16 
FOREST AND STREAM 
January, 1919 
indications of oil on the surface. Eager 
for a discovery of this kind, he carried 
his investigations further, ferreting 
around alligator holes and small tri- 
butary streams, far back in the man- 
grove nests. Iron oxide, yes, but the 
“oil” proved to be only a mysterious 
result of decayed vegetable matter. 
J OHN caught his first big tarpon a 
few hundred yards from shore, in 
the lake. Hendry helped him, for 
the fight lasted a vigorous half hour. 
It was a fish of which he well might be 
proud and Hendry assured him that he 
had equitted himself like a veteran while 
handling the rod. 
“We must be getting on,” advised Mr. 
King, “Lossman’s River by night. On 
our way back we will have a day or 
so of tarpon fishing. Let’s get the real 
work over first.” 
It was necessary to cross around into 
Shark River again, when the mouth of 
the Harney was reached, for the tanks 
must be filled with gasoline. This they 
secured at the Tannic Works dock. It 
was afternoon when they bore up the 
coast, taking it rather leisurely, as 
Hendry did not know the course. Four 
small rivers emptied into the gulf, and 
once they stopped near a sand bar for 
oysters. Such oysters, too! 
Then came the broad vista of Rodger’s" 
River, opening in a boquet of hammocks : 
Lossman’s Key, hugging the shore line, 
like some immense marine animal, with 
green back and yellow fins, and finally 
Lossman’s River, that home of Florida 
enchantment, about which so little is 
really known. The Mae ran her nose 
up beneath another mangrove retreat, 
and Hendry built a fire on shore, over 
which venison was cooked. The rascal 
had saved this as a surprise, for the 
negro out from Tarpon Lake had given 
him several prime cuts, and Hendry had 
secreted it until this moment. He had 
said he could not live another day with- 
out venison .... his life was saved. 
M onday was destined to bring 
many exciting adventures. It 
was a fair day and a fine one, 
with the most delicate of ocean breezes 
blowing. It was necessary to secure 
information about Lossman’s and navi- 
gating the river, for Mr. King had heard 
in advance that it was literally swarm- 
ing with islands, treacherous shoals, 
narrows and blind alleys. 
As day advanced, they could see a 
point not a half mile distant, around 
the bend, from where they had an- 
chored, and there were unmistakable 
signs of habitation. It proved to be a 
bedraggled fishing post, populated by 
“low white trash” at the time engaged 
in the unlawful practice of salting mullet 
against the season. Despite rulings to 
the contrary, the fish were packed in 
barrels in salt and sent to Key West 
and this during the spawning season. 
Mr. King cautioned both Hendry and 
John Jr. to be very careful. Not a 
word must be said to excite suspicion. 
They must not appear curious. Mind- 
ing one’s own business here was wisdom. 
John Jr. thought only of fishing, 
he was at it both day and night, 
and never tired of the infinite 
variety and beauty of his catches 
Mr. King discusses the game trails 
with an old friend at the Shark 
River dock. They are pointing 
to bird rookeries on the other side 
of the narrow stream 
Years ago. Governor Catts ordered a 
cruiser to patrol this section and to see 
that the mullet were protected, but the 
patrol was eventually disbanded and now 
— now the dirty little sloops put in at 
the dirty little docks and tarpulin-cov- 
ered hogsheads were spirited aboard in 
the night. The beaches were covered 
with nets, hanging out to dry. They re- 
sembled giant cob webs that had been 
spun during the night. A rather surly 
man answered such questions as were 
put to him, w'ith frowning indifference 
that bespoke his inherent suspicion. 
“What did they want up Lossman’s 
River, anyhow?” 
“Property to survey a long ways dis- 
tant .... it had nothing to do with this 
section of the country.” 
“How long did they intend to remain?” 
“Only long enough to do the job .... 
and right glad they would be to return 
to Miami .... it was a thankless task. 
Who would ever want to farm up there 
on the outskirts of Big Cypress and the 
’Glades?” 
“You’ll have to watch yourself,” was 
the final grunt, “only one good channel. 
Hard on boats. Only one side of the 
river navigable. Sand bars as thick 
as mosquitoes. So many mangrove is- 
lands that the man who found the river 
couldn’t get out of it.” 
H endry, who had managed to talk 
in whispers to one of the fishermen, 
came back with the interesting in- 
formation that contract labor was used 
and that when a chap thought he had 
enough of it and decided to leave, he was 
shot if he became too insistent. 
The voyagers were beginning to sense 
the real character of the country. 
On the opposite shore loomed another 
point, and Hendry was for zig-zagging 
across without delay. “I think get ban- 
anas and vegetables there,” the guide 
suggested, “man tell me it no worked 
now .... nobody there much. Garden. 
Pick some fresh grub .... we need 
greens. Soup. Go see.” 
“I christen it ‘Banana Point,’ ” cried 
Mr. King, “there must have been three 
hundred trees here a few years ago.” 
As they were making the boats fast, 
however, John called his Father’s atten- 
tion to the fact that a man had put out 
from the opposite shore in a motor boat. 
It was the same fellow Mr. King had 
interrogated only a short while before. 
“He watch us,” muttered Hendry. 
“That’s exactly what he’s doing,” added 
John. 
The motor boat eased up along- 
side, even before they had gone ashore. 
“Anybody live on the point?” Mr. King 
asked. 
There was a shake of the head. 
“Looks as if there was fresh vege- 
tables in the garden and fruit. Any 
objection to our picking some?” 
“Not if you pay for it,” the other 
responded, “that’s my joint .... I used 
to be there. Whafcha want?” 
The suspicious guardian of Banana 
Point went with them up through the 
overgrown paths to a weather-worn pal- 
metto hut that topped the slight incline. 
Some fair potatoes were dug from the 
poor soil; three Indian pumpkins cut 
from gnarled vines, and a bunch of green 
bananas. The garden was not as pro- 
ductive of stores as they had imagined. 
All the while their companion kept close 
tabs of what was being done and exacted 
a cash remuneration. 
This young renegade, with his lower- 
ing brows and curt manner went back 
to his motor boat only when the Mae 
and her occupants left the dock at Ba- 
nana Point. He was still unconvinced 
as to a REAL mission of the visitors. 
They saw him,, for a full half hour after- 
ward, standing in his craft, at the dock 
across the river, watching; his soiled 
hand scooping his eyes, as the sun beat 
over a shaggy, uncouth head. 
