I March, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
115 
Even to experienced fishermen, the whip 
ray remains a constant marvel. It’s 
markings are strangely beautiful and as 
may be seen, they grow to great size 
up Nine-mile lake, so Tipley explained. 
The innumerable coons had been trapped 
by Captain Flynt, who went out each day 
along the Mangrove island beaches, and 
set them for the value of the pelts. 
“Worth more than otter,” was Flynt’s 
laconic observation. And again Mr. King 
wondered. No scientific society would be 
particularly anxious to receive a con- 
signment of coon skins ! The circum- 
stances were strangely conflicting. 
And once Captain Flynt had said The 
Spoonbill came from Long Key. Tipley 
had mentioned Key West. Fl 3 mt, how- 
ever, although he looked like Rip Van 
Winkle and had the manners of a pirate, 
knew everything there was to know about 
fishing and trapping, and Hendry mooned 
up to him in a jiffy, making him talk a 
perfect streak. John, too, was eager to 
hear some of these stories of Big Cypress 
adventure. 
There against the cabin wall, was a 
splendid deer skin. It made Hendry’s 
eyes glitter with envy. Captain Flynt 
said that he had shot it far up Turner 
River, beyond the cypress strands. No — 
there were no deer near the gulf. 
It was remembered that the jug of 
rum received in exchange from Johnny 
Billy was under one of the seats in the 
launch, and Mr. King secured it, offer- 
ing liberal cupsful to Tipley and the 
Captain. This act broke the last bar- 
riers of mysterious reserve. And as the 
surveyor told of his mission to survey 
ground in the Everglades and along Big 
Cypress, Tipley waxed eloquently talk- 
ative. Suspicion was allayed. 
Nothing would do but that Flynt 
should serve some of his famous “Sting- 
ray Flipper.” They had caught one that 
morning and there was a pot of the 
thick, full-flavored chowderish mixture, 
ready to heat. It tasted bully good. 
Even John, who was not much for 
“queer” concoctions was forced to admit 
that “Flipper” from stingray was de- 
licious. 
I T was ten o’clock when meal and stories 
were finished, and then Tipley made 
a chance remark that ended almost 
as Hendry had planned. 
“If I give you a pair of scissors will 
you cut my hair?” asked the owner of 
The Spoonbill, “I can’t stand this mop 
any longer. Saw myself in a mirror this 
morning and it gave me a shock. We 
look like a couple of mangroves hung 
with moss.” 
“Sure I’ll act barber,” assented Mr. 
King, “but why use scissors when there 
is something superlatively better. I have 
a pair of very professional clippers on 
the Mae — take them along for my beard. 
I’ll get those and make a good job of it.” 
Hendry dipped into his pocket and pro- 
duced the clippers. 
He afterwards declared that he had 
intended using them on Captain Flynt, 
whether asked or not. John laughed un- 
til he cried, watching the operation. Tip- 
ley was given a pretty decent beard trim 
and hair cut, but when The Spoonbill’s 
barber reached Flynt, he solemnly left a 
ridge of hair in the middle of the Cap- 
tain’s head similar to famous Zip, of 
the Bamum & Bailey circus. But Flynt 
seemed unaware of the trick that had 
been played upon him. When Mr. King 
finished, the floor of the cabin was one 
mass of hair — some of it red, for Tipley’s 
beard was picturesquely auburn. 
As they were preparing to leave, John 
did a little rummaging on his own ac- 
count. He lifted one of the locker seats 
beneath the bunks, having detected a 
feathered foot protruding. In the shal- 
low space there were bodies — gorgeous 
white, fluffy birds. 
“Oh Gee!” was his sudden exclama- 
tion. 
Tipley turned in a second. So did 
Flynt. The latter made a running jump 
to the boy’s side and yanked down the 
top of the locker. It was all accom- 
plished before anyone quite realized the 
significance of the act. 
“Better stay out of there!” warned Tip- 
ley, “I keep poisonous chemicals in that 
locker — and there are birds in it, too — 
birds that have been dead too long.” 
“I think you should keep your fingers 
out of things,” reprimanded Mr. King, 
frowning at the boy. 
“It’s all right — don’t mind,” said Tip- 
ley, master of the situation, “but I didn’t 
want him to have a finger burned off 
or an eye put out. Where are you fel- 
lows going tomorrow?” 
“Turner River,” said Mr. King. 
“Why not try the Thickehunahatchee 
for deer?” suggested Tipley, whereat 
Captain Flint nodded, and Hendry grunt- 
ed his approval, “it’s Christmas! Make 
it a celebration. We will have some fresh 
venison and perhaps a turkey or two. 
That is real game country. The boy 
will get all the fishing he wants — and 
perhaps we shall secure something 
worthy of saving for his collection.” 
“We’re on!” replied Mr. King, on the 
spur of the moment. 
He accepted the invitation for more 
than one reason. 
They cruised about for a half hour 
in the moonlight, for never was there 
fairer Christmas Eve than this. Not a 
breath of air stirring and the tufted 
cabbage-palms, water oaks, buttonwood 
and mulberry trees of Round Key sharp- 
ly defined, against the starry sky. Hen- 
dry’s pipe had an inviting, aromatic per- 
fume and he was crooning to himself 
as he stood at the wheel. They went 
far up the shore and slowly back to the 
Mae. She rested snugly under the lee 
of the island, her one light shining a> 
welcome. 
And there beyond, ghostly in the moon- 
light, was that othe^;, boat, a dull, grey 
mass, unrelieved by so much as a glim- 
mer. 
John and his father were tucked away 
(continued on page 140 ) 
Fishermen like best to lazily cruise in and out and around the fantastic button-balls 
of islands that are characteristic of this coast. And every island has it’s fringe of 
oysters, it’s game and it’s fishing nooks 
