Again Tremaine sighted. He was too old a hunter to risk spoiling all by too long a sighting. He aimed for a spot just back of the fore shoulder.
Bang! Hardly had the flash left the muzzle when the huge ’gator thrashed, a red spot showing back of the fore shoulder. Then the slumbering animal turned with incredible rapidity, making for the water.
Bang! bang! Tremaine fired twice, as rapidly as he could, each shot going home. The wounded ’gator now floundered weakly close to the water’s edge.
“One more shot and I’ve got him!” breathed Tremaine, tensely. That fourth shot woke the echoes, and the alligator crouched low, too spent to take to the water.
“Give him a minute or two. Then we’ll go and get him,” declared Tremaine, turning to sign to the men in the rowboat that they could approach now.
“There goes Mr. ’Gator,” reported Jeff, as a final shudder ran through the bulky frame of the big reptile.
“Steam ahead, boys! Put in and get him,” directed Tremaine.
No one was looking at Ida Silsbee, just at that moment. She, for some reason, had risen on her tip-toes on the little decked over space aft.
As Joe turned on the speed with a throb, the girl tottered. There was nothing at which to catch. Uttering a frightened shriek, Ida Silsbee fell over backward into the water.
Joe Dawson heard that cry. Like a flash he shut off the speed. Then, his face white, he sprang and dived where the waters had closed over the girl.