I gave the pole a good poke round in the hole again, just as if I was stirring up something in a huge pot, when almost before I had gone right round—Whang! The pole quivered in my hand, and a thrill ran through me as in imagination I saw a monstrous beast seize the end of the stick in its teeth and give it a savage shake.
“Hurrah!” cried Morgan. “He has got it tight now. That’s right, Master George; let me come. We’ll soon haul him out.”
“No, no,” I said, as excited now as the Welshman. “It may be dangerous.”
“We’ll dangerous him, my lad.”
“But he may bite.”
“Well, let him. ’Gators’ bites arn’t poisonous, like snakes. I should just like to see him bite.”
“I shouldn’t,” I said, mentally, as Morgan pushed me a little on one side, and took hold of the pole.
“Now then, don’t you be scared; I’ll tackle him if he’s vicious. Both pull together. He’s so vexed now that he won’t leave go if his teeth ’ll hold.”
“No,” I said, setting my own teeth fast, but not in the pole. “Am I to pull?”
“To be sure. Both pull together. It’s like fishing with a wooden line. Now then, haul away!”