“Yes, we’ve got him now,” said Morgan again, as we made the end of the rope fast to a branch. “That would hold one twice as big. Let’s see; ’bout how long is he?”
“Seven feet,” I said, making a rapid guess.
“Well,” said Morgan, in a slow, hesitating way; “here, hi! Keep your tail still, will you, while you’re being measured.”
But the reptile seemed to thrash all the harder, dragging the noose tight, and flogging at the rope in a way which promised, if time enough was given, to wear it through.
“Oh, well, if you won’t, I must guess. Yes, sir, he’s quite seven feet long—nearer eight; but he must be pretty young, for he’s a lean, lizardly-looking brute. Not nice things to tackle, are they? Look ye here at the marks of his teeth.”
As he said this, Morgan held up his broken pole, first one piece then the other. “I say, Master George, he can nip. If that had been your leg or my arm, we should have wanted a bit or two of sticking-plaster, even if we hadn’t had the bone cracked in two.”
“It’s a horribly ugly brute,” I said, as I approached it a little nearer, and examined it by the warm ruddy glow which shone down here and there into the gloomy swamp forest.
“Yes; his mother ought to be very proud of him,” said Morgan, laughing; “wonder what his brothers and sisters are like. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“What are you laughing at?” I said.
“I was only thinking, Master George. The idea of me coming out of Carnarvonshire across the sea to find things like that!”