“Poor old crocodile!” said Jack coolly, for he had now recovered himself. “If he’s going to eat all that buck for his dinner he’ll suffer from indigestion. I say, Dick, let’s give him a couple of pills.”
As he spoke, Jack sank upon one knee in the reeds so as to rest his rifle well, and catching at his brother’s idea, Dick followed suit.
“Take a good, steady aim, Dick, right behind his eye, so as not to hit the antelope: and when I say fire, pull trigger as softly as you can. Take it coolly. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Fire!”
It was none too soon, for the antelope was being dragged along, growing more helpless and its struggles more faint moment by moment, while the body of the crocodile was disappearing backwards down the slope of the point of land.
But that loathsome-looking head was still visible, dragging the helpless, striving antelope, whose piteous rolling eyes could be plainly seen by the boys.
The next instant, though, they had concentrated their gaze on the gleaming orb of the crocodile, thrown all their power of nerve into that aim, and, so as not to disturb their rifle-sights by the slightest movement, softly drew trigger.
The reports of the rifles were almost simultaneous, and for a few moments the boys could see nothing for smoke: but as the tiny cloud of vapour lifted, they looked eagerly across.
There was nothing to be seen.