“Man overboard!” cried several of the fishermen.  
“Yes, and with a pesky swordfish too close for comfort!” added Abe Haskill. “Stop that motor, Bunker; we’ll have to pick him up.”
 
The fisherman who was called to, pulled out the switch, thus stopping the motor, and the boat drifted about on the slowly rising and falling billows.
 
“Can you see him?” asked the captain of the man who acted as mate.
 
“Yes, he’s right astern, but that fish——”
 
“Is he coming after Jake?”
 
“Full !”
 
“Grab that , one of you!” yelled the captain. “See if you can him with it. I’ll git out the duck gun, though land knows it ain’t much use against a pesky swordfish!”
 
One of the fishermen picked up the iron-shod pole the unfortunate man had dropped as he went overboard, and stood ready to cast it at the big fish, which could be seen along in the water, near the swimmer.
 
“Say!” cried Blake to Joe. “It may seem a heartless thing to do, but why can’t we get some moving pictures of this?”
 
“We can,” his chum. “We can’t help any, and we might as well film it.”
 
“Come on, then. You hold the camera steady and I’ll turn the handle.”
 
They had a machine all in readiness, its tripod shortened so that the lens could be brought close to the water.
 
“He’s dived!” cried one of the men.
 
“Who—the fish, or Jake?” demanded the captain.
 
“Jake. He saw the fish coming at him, and he went under. Lucky he did, or he might have been cut in two.”
 
“Throw that prod; can’t you? I’ll have this gun ready in a minute.”
 
The captain had pulled from a an old-fashioned, double-barreled duck gun.
 
“It’s loaded with slugs,” he called to the boys, who were even now taking moving pictures of the strange scene. “I carry it for sharks, but it’ll do as well against a swordfish, though they don’t commonly attack men.”
“Here goes for a cast!” cried the man with the prod, which was a sort of boathook without the hook. “I’ll see if I can spear him!”
 
Leaning forward he threw the weapon with all his force. The other fishermen, some of whom had grasped the spare to swing the boat around, looked eagerly to see the result.
 
“Missed, by !” exclaimed the captain. “Here, let me try. Where’s Jake?”
 
“Out there. He’s swimming strong,” was the answer. “The pesky fish is coming back at him again.”
 
“Duck, Jake, duck!” cried the captain, as he got ready with the gun. “I’m going to shoot. Get down out of the way, and hold your breath. We’ll have you in another minute!”
 
He could see the swordfish plainly now, rushing directly toward the swimmer. The man heard and followed directions. Deep down he dived, and the fish shot directly over him.
 
“Say, that’s a great picture!” cried Blake.
 
“That’s what!” yelled Joe, and then his voice was drowned in the report of the gun, which was doubly charged.
 
“I got him! By cracky, I got him!” cried the captain. “That’s his blood showing.”
 
The waves were indeed red with the blood of 122the big fish, and a moment later its body was floating on the .
 
“There’s Jake!” cried one of the fishermen.
 
“All right!” was the response. “Throw him a line. He’s in no danger now.”
 
A few moments later the man was safe aboard, minus his boots, which he had kicked off in the sea, and some of his heavier clothing.
 
“That’s the end of Mr. Swordfish,” murmured the captain, in gratified tones, as he watched the lifeless body sink. “The sharks will get him. Are you all right, Jake?”
 
“Sure. It was hard work, though; and once I thought he had me. I dived just in time.”
 
“That’s what you did,” said Blake. “It was a great exhibition, and when it’s thrown on the screen it will make a sensation, I’m sure.”
 
“Say, you don’t mean to tell me you snapped what happened?” asked the fisherman, in surprise.
 
“We sure did,” declared Joe. “We got every move.”
 
“Plucky lads,” murmured the captain; “and right on the job, too. Start the motor,” he added to the man in charge of it.
 
“We’ve ............