“White men call the devil and crocodiles black; black men call them white,” replied Hassib, who was a wag. “You now see which is right.”
“Good again; that is one for me!” laughed Harry. “But I should really like to get one if I could.”
“And the English think the crocodile such a pretty ornament!” said Hassib. “It is a strange taste.”
And then Harry thought for the first time where on earth would they put the crocodile if they got it. But that was a future consideration.
“Shall we shoot the cataract to-night?” he asked, presently.
“No,” said Hassib, “there will not be light enough. We shall anchor for the night soon, and start at daybreak.”
The river soon grew broader and calmer, and in half an hour they came to the place where they were to remain, and cast anchor.
Harry went ashore with his rifle, in hopes of a shot at the amphibious creatures, and his fishing tackle to keep him in patience while he was waiting for it. Hassib accompanied him to point out the place he had mentioned where the monsters were wont to lie.
For some time he got neither a shot nor a bite; but presently there came a tremendous tug at his line. The fish tugged, and Harry tugged, and the line being strong enough to hold a whale nearly, it seemed to be a question whether Harry pulled the fish out, or the fish pulled Harry in. In fact it was a regular tug of war.
Harry was the victor, and his opponent came to bank with a bound and flop.