m. He passed
over me again, and this time his teeth entered my shoulder, here--"
He opened his shirt and showed me a long, livid scar, serrated, the
hall-mark of a fighter of _mako_.

"But by fortune--you may be sure I called on God--I got my knife
home again, and sprang up for the air, feeling him in the water
behind me. Twice I drove the blade into him on the way, for he would
not let me go. My friend in the canoe, who saw the struggle, jumped
down to my aid, and being fresh from the air, he cut that devil to
pieces. I was not too strong when I reached the outrigger and hung
my weight upon it. We ate the liver of that _mako_, and damned him
as we ate. I had fought him from the ledge upward at least eighty
feet of the hundred."

"_Aue!_" said Red Chicken, hearing me exclaim at the tale. "You have
never seen a man fight the _mako_? _Epo!_ To-morrow we shall show you."

On the following day when the sun was shining brightly, several of
us went in a canoe to a place beneath the cliffs haunted by the
sharks, and there prepared to snare one. A rope of hibiscus was made
fast to a jagged crag, and a noose at the other end was held by Red
Chicken, who stood on the edge of a great boulder eagerly watching
while others strewed pig's entrails in the water to entice a victim
from the dark caves.

At length a long gray shape slid from the shadows and wavered below
our feet. Instantly Red Chicken slipped from the rock, slid
noiselessly beneath the water, and slipped the noose over the
shark's tail before it knew that he was nearby. The others, whose
hands were on the rope, tightened it on the instant, and with a yell
of triumph hauled the lashing, fighting demon upon the rocks, where
he struggled gasping until he died.

There was still another way of catching sharks, Red Chicken said,
and being now excited with the sport and eager to show his skill, he
insisted upon displaying it for my benefit, though I, who find small
pleasure in vicarious danger, would have dissuaded him. For this
exploit we must row to the coral caves, where the man-eating fish
stay often lying lazily in the grottoes, only their heads protruding
into the sun-lit water.

Here we maneuvered until the long, evil-looking snout was seen; then
Red Chicken went quietly over the side of the canoe, descended
beside the shark and tapped him sharply on the head. The fish turned
swiftly to see what teased him, and in the same split-second of time,
over his fluke we