But, as luck would have it, he stopped that run short of two hundred yards; and turned broadside to circle slowly back, allowing R. C. to get in line. He swam slower this time, and did not make the heavy tugs. He came easily, weaving to and fro. R. C. got him to within twenty-five feet of the boat, yet still could not see him. It was my job to think quick and sit still with ready hands on the anchor rope. He began to plunge, taking a little line each time. Then suddenly I saw R. C.’s line coming toward us. I knew that would happen.
“Now! Look out! Reel in fast!” I cried, tensely.
As I leaned over to heave up the anchor, I saw the bonefish flashing nearer. At that instant of thrilling excitement and suspense I could not trust my eyesight. There he was, swimming heavily, and he looked three feet long, thick and dark and heavy. I got the anchor up just as he passed under the canoe. Maybe I did not revel in pride of my quickness of thought and action!
“Oh! He’s gone under the rope!” gasped R. C.
“No!” I yelled, sharply. “Let your line run out! Put your tip down! We’ll drift over your line.”
R. C. was dominated to do so, and presently the canoe drifted over where the line was stretched. That second ticklish moment passed. It had scared me. But I could not refrain from one sally.
“I got the anchor up. What did you think I’d do?”
R. C. passed by my remark. This was serious business for him. He looked quite earnest and pale.
“Say! did you see him?” he ejaculated, looking at me.
“Wish I hadn’t,” I replied.