Another steady draw, and the fish did not move a fin. Then one bold firm snatch, and the hook was holding well in the flesh, and in another moment Briscoe, as he threw himself back on to a thwart, would have had the fish over the side and in the bottom of the boat.
But at the first touch of the steel the monster curved itself round till its tail touched its head, and then, with a mighty effort, went off like a spring released by a trigger; there was a tremendous splash, deluging everyone with water, and the fish leaped a couple of yards off the hook, to descend with another splash.
As it divided the water, bang, bang, two sharp reports rang out from Brace’s gun, one charge tearing through the back of the fish, which beat the surface for a few moments and then dived down, discolouring the clear water with blood.
In another few seconds the stream was alive with fish of all sizes, making the river boil as they gathered up every scrap, and greedily drank in the blood, while it was evident that the wounded monster was being savagely attacked and devoured alive by an ever-increasing shoal.
“Look: just look!” cried Lynton.
The words were unnecessary, for everyone’s eyes seemed to be starting with the use that was being made of them.
Almost as Lynton spoke the whirling water was broken by the great fish springing right out, followed by at least a score of pursuers, apparently half its size and less, ready to dash at it as it struck the water again and disappeared.
“Seems to have gone this time,” said the American quietly.
“Yes, and taken another spoon-bait and hook belonging to the captain,” said the second mate ruefully, as he looked at the broken end of the line he held in his hand.
“Yes, and he nearly took the gaff-hook as well,” said Briscoe.