206 
FOREST AND STREAM 
May, 1919 
T here was less talking that night 
in the camp on the point, for 
something seemed to have whetted 
the suspicions of both Tipley and his 
henchman, Flynt. Perhaps it dated back 
to John’s frank questions regarding the 
flight of the egrets, in their twilight 
trail over the mangrove tops. 
In any event. Captain Flynt was 
cross and ill-humored to the point of 
aggressiveness. Coupled with this was 
his disappointment over bad luck with 
coon traps. Although he had set a 
number of them for a distance of half 
a mile along the game trail that 
skirted Fifth Lake, the results regis- 
tered zero. Tipley studiously avoided 
the company of his new friends. Soon 
after Hendry had spread an excellent 
venison meal, the owner of the Spoonbill 
lighted his pipe and disappeared. Hours 
By W. LIVINGSTON LARNED 
Harpooning Devil Fish off the Gulf 
Islands. Adventures on Chatham 
Bend River, en route to Alligator 
Bay. The Sport That Lurks in 
the Shadow of the Mangroves. 
John Has His First Introduction 
to “Holy Rollers.” Further Epi- 
sodes in the Strange Expedition 
that Sought to Discover the Fate 
of the Florida Egret. 
afterward, as Mr. King looked from his 
tent, before retiring, he saw Mark Tip- 
ley squatting on the point; a black sil- 
houette against the silvered surface of 
the lake. 
This Cypress Fringe expedition had 
been started under such auspicious cir- 
cumstances that its rude termination in 
comparative and impolite silence was 
disconcerting. Mr. King, however, as 
camp was broken at dawn on the 27th, 
paid no manner of attention to his pair 
of grouchy companions and cautioned 
John not to make remarks. 
The same difficulties were encoun- 
tered on the downward journey for 
Flynt, at the wheel of his unmanage- 
able power boat, managed to beach her 
at the sharp turns with alarming fre- 
quency. It seemed good to roll out into 
the Gulf waters once more, under skies 
that were matchless. 
Nothing had been touched aboard the 
Mae and the Spoonbill, rocking impa- 
tiently at her anchorage and wearing 
her coon-skin patchwork garb as a miser 
might wear his rags was as picturesque, 
in a mysterious way, as before. Mr. 
King could think of her only as a sort 
of piratical cruiser, cruising under light 
camouflage and with sealed lockers filled 
with slaughtered egrets. 
Here truly enough, was a dash of 
genuine romance : a snug boat, fitted 
out as a combined trapping headquar- 
ters and laboratory for the scientific 
gathering of Gulf specimens, yet whose 
hidden nooks and crannies hid unspeak- 
able crime! There must be one day of 
final, sure accounting. 
A few moments before Flynt was 
ready to put off in his power boat, at 
the parting of the ways, Tipley stood 
with Mr. King on the deck of the Mae. 
He had weakened to the extent of beg- 
ging a bag of tobacco. 
“Going to remain about here a 
while?” Tipley asked casually, as he 
lighted his pipe. 
“A little more surveying up Chevelier 
Bay,” was Mr. King’s quiet rejoinder. 
“Bad crowd up there,” continued Tip- 
ley. 
“We are on business,” said Mr. King, 
“we MUST go. It’s been MY observa- 
tion, that if you mind your own P’s and 
Q’s you can go ANYWHERE. And 
that’s our doctrine.” 
Tipley shrugged his shoulders. 
“It’s a mighty good one if you stick 
to it,” he went on laconically and not 
without a certain significant emphasis, 
“well, maybe we’ll see you later. The 
Captain figures that we are due for 
some more coons off the Key here.” He 
turned as if to climb down into the 
waiting boat but stopped suddenly to 
call back: — 
“Needn’t worry about mentioning our 
Thickehunahatchee trip. These beggers 
in this section are jealous of anybody 
who comes as far as from Key West. 
Much obliged for the tobacco.” 
With that he was gone, his bulky form 
settling upon the power boat seat and 
his pipe leaving a smoke trail that 
haloed his shaggy red head. 
