The hook was simple. It consisted of four pieces of tough hard wood, about a foot long, and the thickness of a man’s thumb. These were tied to the end of a stout rope made of raw hide, and so arranged that their points were directed backwards, and curved somewhat outwards—thus forming as it were four huge barbs. The dead monkey was placed on and around this horrible hook—if we may so term it. The delicate morsel was then attached to the end of a pole which stretched over the stream, so that the bait, when fixed, remained suspended just above the water. The slack of the rope was then made fast to a tree. Thus the arrangement was such as to compel the alligator to raise himself well out of the water to obtain his mouthful.
While Leetle Cub was engaged in erecting this cumbrous machine, a young alligator, about a foot long, crawled out from under some leaves on the bank close to him. The urchin saw it instantly, seized his bow, and in a moment transfixed it with an arrow. The fury of the little creature, infant though it was, seemed tremendous. It turned round, snapping viciously at the arrow, and would probably have escaped with it into the water if another shot from the same unerring hand had not terminated its career.
After setting his line, the Cub carried the little alligator to the canoe, and put it carefully therein.
“Das what dey make de soup ob,” said Quashy.
“The ragout, you mean.”
“Dun’ know what’s a ragoo, massa. We calls it soup. Anyhow, it’s bery good.”
“Yes, Quash, it’s not bad. But look there, our daring and expert young hunter evidently wants us to land, for he is pointing to the bush. Shall we go?”
“P’r’aps it’s as well, massa. Ob course no alligator’s sitch a fool as swaller dat little mout’ful when we’s a-lookin’ at it. I s’pose Leetle Cub wants us to go away, an’ gib ’em a chance.”
Having made up their minds to gratify the little fellow, they landed and accompanied him into the woods. He seemed quite to expect that they would do so and follow his lead. He set off at a smart pace in advance of them, carrying his bow on his shoulder. Lawrence was well repaid by this walk, because it led him into and through scenery of a more striking and beautiful character than he had yet seen of its kind. In many places the trees formed long aisles and vaulted colonnades and arches so regular that it seemed as though they had been planted by the hand of man. Elsewhere the chaos of tree and shrub, flower and fern and twining root was so indescribable, that it seemed as if chance and haphazard had originated it all; but the mind of our hero was cast, if we may say so, in too logical a mould to accept such an absurd origin for anything.
“My Father made it all,” he said, mentally, with a glow of enthusiasm; “and although, like a little child gazing at an intricate machine, I see not the order or arrangement, certain am I that both must be there.”