It was Tony and Zircon, Rick decided. They probably had returned to the cottage and found the diving equipment missing. They could spot the location where the boys were diving easily enough, first by the floats, then by the bubbles of their exhausts.
Scotty hooted suddenly, four times. Rick turned quickly in time to see a six-foot shark speed past. The tips of the pectoral fins and the second dorsal were darker than the rest of the fish, and Rick identified it as a black-tipped shark. Obviously, the shark was on business of its own, not particularly interested in them. Still, it was curious. The shark was rushing almost straight up.
Rick turned in time to see a six-foot shark speed past
Scotty gripped his arm and pointed. More sharks! Another black tip. And a ten-foot leopard shark! All rushing upward.
The boys watched tensely, and then out of the dimness above something sped down at them, followed by the sharks. It landed in the clear sand just beyond the marine growth. Rick saw a black tip go for it, then the black tip was struck from the side by the big leopard. In spite of his sudden apprehension, Rick couldn't help wishing for his camera.
The sharks rushed again, and the falling object was lifted from the sand by the disturbed water. This time, Rick recognized it. A chicken! It was tied to a length of string from which dangled a lead sinker. The bird was dead, but apparently freshly so. He knew that it was the chicken blood that had brought the sharks—and a giant barracuda! The great fish, a full six feet in length, slashed past the sharks and tore a chunk out of the bird.