"The smoke again! The bull has it! He is down; he is up; he is in the water! Wow! Look out, O 'slayer of crocodiles!'"
"But the cow lies still!" cried a woman, anxiously.
"Oh ay, there will be meat for the feast. But what of your man in the canoe if the bull seize him?"
"It is his risk," said the woman, calmly.
Venning dropped the glass, and he and Compton stood looking from the island to the old hunter, who seemed to know every point in the game better than they could follow through the glasses.
"Ah, it is well. They tear the branches from the canoe. They row straight for the island. The white man jumps—the men tumble out— wow-wow!—the bull takes the canoe in his jaws. It will go hard with those who go for the meat if he get among them."
"The white man leaps in the water!" shouted another. "But he holds his gun above him. He reaches the sand; the others crawl up also. They run! I do not see the bull!"
"There are crocodiles!" shrilled a woman, pointing with an arm heavily ringed with brass bangles.
"This is not their fight, mother."
"But they will take our meat."