“Ay, and to pick ’em after dinner. Would one o’ them tackle a man?”
“Yes, or a cow either. They’ve got a way of—I say, just look at him.”
Wriggs was all attention, and the three naturalists as well; for, after opening its mouth and displaying its tremendous gape, the reptile slowly turned round so as to face toward the water from which it had crawled, and then subsided, lying so close and still in the sand and mud that it more than ever resembled the trunk of some old tree.
The position now for a shot was not so satisfactory, as it in all probability meant the disappearance of the reptile at its first plunge; but all the same Drew raised his piece and gave his companions a sharp look, Panton raising his double gun as well for the next shot.
But Oliver held up his hand.
“Don’t shoot,” he whispered. “I want to watch the brute for a few minutes. Let’s see.”
He had a reason for speaking; naturalist-like, he never lost an opportunity for observing the habits of the different creatures he came across, and he had noticed a couple of crane-like birds coming stalking along from the far side of the bank on their long stilt-shaped legs. Like everything the wrecked party had encountered, the birds seemed to know no fear of man, acting as if they had never seen such a being before. Hence they were coming straight over to the side opposite to the little party.
Oliver’s little double glass was out in a moment, focussed and fixed upon the objects, while, with all a naturalist’s love of the beautiful, he feasted upon the bright eyes, drooping crests, and lovely grey and white plumage of the two birds which showed in every way their wonderful adaptability for the life they led.
“Look here,” said Panton, “we want to shoot that loathsome reptile.”
“And I want to look at the cranes. If you fire you’ll scare them.”