"Another," cried Ben; "good work."
Before Frank could fit another cartridge—his rifle was a single-chambered one—the shark had dived, leaving only a crimsoned pool on the smooth surface to bear testimony that he was wounded.
The boys uttered a groan of dismay as they saw the thrashing form vanish and a second later saw Billy flash out of view.
It seemed impossible that their chum could survive being dragged to the depths of the sea.
The shark, however, did not remain down long. It soon reappeared on the surface, with Billy in tow, still thrashing the water into crimson fountains with its fins and tail. Sometimes it leaped clear out of the water in its agony.
"Bang!"
Another bullet sped from Frank's rifle, and this time the maddened animal seemed to sense from whence came the attack, for it suddenly charged furiously at the motor-boat.
Quick as thought, Ben Stubbs, who had seen its coming, leaned over the side and with his seaman's knife in hand waited the moment when it dived under the boat.
As it did so he gave a quick downward slash.
The rope that seemed to be pulling Billy to his doom severed under the blade with a crack. The next minute the young reporter was able to swim feebly to the side of the Bolo.