“There you are, sir,” whispered sharp-eyed Halstead, jogging Mr. Tremaine’s knee with his thrust-back left hand. “Just as far ahead as you can see, sir. Just beyond that point of land.”
“Jove! you’ve got sharp vision,” muttered Tremaine. “Oh, now I see it. Just the snout above water.”
Joe, at a signal from his chum, shut off the speed, the launch slowly drifting while the rowboat closed in behind.
Now the alligator’s head showed. From the course the brute was taking, it was heading for the nearest island. Presently its head and front legs appeared on the shore, the dim light glistening on the wet scales.
“Only a medium-sized fellow,” whispered Tremaine, sighting. “But a good deal better than no ’gator.”
Oliver Dixon caught enough of the spirit of the thing to crouch behind his host.
Bang! rang out Tremaine’s rifle. It was a hit, but the shot struck under the shoulder, not disabling the alligator. With an angry flopping of its tail the beast turned to take to deeper water.
Bang! came from Dixon’s rifle. This bullet struck against the ’gator’s jaw. Bang! sounded Tremaine’s second shot. This landed through the softer skin under the animal’s nearer eye.
“Close in,” commanded the host, eagerly. “We’ll get that chap all right, now.”
In its death agonies, yet possessing prodigious strength still, the ’gator flopped off into deeper water, diving.