“If he don’t tire me out. I say, it’s a monster. It must be a big ’gator.”
“Never mind what it is,” cried Brace excitedly: “catch him.”
“It’s all very fine to talk,” growled the mate, “but he’ll have the skin off my hands if I stick to him, for it seems as if instead of me catching him he’s caught me, and I expect he’ll have me in the water soon.”
Briscoe, who was as excited as anyone, burst into a hearty laugh at this, and, laying down his gun, took up the short-handled gaff-hook which lay beneath the thwarts.
“That won’t be any good for this fellow,” cried Lynton; “it’s a great shark, I believe. Take the boathook.”
“No, no; it’s too blunt,” said Brace. “Look here, Lynton: you go on playing him.”
“Play! Do you call this play? My arms are being racked.”
“He must be getting exhausted now. He can’t keep on at that very much longer.”
“Well, if he doesn’t soon give way, I shall have to do so.”
“Wait a minute or two and then get the brute to the surface, and I’ll put a charge of big shot through him.”