It was a splendid throw, and the keen barb buried itself deep in the thick, wrinkled grey hide, while at the same moment the stricken creature sank out of sight, leaving a stain of blood upon the water.
"Grand!—grand!" cried Donalblane, putting down his gun for a moment that he might clap his hands enthusiastically. "Ah! I wad like fine to be able to do that."
Raymon's usually sombre countenance lit up with a pleased smile, as he replied—
"We got him all right, if rope no break."
When, a moment later, the manatee, having recovered from the first shock of the wound, set off through the water at a rapid pace, towing the well-laden canoe as though it was a trifle, Donalblane began to wonder if the rope, which was only a thin one, would stand the strain. But Raymon did not appear at all anxious about it.
Straight out towards the deep water went the manatee, and as the canoe ploughed through the water in its wake, Donalblane thought that this must be something like the whale-hunting about which some of his sailor friends at Leith had told him such thrilling tales.
For a full half-mile the powerful creature kept on, rising every now and then to the surface for breath, and sinking again as soon as relieved. But presently its speed began to slacken, and Raymon was able to get a pull upon the rope, which brought the canoe nearer.
"Now, senor, you fire when I call," he said to Donalblane, who nodded back at him joyfully, for he was burning to take part in the hunt, instead of sitting idle.
Little by little the rope came back, until soon there were not more than ten yards of it separating the canoe and the manatee.
"Next time he come up, you fire," was Raymon's next order; and Donalblane, every nerve thrilling with excitement, braced himself in the stern of the canoe for a careful shot.