“You’ll see, when we pull him out, how useful the loose strands of rope are. They’ll be stuck between his ugly teeth. My word, it will make a mess all about here. It will be wet and beaten down, and made into a regular puddle.”
“Will he struggle much?”
“I should think he will. Mind his tail.”
“You mean his head.”
“No, I don’t; I mean his tail. Of course he’ll snap and bark, but he tries to sweep people over with his tail, just as if he were mowing you off the ground. Hullo! he’s moving now. Ready? Give the rope a jerk, and hold tight.”
Ned obeyed his instructions, for the rope was beginning to glide over the bank again, and, as it tightened, Ned gave it a sharp jerk, went down headlong directly, and as he still clung to the rope, began to glide rapidly toward the river.
“Oh murther!” roared Tim.
“Let go!” shouted Frank. But in his excitement Ned held on, and he was dragged within a yard of the river before there was a tremendous check put on the rope by the Malays, who stopped its progress, and enabled Ned to struggle up, Frank joining him, and the fight now began.
At first there was nothing but a steady strain on the line, as if the end were tied to a dead tree at the bottom of the river, and this kept on for some minutes, neither side stirring.
“Oh, he’s a beauty!” said Tim, who was hauling hard.