of any voice being heard above the rest. It was, indeed, a scene of confusion. Don Pablo and his companions were running to and fro—Guapo was tumbling about where he had fallen—and the great lizard was writhing and flapping his tail, so that pots, pans, half-burnt faggots, and even Guapo’s monkey, were being knocked about in every direction.
Of course such a violent scene could not be of long duration. It must end one way or the other. Guapo, who soon came to himself, now that he saw what it was that had pitched him over, had already conceived a plan for terminating it. He ran for his axe, which fortunately lay out of the range of the crocodile’s tail, and having laid his hands upon it, he approached in a stealthy manner with the intention of striking a blow. He directed himself towards the root of the reptile’s tail, for he knew that that was the only place where a blow of the axe would cripple it; but, just as he was getting within reach, the crocodile suddenly shifted himself round, making his tail fly like a piece of sprung whalebone. Guapo leaped hastily back,—as hastily, I will make bold to say, as any Indian of his years could have done, but not quick enough to clear himself quite. He wanted about eight inches; but in this case inches were as good as miles for the crocodile’s purpose, for about eight inches of the tip of his tail came “smack” across Guapo’s naked shins, and sent the old Indian head over heels.
It was just an accident that Guapo’s shanks were not broken like sticks of sealing-wax; and had the blow been directed with the crocodile’s full force, such would have been the unhappy result. As it was they were only “scratched,” and Guapo, leaping to his feet, ran to recover his axe, for that weapon had flown several yards out of his hands at the blow.
By the time he laid hold of it, however, the saurian was no longer on dry ground. His newly-opened eyes—opened, perhaps, for the first time for months—caught sight of the water close by, and crawling forward a step or two, he launched his ugly, mud-bedaubed carcass into the welcome element. The next moment he had dived, and was out of sight.
Chapter Thirty Eight.
The Crocodile and Capivaras.
Guapo was in no humour for enjoying the conversation of that evening. The crocodile had “choused” him out of his favourite supper. The monkey was literally knocked to “smithereens,” and the pieces that still adhered together were daubed all over with mud. It wasn’t fit meat—even for an Indian—and Guapo had to content himself with a dried plantain and a stew of jerked horse-flesh.