“Steady on,” rejoined Frank, in a tense tone. “I don’t want to run any chance of the bullet deflecting.”
In the meantime the rowers had sat paralyzed at the dreadful drama being enacted under their eyes and made no effort to save the unfortunate General Ruiz. Desperately the general swam for the boat. He saw Frank standing upright in the stern and realized that the boy was waiting till he could get a fair shot at the monster. Suddenly the swimmer gave a cry, his hands shot above his head and he seemed to be literally dragged out of view.
At the same instant Frank’s revolver opened fire.
One after another the ten shots poured out and before two had been fired the men, with a cheer, saw a huge white-bellied body, armed with a terrible triple row of saw-like teeth, rear itself out of the seas as if in agony and then flop back with a mighty writhing that beat the water into waves and threatened to swamp the boat.
And General Ruiz?
A few seconds after Frank’s first shot had left the automatic revolver the swimmer was alongside the boat and being hauled inboard by a score of hands. His first action was to take Frank’s hand and grasp it with a pressure that showed him to be possessed of a muscularity rare in Latin-Americans.
“We Spaniards do not forget;” he said, after he had uttered a few warm words of gratitude to the boy who had saved his life.
“Oh,” laughed Frank, “it’s tit for tat. Didn’t you save us last night?”
General Ruiz looked grave.
“Laugh if you will, Señor,” he said, “you Americans take things more lightly than we do; but perhaps some day the time will come when I shall be able to render you service, and you will see that my words were not spoken in jest.”