It was some time before Bob and Joe could regain their natural peace of mind, for the strain had been great. Their hearts were beating rapidly from the unusual mental exertion.
“A narrow escape!” breathed Joe, putting his gun back in its holster.
“Thanks to you, old boy, we came out alive,” praised Bob, giving his friend an affectionate pat on the back. “It was your coolness and determination that sent those bullets in the right place. I was too nervous, I guess.”
“But say,” began Joe, turning aside the commendation of his friend, “our dads might want this fellow as a specimen. Do you suppose they would? Those bullets didn’t shatter it as a rifle cartridge would have.”
The youths were not particularly anxious to handle the long, scaly body, but they felt it their duty to do all they could for their fathers.
“What say we take it to the edge of the hill and roll it down?” suggested Bob. “The way is gradual and there are no protruding crags to tear it.”
“All right. We never can carry it without falling ourselves.”
The reptile was pushed over the side of the dune, and the boys made their way down. They slid more than climbed, but reached the bottom uninjured.
Mr. Lewis came out to meet them, on his face a look of anxiety.