The little negro snorted, and continued to wind up his line, while his white companion paused to gaze with appreciation at the beautiful scene spread out to his view. At the shore end of the high railroad bridge upon which they stood was Jupiter, a tiny nest of white houses, almost lost among the glossy green palms and vivid blazing tropical flowers. Below them flowed the blue waters of the Laxahatchu River. To the west, the river broke into a dozen parts, each flowing swiftly between as many shoals and islands, and finally losing itself in the distance. To the east, it joined the sea, scarce a mile distant, the breakers meeting the river's waters in a tumbling mass of foam. A little below the bridge, on the opposite side of the river from Jupiter, three government buildings rose up from a high bluff--a wireless station, a weather bureau office, and a towering lighthouse, built long, long before the civil war. Beyond these, down close to the inlet, the lad's eyes focused upon a long point, jutting out into the river, upon which stood two small tents. From the inlet a rowboat, with two occupants, was approaching the point with the long easy strokes characteristic of experienced boatmen. The lad turned to his black companion. "Come on, let's go back to camp, Chris," he said. "The Captain and Walter are nearly there now." "Better look to youah line. De slack's running out like mad, Massa Charles," chided the little darkey. "Golly! I don't know what you white chillens would do widout dis nigger. 'Pears like you white chillens can't even fish widout Chris along to tell you-alls when you got a bite." But Charley had already sprung for the coiled-up line, which was whizzing out at a rapid rate. Taking a turn around a post, he endeavored to stop the hook's victim in its mad career, but, as the long, heavy line tauted like a bar of iron, he realized that he stood a chance of losing both line and fish, and he paid out the balance of the line very slowly. It was not until the very end of the line was reached that the fish suddenly changed its tactics and, turning short, rushed for the bridge. Charley yanked in the slack line swiftly and called to Chris to come to his assistance. Near the bridge the fish turned again and sped for the far-off inlet, both boys clinging to the line in a vain attempt to check the outward rush. "Golly!" panted Chris, as the line dragged slowly and burningly through his grip. "Hit's lucky we ain't got this line tied to no post. Dat fish would sure pull de whole bridge ober." "Rats!" laughed Charley, as he grabbed out his pocket handkerchief and hastily wrapped it around one hand to protect it from the burning line, "isn't the bridge bearing the whole strain as long as we are standing on it?"