“Do you hear that?” roared the colonel, to some men on the other side of the room. “Coot Brewer is going to polish the teeth and tan the hides of the ’gators these young men kill, and send them on to them at the North.”
At this announcement there was a general laugh, during which the boys left.
“He thinks we can’t kill alligators,” said Chap; “but, then, all these people suppose we’re city boys, just because we come from the North. I believe most folks down here have an idea that the whole North is built up solid with houses, like one great town, and it’s no use telling them we’ve been using guns ever since we were big enough to hold them.”
The Rolling Stone was found at the end of the pier, with Coot Brewer in it, and the row-boat which he had borrowed made fast to the stern. Adam was also there, having left his work to see them off.
“Be careful you don’t shoot each other,” was his parting injunction, “and don’t haul in any ’gator till you’re sure he’s dead.”
The boys agreed to remember these admonitions, and everything having been put aboard, The Rolling Stone set sail up the river, with a good wind almost directly from the south, which, as they were sailing northward, ought to have carried them rapidly along; but for some reason or other, the boat did not seem to behave as well as when Adam was at the helm.
Coot Brewer put her directly before the wind, and sometimes she would sail on at a good rate, and then she would begin to rock, the end of her boom almost dipping into the water as she went over on that side.
Phœnix had just remarked that the boat had never been so much like a rolling stone as now, when the motion became so violent that Brewer was a little frightened, and put her about so suddenly that the boom came round with tremendous force, just grazing the top of Chap’s head.
“I should think that sort of thing would upset her,” said Phil, who did not look upon Coot Brewer as much of a sailor.
“But it didn’t, you see,” remarked the helmsman, complacently. “She’s a pretty stiff little boat.”