This time in turn, before Ken started to troll, Hal hooked another tarpon. This one was not so large, but he was active. His first rush was a long surge on the surface. He sent the spray in two streaks like a motor-boat. Then he sounded. “Hang on, Hal!” yelled George and Ken in unison. Hal was bent almost double and his head was bobbing under the strain. He could not hold the drag. The line was whizzing out. “You got that one hooked,” shouted George. “Let go the reel--drop the handle. Let him run.” He complied, and then his fish began a marvelous exhibition of lofty tumbling. He seemed never to stay down at all. Now he shot up, mouth wide, gills spread, eyes wild, and he shook himself like a wet dog. Then he dropped back, and before the boys had time to think where he might be he came up several rods to the right and cracked his gills like pistol-shots. He skittered on his tail and stood on his head and dropped flat with a heavy smack. Then he stayed under and began to tug. “Hang on, now,” cried George. “Wind in. Hold him tight. Don’t give him an inch unless he jumps.” This was heartbreaking work for Hal. He toiled to keep the line in. He grew red in the face. He dripped with sweat. He panted for breath. But he hung on. Ken saw how skilfully Pepe managed the boat. The _mozo_ seemed to know just which way the fish headed, and always kept the boat straight. Sometimes he rowed back and lent his help to Hal. But this appeared to anger the tarpon, for the line told he was coming to the surface. Then, as Pepe ceased to let him feel the weight of the boat, the tarpon sank again. So the battle went on round and round the great pool. After an hour of it Hal looked ready to drop. “Land him alone if you can,” said Ken. “He’s tiring, Hal.” “I’ll--land him--or--or bust!” panted Hal. “Look out, now!” warned George again. “He’s coming up. See the line. Be ready to trim the boat if he drops aboard. _Wow!_” The tarpon slipped smoothly out of the water and shot right over the bow of the boat. Quick-witted George flung out his hand and threw Hal’s rod round in time to save the line from catching. The fish went down, came up wagging his head, and then fell with sullen splash. “He’s done,” yelled George. “Now, Hal, hold him for all you’re worth. Not an inch of line!” Pepe headed the boat for a sandy beach; and Hal, looking as if about to have a stroke of apoplexy, clung desperately to the bending rod. The tarpon rolled and lashed his tail, but his power was mostly gone. Gradually he ceased to roll, until by the time Pepe reached shore he was sliding wearily through the water, his silvery side glittering in the light. The boat grated on the sand. Pepe leaped out. Then he grasped Hal’s line, slipped his hands down to the long wire leader, and with a quick, powerful pull slid the tarpon out upon the beach. “Oh-h!” gasped Hal, with glistening eyes. “Oh-h! Ken, just look!” “I’m looking, son, and don’t you forget it.”