“He’s got it!” cried the man, as he started back; but he did not escape the shower of water that was sent flying over the boat, the crocodile vigorously lashing the surface with its serrated tail as it floated astern.
“Yes,” said the Spanish captain quietly, “but you had better shoot them, señores, and keep a little back from the side. There’s plenty of them up the river, and one of you might get swept out of the boat.”
Chapter Forty Two.
Night in the Jungle.
In spite of the risks run from the ravenous reptiles, whose daring proved that they had a hard struggle for existence, familiarity soon bred contempt, and the sailors laughed, as they proceeded up the beautiful river, at perils which not many days before would have made them turn pale.
For they were enjoying an excursion that seemed to present fresh beauties at every yard. As a rule the forest came down to the flowing water on both sides in waves of verdure, with grand trees which every now and then presented the aspect of some gorgeous flower garden, here red, there blue, at other times in lovely wreaths of white, while it seemed, Joe Cross said to the lads, as if one of the blossoming trees took flight every now and then and came skimming over the boat, filling the sky with flowers, so beautiful were the flocks of parrots and other birds that, apparently attracted by the strangers, flew screaming and whistling overhead.
There was no question about getting a shot at some beautiful green and orange long-tailed paroquet, or at one of the soft grey scarlet-tailed parrots which, as they flew across the river, shrieking at those who had interrupted their solitude, gave place to others of a delicate pink; but upon seeing Rodd raise his gun, the Spaniard laughed and said—
“Never mind them. I could fill my schooner with those things at any time. You wait till we get up into the little side river. There will be something better worth shooting then; or perhaps you would like to kill a few as you are coming back.”