Though the alligator is a cumbersome looking animal on land, both knew from their reading that this four-legged reptile will sometimes show unlooked-for speed on its short legs.
Both alligators were now fully on land, their scaled bodies glistening in the soft sunlight. One had opened its great jaws as though to yawn, and the other at once followed the example.
Both stood within half a dozen feet of the launch’s bow, which meant that a sudden dash for the boat was out of the question.
“With this stick in my hand I feel like an amateur fireman trying to put out the San Francisco fire with a watering-pot,” Halstead whispered, dryly.
Ida Silsbee laughed low and nervously.
“Do alligators climb trees?” she asked.
“I never heard of one that could do it.”
“Then, at the worst, we might climb a tree. I—I suppose you could help me.”
“I’d sooner be in that launch, with the engine started, than up any tree on the island,” the boy answered.
“What would you do, if you were alone?” the girl asked.