“Throw it in? Why, it would drown the bird.”
“Of course.”
“Oh, I see you don’t understand croc fishing,” continued Frank, securing a piece of the fibre twine to one of the legs of the hen, and another to a stout peg of wood, leaving about five feet clear for the bird to move about.
These preparations made, Frank took the bird under his arm, twisted the rope twice about the hand which held the peg, and then, sticking a short stout staff in his belt, he stooped down, and, keeping the tree in which Ned had seen the monkey, between him and the water, he crept silently forward, dragging the rope after him, till he was close up. Then, taking the peg to which the hen was tethered, he drove it quickly and firmly down into the ground, as near to the edge of the bank as he could reach.
Ned watched him excitedly, and as he recalled his own adventure, he was in dread lest the reptile should make a rush at the gaily-clad figure, so occupied in his task that he would have been quite at the monster’s mercy.
Similar thoughts evidently troubled the Malays, for five of the men took their spears from where they leaned, and stood some thirty feet behind the lad, ready to rush forward to his help. But there was no need. Frank worked quickly and well, driving the peg down into the ground with the club, sufficiently tightly to keep the hen from getting free, but not hard enough to prevent its being drawn by the reptile, supposing that the twine did not break.
It was only a minute’s work before the club was thrust back into his waistband, and a quantity of the rope hauled down to the bank. Then the lad trotted rapidly back, leaving the hen walking disconsolately up and down with the hook beneath its wing, and dragging the loose rope here and there; while, so little was the poor thing troubled, that it began to scratch and peck about beneath the tree by the time Frank was talking eagerly to the Malays, who now lay down again with their spears ready.
“Shall I howld the rope, sor?” said Tim.
“No. Mr Murray likes fishing,” replied the lad, with a grin; “and he shall hold the line till there’s a bite. Better tie that other end, though, to that little tree.”
Tim obeyed, and then seated himself in the shadiest place he could find, and took out his pipe again.