"And it's a white, sure as guns," Captain Ole told him. "I don't as a rule like to see a thing killed just for the sake of killing, but when it comes to a white shark, the more of them you kill the better, I say. They're killers of the worst sort. One of them almost got me once, and I've had a grudge against them ever since. I'll tell you the story sometime."
Jack had been reeling in rapidly while the captain was talking, and now had nearly half the line in again. He could tell that the big fish was tiring rapidly, but it was not dead yet, and another rush again took out thirty or forty feet. But this was the last battle, and Jack had the fish up to within twenty feet of the boat when Mr. Lakewood reappeared with a rifle in his hands.
"You a good shot, Bob?" he asked.
"Nothing extra," Bob grinned.
"Well, have a try," Mr. Lakewood said, handing him the gun.
"Where's the best place to hit?" Bob asked as he took the rifle from his uncle's hand.
"When he turns, get him just above his mouth," Captain Ole advised.
The fish was now making but feeble struggles to escape and was turning, every minute or two so as to expose its huge mouth, and Bob could not repress a shudder as he caught sight of the rows of needle sharp teeth. Awaiting a favorable moment he fired and the big fish, with a last effort, threw itself from the water, and then fell back.
"You got him all right," Captain Ole assured him.
"But what'll we do with him?" Bob asked.