negro pirate, hang out here. somewhere?"

Milo laughed again, this time with a maddening tolerance.

"Oh, Caesar?" said he. "To be sure. He's as much a legend of
these keys as Lafitte is of New Orleans. He was an escaped
slave, who scraped together a dozen fellow-ruffians, black and
white and yellow--mostly yellow--about a century ago, and
stole a long boat or a broken-down sloop, and started in at
the trade of pirate. He didn't last long. And there's no
proof he ever had any special success. But he's the sea-hero
of the conchs. They've named a key and a so-called creek
after him, and in my father's time there used to be an old
iron ring in a bowlder known as 'Caesar's Rock.' The ring was
probably put there by oystermen. But the conchs insisted
Caesar used to tie up there. Then there's the 'Pirates'
Punchbowl,' off Coconut Grove. Caesar is supposed to have dug
that. He--"

An enormous sailfish--dazzlingly metallic blue and silver--
broke from the calm water just ahead, and whirled high in air,
smiting the bay again with a splash that sounded like a
gunshot.

"That fellow must have been close to seven feet long,"
commented Milo as the two men watched the churned water where
the fish had struck. "He's the kind you see when you aren't
trolling. He's after a school of ballyhoos or mossbunkers
.... There's Roustabout Key just ahead," he finished as
their launch rounded an outcrop of rock and came in view of a