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181 A Straightaway Greyhound Leap, Marvelous for Its Speed and Wildness “ 188 Like a Leaping Specter “ 189 Walking on His Tail “ 192 A Magnificent Flashing Leap. This Perfect Picture Considered by Author to Be Worth His Five Years’ Labor and Patience “ 193 Tired Out—the Last Slow Heave “ 196 Hauled Aboard with Block and Tackle “ 197 R. C. On the Job “ 204 304 Pounds “ 205 R. C. Grey and Record Marlin “ 205 328-pound Record Marlin by R. C. Grey. Shapeliest and Most Beautiful Specimen Ever Taken “ 208 Sunset Over Clemente Channel “ 209 A Blue-finned Plugger of the Deep—138-pound Tuna “ 244 Avalon, the Beautiful “ 245 The Old Avalon Barge Where the Gulls Fish and Scream “ 252 The End of the Day off Catalina Island “ 253 Seal Rocks “ 264

ZANE GREY

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      By W. Livingston Larned

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      Been to Avalon with Grey … been most everywhere;

       Chummed with him and fished with him in every Sportsman’s

       lair.

       Helped him with the white Sea-bass and Barracuda haul,

       Shared the Tuna’s sprayful sport and heard his Hunter-call,

       Me an’ Grey are fishin’ friends. … Pals of rod and reel,

       Whether it’s the sort that fights … or th’ humble eel,

       On and on, through Wonderland … winds a-blowin’ free,

       Catching all th’ fins that grow … Sportsman Grey an’ Me.

       Been to Florida with Zane … scouting down th’ coast;

       Whipped the deep for Tarpon, too, that natives love th’ most.

       Seen the smiling, Tropic isles that pass, in green review,

       Gathered cocoanut and moss where Southern skies were blue.

       Seen him laugh that boyish laugh, when things were goin’

       right;

       Helped him beach our little boat and kindle fires at night.

       Comrades of the Open Way, the Treasure-Trove of Sea,

       Port Ahoy and who cares where, with Mister Grey an’ Me!

       Been to Western lands with Grey … hunted fox and deer.

       Seen the Grizzly’s ugly face with danger lurkin’ near.

       Slept on needles, near th’ sky, and marked th’ round moon

       rise

       Over purpling peaks of snow that hurt a fellow’s eyes.

       Gone, like Indians, under brush and to some mystic place—

       Home of red men, long since gone, to join their dying race.

       Yes … we’ve chummed it, onward—outward … mountain,

       wood, and Key,

       At the quiet readin’-table … Sportsman Grey an’ Me.

TALES OF FISHES

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I

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BYME-BY-TARPON

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      To capture the fish is not all of the fishing. Yet there are circumstances which make this philosophy hard to accept. I have in mind an incident of angling tribulation which rivals the most poignant instant of my boyhood, when a great trout flopped for one sharp moment on a mossy stone and then was gone like a golden flash into the depths of the pool.

      Some years ago I followed Attalano, my guide, down the narrow Mexican street of Tampico to the bank of the broad Panuco. Under the rosy dawn the river quivered like a restless opal. The air, sweet with the song of blackbird and meadowlark, was full of cheer; the rising sun shone in splendor on the water and the long line of graceful palms lining the opposite bank, and the tropical forest beyond, with its luxuriant foliage festooned by gray moss. Here was a day to warm

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