“Thought I was a goner,” he said, with a ghost of a smile. “But that rifle shot did the trick, all right.”
“It certainly did,” said Mr. Holton. “Ben never fired a more accurate shot. Strange, but it never occurred to me to use a rifle. I was only thinking of pulling harder on the rope.”
“I wasn’t sure that I could hit the crocodile,” Mr. Lewis put in. “I imagine I wasn’t any too steady after the terrific strain. But through luck, I guess, that bullet penetrated the brain.”
Joe was watersoaked to the skin, and mud was caking on his clothes.
“Better put on something dry,” advised Mr. Holton, and Noko, understanding, nodded.
“Get heap sick,” the native said, using the English he had picked up. “Um fever here. Soon come night. Then be heap cold.”
“I guess you’re right,” Joe admitted. “Then too, it doesn’t feel very pleasant with these wet clothes on.”
It did not take him long to change, and he was soon ready to continue the journey.
Noko urged that they make unusually good time from now until dark so as to get to a certain clearing before nightfall. Of course, they could have stopped and made camp at many places, but the native did not wish to do so.