“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.
“What wouldst thou do, fool?” said the woman fiercely as she seized the weapon by the barrel; “think of thy son who died but yesterday... ah! ah! look! look!”
Tearing the rifle from her grasp he followed the direction of her eyes; a swiftly-moving black snout showed less than thirty yards from the unconscious bather, who was now swimming leisurely to the bank.
“He must not die,” he muttered; “'tis but a boy!” Then turning to the woman he spoke aloud. “Quick! run to the forest; I shall follow.”
Again she sought to stay his hand; he dashed her aside, raised the rifle to his shoulder and took a quick but steady aim; a second later the loud report rang out, and the monster, struck on his bony head by the heavy bullet, sank in alarm; and then, ere Martin turned to run, two other shots disturbed the silence and he pitched forward on his face into the long grass.