Two of the alligators had slowed up, as if waiting to see what menace to them was conveyed by the chorus of wild yells. Then one of them sank below the surface.
The ’gator nearest Tom Halstead kept straight on, coming slowly, jaws moving and eyes blinking, as though the great reptile were figuring out the chances of successful attack.
“You just look out for Miss Silsbee, Joe,” warned Tom. “I’ll keep off this big fellow if I have to shove an arm down his throat!”
Ida Silsbee was wholly conscious. A brave girl, she had the good sense to realize how much depended upon her keeping cool and quiet, allowing her rescuers free hand to do what they thought best.
Tom Halstead had brought out his sailor’s clasp knife, opening the blade. He now held this weapon in his right hand, ready to strike, no matter how uselessly, as a means of attracting the attention of the nearest alligator.
In the launch Henry Tremaine watched, with a horrible fascination, for the alligator that had dropped below the surface. If hunters’ tales were true that vanished alligator was likely to try to drag down one of the helpless three from underneath.
Tom would not swim away from a straight line between Ida and the oncoming alligator. He watched, unflinchingly, the approach of the dangerous foe, wondering whether he could strike hard enough with his knife to make the ’gator retreat.
All this had occupied only seconds.
Now, Jeff Randolph had a chance to show what he meant to do. He drove the launch straight for the big alligator. The changed position of the boat gave Tremaine a possible chance to shoot without hitting any of those in the water.
“Don’t fire!” warned Jeff, quickly. “Wait, suh.”