Zane Grey

Tales of Fishes Zane Grey

Strange wild adventures fall to the lot of a fisherman as well as to that of a hunter. On board theMonterey, from Havana to Progreso, Yucatan, I happened to fall into conversation with an Englishglobe-trotter who had just come from the Mont Pelée eruption. Like all those wanderingEnglishmen, this one was exceedingly interesting. We exchanged experiences, and I felt that I hadindeed much to see and learn of the romantic Old World. In Merida, that wonderful tropic city of white towers and white streets and white-gowned women, Iran into this Englishman again. I wanted to see the magnificent ruins of Uxmal and Ake and Labna. So did he. I knew it would be a hard trip from Muna to the ruins, and so I explained. He smiled in away to make me half ashamed of my doubts. We went together, and I found him to be a splendidfellow. We parted without knowing each other's names. I had no idea what he thought of me, but Ithought he must have been somebody. While traveling around the coast of Yucatan I had heard of the wild and lonely Alacranes Reefwhere lighthouse-keepers went insane from solitude, and where wonderful fishes inhabited thelagoons. That was enough for me. Forthwith I meant to go to Alacranes. Further inquiry brought me meager but fascinating news of an island on that lonely coral reef, calledIsla de la Muerte (the Island of the Dead). Here was the haunt of a strange bird, called by Indiansrabihorcado, and it was said to live off the booby, another strange sea-bird. The natives of the coastsolemnly averred that when the rabihorcado could not steal fish from the booby he killed himself byhanging in the brush. I did not believe such talk. The Spanish appeared to be rabi, meaning rabies, and horcar, to hang.