64 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Februaey, 1919 
There was constant fascination to the lit- 
tle, tortuous, narrow streams, coming from 
nowhere and finally lost in the wonders of 
Dr. Tiger’s Lake 
They found the crumbling remnants of an 
old Indian settlement on one of the ham- 
mocks. Still fastened to a tree branch was 
the crude grinder for meal-time 
clearing of an old camp sight. It was 
absolutely primitive, untrodden — remote 
from the Universe of Man. 
The boat was anchored and Hendry, as 
eager as a boy, began to arrange his lines. 
He had made sure there were black bass 
and sporty two-pounders, and it was not 
too much to hope that small pan fish 
could be had in abundance for the sheer 
sport of boy and line. 
Hendry brought in five sizable bass the 
first half hour, with poor John’s record 
absolutely cold. It was then that both, 
who had their backs turned to Mr. Kjng, 
were suddenly startled by the loud report 
of a rifle near at hand. Mr. King had 
fired. As he stood up astern, he shouted: 
— “It was a cat. A splendid buff and yel- 
low boy, with eyes like agates. He came 
out — yonder — beside that bunch of vines. 
I’m not sure but I think I got him.” 
The anchor was raised and they poled 
slowly up the bank where it was shallow. 
When a foot or two from the mass of 
Moon vines and palmetto, the scuffling 
and grinding told them that the cat at 
least had not made a clean escape. 
“Push her to the bank — I’ll jump 
ashore and see what’s happened,” whis- 
pered Mr. King. Hendry was grinning 
and John’s eyes were particularly bright. 
They could not see over into the marshy 
ground because of clusters of ferns and 
saw grass. 
It was then that the riddle found a 
solving. This same clump of ferns part- 
ed, and a dark body lumbered out, its legs 
working with a sort of mechanic, rhyth- 
mic precision. 
“Gator!” grunted Hendry. 
“What a Granddaddy!” John, Jr., 
gasped. 
It was a very large specimen; with 
mud-caked skin, scarred and peeling. The 
singular part was that this big alligator 
dragged the wild cat with him, blood 
streaming upon the ferns and grasses. 
He had doubtless been asleep in a bog 
under the cjrpress trees and dinner had 
tumbled over almost into his hungry 
jaws. Not even the report of a rifle on 
the silent air could divert him from a 
quick get-away, plus grub. 
Both Hendry and Mr. King blazed at 
the scuffling ’gator. The latter, disgusted 
at three misses, threw down his rifle and 
used a revolver. They were near enough 
for it. But something went wrong. The 
’gator sank to the muddy bottom, munch- 
complete his observations and scientific 
soil-rummaging for the property owners 
before dark. A hundred yards on, the 
creek shallowed out and scattered into 
many branches, penetrating the Ever- 
glade area like a system of marvelous 
arteries. Mr. King determined to inves- 
tigate one of these weird water-ways, and 
the pole was used in the shallow water, 
while Hendry, seated forward, hacked a 
clear path, when the overhanging man- 
groves interlocked and prevented further 
progress. It was ’Glade country; they 
could tell this by the character of the 
soil — ^black, spongy, fibrous and laden 
with brilliantly green growths. 
You who are fond of duck hunting, 
fishing and an occasional panther, cat or 
wild hog, should look up this far place, if 
the spirit of Adventure is in you. To set 
forth its real charms or to properly ex- 
press it in words seems quite fruitless. 
Between Dr. Tiger’s Lake and the Gulf 
there is a danger trail. We grant you 
that. And the creeks into the Ever- 
glades, from that mystic body of water 
where a hero lived and died, are strange, 
uneven trails in a romantic setting. But 
it is all worth the effort and the peril! 
Once there, you experience a sense of in- 
finite pride. It is an achievement — a 
sporting conquest! 
What are the whipped streams of your 
usual haunts? They seem oddly inade- 
quate after this Gulf trip. Bass! Ah, 
but bass from noiselessly moving waters 
that dance with the splendor of mirrowed 
nature. It resembles a stage setting for 
some outlandish motion picture scenario. 
Nothing is quite real. There is so much 
game — so many birds in such fantasic 
variety. Yellow and black crested night 
herons look as if they had been freshly 
painted by an artist in a lavish mood. 
A snowy egret, like a lady’s kerchief, flut- 
ters down from loops of moon vine — and 
is gone. Curlews that you have never 
seen before — not even in books — stalk 
sedately past, their heads cocked on one 
side and a single bead-black eye staring 
at you rather contemptuously. The hunt- 
ers are few. A trap is almost unknown. 
Turtles are as thick as the very ferns 
that drape their shimmering backs. We 
wish to stress the observation that this 
is an entirely NEW sort of hunting and 
fishing. You find yourself rather more 
inclined to sit and look than to drop a line 
or fire a rifle. Cold steel becomes a spe- 
Here the bass were hungry 
ing his precious morsel. A scarlet, eddy- 
ing whirlpool was all that remained, and 
rippling water against the side of the 
small boat. 
“The old reprobate!” grouched Mr. 
King, “he absconded with a real prize. 
I’m pleased to see, however, that my first 
aim was good. I think I killed my cat as 
clean as a whistle.” 
Hendry, out of sheer pique, brought 
down a Louisiana blue heron, and two ad- 
mirable water turkeys. The former was 
wanted for mounting purposes by John. 
Time was passing too rapidly for another 
try at the bass, as Mr. King wished to 
The author many miles out on the new 
Tamiami Trail Canal road. He carried 
along in the machine a complete hunt- 
ing and fishing equipment and could stop 
at a moment’s notice, also carried med- 
icine kit and could doctor any ill, from 
gun wound to moccasin bite. Mr. Lamed 
intends to cover about a thousand Flor- 
ida miles this winter and will collect data 
for a third Forest and Stream Story 
