“Yes, that’s the sound I meant,” said the skipper. “Sounds queer, doesn’t it, in the darkness? But that’s right. It’s one of the great alligator fellows thrashing the water to stun the fish. This makes them turn up, and then the great lizardly thing swallows them down.”
Fitz uttered a little grunt as if he thought it was very queer, and then went on nibbling his biscuit.
“Poole,” he whispered, “what stupids we were not to go and fish before it got dark.”
“That’s just what I was thinking,” was the reply.
“Yes,” continued Fitz; “we hadn’t as much sense as an alligator. I wish we had a good fish or two here.”
“To eat raw?” said Poole scornfully. “Raw? Nonsense! We’d set old Andy to work.”
“No, we shouldn’t. How could we have a fire here? It would be like setting ourselves up for the enemy to fire at. Why, they could creep in through the jungle till they were fifty or sixty yards away, and take pot-shots at us. But only let us get to-night over, and we will go shooting or fishing as soon as it’s day.”
“Hark at that,” said Fitz, catching him by the arm. “Here they come at last!” And not only the boys, but every one present but the skipper, felt a strange fluttering about the heart, as a curious hollow cry rose from somewhere at the edge of the jungle.
And then from out of the darkness there was a sharp click, click! of the lock of a rifle, the force of example bringing out quite a series of the ominous little sounds, which came forth sharp and clear as every one prepared to use his piece.
“Steady there, my lads!” growled the skipper. “You don’t think you can shoot that bird?”