surface of the water, the tuna turned. But this time there
was no slack and the fish could not begin a rush. He would not plunge in
the direction of his captor, and Colin kept a steady strain upon the
line, forcing the tuna to swim round and round the boat. This was fatal
to the fish, for Colin was able to keep a sidewise drag upon the line,
giving the tiring creature no chance to turn its head and dash away.

"You're playing very well!" the boy's father approvingly said, as he saw
how, unconsciously, the lad was adopting tricks of angling some
experienced fishermen never really learn.

Colin flushed at the praise, and kept closer watch of the constant
strain on his line. The boatman, seizing every opportunity, ever and
again thrust the boat forward, giving the lad a chance to take in more
slack, so that the tuna swam in ever lessening circles. Suddenly he made
a sharp flurry and tried to dive. But the line was tight and the brake
held him closely, the lifting action curving the giant body in spite of
itself and preventing the dive.

The attempt had cost the fish full thirty feet of liberty, and the boat
was very near. With a little pumping--that is, raising the rod slowly,
then dropping the point quickly and reeling in the foot or so gained,
the boy's father showing him how this should be done--Colin brought the
fish still nearer. Once more the tuna came up to the surface with a rush
in order to get slack enough for a plunge. This might mean that the
whole performance would have to be done over again, but again the fish
was checked, Colin having the line reeled up almost to the wire leader,
and with a quickness that was wonderful in its accuracy, the boatman
neatly dropped the gaff under the jaws of the tuna. There was a short,
sharp flurry, but Vincente knew every trick of the game and speedily
brought the gallant fish on board.

"Two hours an' ten minutes, sair," said the boatman. "An' I t'ink, sair,
zat it's over a hundred."

"You did splendidly, Colin," began his father. "Why, what's the matter?"
he continued in alarm, as the boy sank back in his seat, looking pale
and sick.

"I'm a bit done up, that's all," the boy answered, gasping. His hands
were trembling so that he could not hold the rod, and his face was
ashen.

"Buck fever, I suppose?"

"Yes, sair; he's all right in a minute," said the boatman. "It does zat
every little sometimes, Major Dare. I've seen even ze old angler get
very much tired out aft