114 
FOREST A xN D STREAM 
March, 1919 
Craw Fish! Well rather. And they make the common lobster of everyday com- 
merce look like fiddlers. There is no sweeter meat in the Gulf Waters 
Mr. BLing looked up but did not reply. 
Hendry was rubbing his chin and 
thinking in the usual Hendry way. 
T hus it transpired that the Mae was 
towed under the lee of Round Key 
at sunset, where she dropped an- 
chor in comparatively shallow water. 
Much to their surprise, the larger craft 
also anchored, not a hundred feet away. 
There was nothing to take them ashore, 
for the Key was merely a barren, unin- 
habitated island of cabbage-palm, but- 
tonwood and mangrove. 
Hendry prepared a corking good sup- 
per of barracuda — the meat is dark and 
appetizing, and this, with plenty of cof- 
fee and biscuits made in the little “dutch 
oven” that was set astride the fire pot. 
And Hendry could make biscuit! 
At eight o’clock a wonderful moon 
suddenly bobbed up from the upper 
fringe of the Big Cypress. It haloed 
water and land with a mystic, thrilling 
coat of silver. 
“Suppose we go over and see our 
friends across the way,” suggested Mr. 
King, “they might have some mechanical 
solution for our leaking cylinder prob- 
lem. It’s worth a try.” 
All three crawled into the launch and 
they were soon alongside the “mystery 
ship,” as John was inclined to call it. 
Only the lights in her double cabin were 
visible. But the noisy launch had 
brought some one on deck. 
“Hello-o-o!” came that same drawling 
voice. 
“Are visitors welcome?” inquired Mr. 
King, “we thought you might give us 
some advice .... about the leaky cyl- 
inder.” 
A momentary, reluctant pause, and 
then — 
“Sure.” 
Down all three stepped into the dimly 
lighted cabin — a large and roomy one, 
equipped for long cruises. John had time 
to note, with some surprise, as he de- 
scended the hatchway steps, that the out- 
side top of that cabin was tacked solid 
with coon skins. There were dozens of 
them, expertly arranged to dry. 
And such a cabin! 
Piles of skins of cat, coon and even 
deer. Cases filled with stuffed tropic 
birds. Shelves that groaned with queer 
bottles and sinister black tin boxes. One 
giant glass container held no less than 
fifty pounds of powdered arsenic. There 
was alum and bulbous wads of cotton 
and mechanical contrivances that looked 
oddly surgical in their sleek metal trays. 
Forward there were two dishevelled 
bunks. Of food there was a-plenty— 
cans and bags and boxes of it in end- 
less array — a perfect treasure trove of 
supplies. 
John was hypnotized by the odor and 
the contents of that cabin. He sensed 
the art of the taxidermist and the ad- 
venturous spirit of the true sportsman. 
Romance tinged the very air. 
It soon became apparent that The 
Spoonbill could not assist them in an 
engine way. Flynt, who was the Cap- 
tain and the Mate and the Chief En- 
gineer and any number of other things 
about this strange boat accompanied 
Hendry to the Mae and had a look at 
the obstinate cylinder, but he shook his 
head emphatically. As they were leav- 
ing, the guide ran back to Mr. King’s 
kit bag and extracted something which 
he put in his side pocket with extra care. 
Upon their return, they found that 
John, Jr., had been made superlatively 
happy. Tipley, owner of The Spoonbill, 
had picked out a very beautiful pink 
spoonbill — a nearly perfect specimen — 
and presented it to the boy with his com- 
pliments, plus instructions in taxidermy, 
and a handy set of blow-pipes, drills with 
spiral ratchets, etc., for bird eggs. 
I N the meanwhile, Mr. King, who had 
been a bit suspicious from the very 
first glimpse of that Round Key shar- 
pie, had listened, without asking ques- 
tions. No one asks questions up these 
rivers and in these waters. It is one of 
the things that is distinctly not done. 
Those who have been there will tell you 
that the speediest way to get yourself 
disliked, is to hang out a question mark. 
The reason is fairly obvious. The men 
of this locality are, as a rule, “wanted 
for something.” There are Key West 
renegades, and Florida crackers with a 
price on their heads and, here and there, 
a man of intelligence from some un- 
known place, who, for reasons best known 
to himself, wishes to be dead in the eyes 
of the world. 
Mark Tipley belonged (o the latter 
class. Mr. King had not talked with him 
ten minutes before he saw that the long 
beard and the shaggy growth of hair 
and the almost filthy clothes, were but 
the crust of a remarkable character. 
Tipley had a splendid command of lan- 
guage, was an interesting talker and had 
traveled far. 
He allowed it to be understood that, 
with Flynt, a Key West fisherman and 
guide, he was spending a year along the 
gulf, collecting specimens, for purely 
scientific purposes. The appearance of 
the cabin certainly bore this out. It was 
like the quaint shop of a professional 
taxidermist. Mr. King made mental note 
of the fact that they were long on coon 
skins. 
Tipley was an expert at skinning, cur- 
ing and mounting. He had many speci- 
mens to illustrate his handiwork, and gave 
John an hour’s careful talk on the sub- 
ject. This, of course, quite won over the 
boy, who had a natural aptitude for tax- 
idermy and was eager to take home many 
trophies of the trip to his mother and 
sister. The pink spoonbill, along with 
many others in the cabin, had been shot 
We seemed to have run into a World of 
Sharks. Here and there, a passing 
cruiser would hoist captured monsters as 
proof that overboard bathing might not 
prove healthy sport 
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