"Lucky we didn't shoot one another," said Harry. "I say, see how I've scratched the stock of father's gun."
"Why didn't you fire, Sahib?" said Sree ruefully, as he began picking thorns out of his left arm.
"Come, I like that!" cried Harry. "Why didn't you three hold on by the rope? I say, Sree, this is a one-er."
"You see, he doesn't like that hook, Sahib," said the hunter.
"But he has got to like it," said Harry. "There, we're not beaten.
Come on again. We must kill him now."
"I'm afraid, Sahib, he is one of those old savage crocodiles that are enchanted, and can't be killed."
"Oh, are you?" said Harry drily; "then I'm not. And if that rope doesn't break, we're going to kill him for being so impudent, aren't we, Phra?"
"Yes," said the lad, with his dark eyes flashing. "We will kill him now if it takes pounds of powder."
"And hundredweights of shot," said Harry. "Now then, look at the primings, and then stir the wretch up again, Sree, before he jigs that post down."
The jerking of the post was transferred to the arms of the men as the two lads stepped back to the bamboo floor, ready once more, and laughingly now, as they trusted to their own activity to escape the reptile's jaws. The men began to haul at the rope, with the same result as before.