“Unless you want the chance, Dixon?”
“No, thank you,” smiled the young man, carelessly. “I’ll shoot if you miss, but I hope you won’t.”
“But, really, if you want——” urged Tremaine, considerately.
“I assure you again that I don’t want it,” replied the younger man, still smiling. “To me a good day’s sport is in seeing a big bag. I don’t care who does the shooting.”
“Halstead——”
“I’m going to do my shooting with the steering wheel,” laughed Tom, quietly. “After my fine luck the other day I’m not going to risk my reputation again.”
So Tremaine had his heart’s real wish—the first shot at the dozing alligator.
Closer in crept the boat, while the unsuspecting reptile slumbered on. Thrice Henry Tremaine sighted, then lowered his rifle, preferring to wait for a nearer shot.
The two Florida men looked on with polite enough interest, though they did not offer to reach for their rifles. Alligator-killing was an old story to them.
“Now, I reckon you’re close enough, sir,” whispered Jeff Randolph. “Sometimes these ole ’gators wake and get into the water powahful quick.”