But the monster, which must have been some fourteen feet long, only rose a little so that his black triangular fin appeared above the surface.
Jackum grinned, stooped, and picked up one of a bundle of spears which lay along at the side, and handed it to the boy, signing to him to stand up in the boat.
It was not much of a weapon, being only a straight bamboo sapling with an ill-made point hardened in the fire.
“Gib big poke,” cried the black.
“If I don’t they’ll think I’m afraid,” thought Carey; so he seized the spear, feeling not the slightest inclination for his task, and drove the point down on the shark’s back.
It was an unlucky stroke, for, instead of penetrating as intended, it glided over the slimy skin, while, overbalancing himself in consequence of meeting with no resistance, Carey to his horror found himself following his stroke, and he would have plunged overboard had not a muscular black arm darted like a great snake about his waist and plucked him back. For a moment or two the boy gasped, but he recovered himself directly.
“Shake hands, Jackum. Thankye.”
The black grinned, and took the extended hand for a few seconds.
“Let’s try again,” said Carey; but the shark had sunk down out of sight.
“Ticklum,” said the black, grinning. “Come soon.”