“I'm going to have a swim before I eat anything,” said Walters, with a laugh. “Won't you, sir?” he asked, as he began undressing.
“Looks very tempting,” replied the officer, “but I'm too hot. Take my advice and wait a bit till you're cooler.”
The youngster only laughed, and, having stripped, took a header from the bank, and then swam out into the centre of the pool where it was deepest.
“Oh, do come in, sir,” he cried; “it's just splendid. There's a bit of a current here and the water is delightfully cool.”
Martin was aroused from his sleep by the sound or voices. He seized his rifle, bent over his wife, and whispered to her to awake; then crawling on his hands and knees from the hut he reached the bank and looked out, just as young Walters dived into the water.
Hardened murderer as he was, he felt a thrill of horror, for he knew that the pool was a noted haunt of alligators, and to attempt to swim across it meant certain death.
His wife touched his arm, and crouching beside him, her black eyes filled with a deadly hatred, she showed her white teeth and gave a low, hissing laugh.
“Before one can count ten he will be in the jaws,” she said, with savage joy.
“Nuta,” whispered Martin hoarsely, “'tis but a boy,” and the veins stood out on his bronzed forehead as his hand closed tighter around his rifle.