mming from its spool. Scotty followed quickly,
caught the shaft, then sped upward to where Rick waited.

"Good shot," Rick complimented him as Scotty caught his float. Together,
they took the fish off the shaft and examined him with some pride. Their
first catch off Clipper Cay was a good one. The snapper was pink and
firm-fleshed. He would make good eating.

Rick put his face down in the water again while Scotty secured the catch
to his float. As he did so he saw a target and hooted for attention.
Scotty joined him and they looked down to where a barracuda hovered
motionless.

The 'cuda was perhaps two and a half feet long, not big as such
predators went, but big enough. Scotty motioned to Rick to get him.
Obviously the fish had been attracted by the blood or the struggles of
the snapper. Rick hoped that his big brothers wouldn't join him. This
one was plenty big enough. While Scotty held both floats, Rick charged
his gun, pulling back the strong rubbers a pair at a time. Then he
checked his safety line, filled his lungs, and went under.

The barracuda hovered, waiting. Rick knew that his apparent disinterest
could change to lightning flight. Few fish were so fast. He followed
Scotty's example, moving slowly toward the quarry. He was a dozen feet
down now, and in the lessened light the barracuda loomed large, a slim
arrow of a fish, poised for flight.

The spear gun was extended, the spear point nearing firing range. Rick
planned to shoot from about six feet. He doubted that he could get
closer. Flippers propelling him gently, he closed. Now he could see the
pointed jaws that contained razor-edged teeth. The fish was watching
him, but without apparent fear.

The barracuda head was squarely in his sights. Rick squeezed the
trigger.

For a moment he thought he had missed, then the safety line ran out and
the jerk almost pulled the gun from his hands. He was running out of
breath, too. Quickly he planed for the surface, feeling the fury on the
end of his line. He broke water, gulped air, then dove again. He pulled
in the line until he saw the fish struggling. He had nearly missed. The
harpoon had taken the barracuda near the tail, fortunately hitting the
spine. Rick pulled him in, hand over hand, then gripped his spear by the
extreme end. He had no desire to close with those slashing, dangerous
jaws. Holding fast to the spear he shot to the surface again. Scotty was
waiting, knife in hand. As Rick extended the spe