“’Gator, isn’t it?”
“No: a long, thin fish.”
“Not a snake?”
“No, no: a fish. It looks five feet long at the least.”
“Must be ten,” panted Lynton, with a groan, as he continued hauling on the line. “It feels as heavy as so much lead.”
“Now then, be careful,” cried Brace, cocking his double gun.
“No, no: don’t shoot,” cried Lynton, as he slowly hauled.
“Shan’t fire unless he breaks away,” said Brace between his teeth.
In the exciting moments which followed, and amidst a deep silence, only broken by the flapping of the sail and the rattle of the water against the boat’s bows, Briscoe gently passed the gaff-hook over the side, thrust it down into the water, and waited till the fish should come within reach.
It only took four hand-over-hand hauls on the part of the mate, and those who gazed excitedly on could plainly see a huge head, with gaping jaws full of glistening teeth, upon its side as if completely spent, offering its white throat to the sharp hook waiting to be driven in.