Sam and John had noted the approach of their enemy and both realized that the crisis of the whole affair was now at hand. If they could elude him this once, the chances were that they could reach shallow water where the shark would not dare to follow them. They both began to kick violently and splash as much as possible with their hands; they shouted and yelled; they did everything which they thought might possibly aid them in scaring the great ugly fish away.
Grant and Fred on the shore held their breath while all this was taking place and their hearts almost stopped beating. With feverish anxiety they awaited the result of the battle taking place before their very eyes.
“There’s John,” cried Grant suddenly. “Where’s Sam?”
“I don’t see him. I don’t see the shark either.”
“The splashing has stopped. Sam must have been killed.”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Fred. “Don’t say that. It can’t be.”
“Where is he then?”
“Look!” cried Fred.
The water some five or ten yards behind John was suddenly churned into froth. Red, bloody froth it was and evidently some gigantic struggle was going on. All at once, just on the outside of the miniature maelstrom, appeared a small round, black object.
“There’s Sam!” shouted Grant.