sinister rivers and upon the shadowy, haunted lakes, 
there is a mystery beyond description. We have mentioned before 
that the members of the King Party found themselves speaking in 
whispers. This is true. You sense an indefinable something that 
sets your pulse jumping. Is it apprehension, fear, awe? Is it 
the ever-present and indescribable murmuring of an unseen pres- 
ence back in the mangroves? Is it the sight of ugly, repulsive, river 
things — snakes and alligators and slimy, gliding, wriggling bodies 
that never “stay put”? 
There on Dr. Tiger’s Lake, even in early afternoon, John and 
his Father were oppressed. The memory of a thousand Spanish 
and Indian tragedies stalked in and out among the moss-grown 
trees of the bank. There was no human habitation, with the sin- 
gle exception of Dr. Tiger’s miserable shack on the shell mound. A 
sheet of tranquil water rippled and danced as tarpon nosed out to 
the surface or hideous gar chased shining mullet. 
Two raccoons came pattering down a fallen log and 
sat there, unembarrassed, unafraid. They were as 
immaculate and as well-groomed as Fifth Avenue 
fashion plates. In a single half hour’s trip around 
the lake, John saw no less than forty of them. Once 
f EARNED 
I 
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