“I think I have a chance now,” said Lester, after 128 a few minutes more had passed. “You take the tiller, Teddy, while Bill and Fred haul him in.”
But this was not an easy task. Fred and Bill strained until they felt as though their arms were being pulled out of their sockets. But the shark still had enough strength left to make them pay dearly for every inch they gained.
But they were gaining, nevertheless. They wound the slack around a cleat as they pulled it in, so as not to lose what they had once won. Lester joined them after he had got the harpoon ready to throw, and with this reinforcement they soon had the shark within three feet of the stern of the boat.
“That’s near enough,” said Lester, rising to his feet and grasping the harpoon. “Now hold fast while I throw.”
He took careful aim, poised himself so as to get his full force into the cast and let his weapon go. It hissed through the air straight at its quarry. But the shark lunged aside, and the harpoon clove the water three inches to the right.
“Good shot, old scout!” cried Fred, as Lester, a little chagrined at the miss, drew the dripping harpoon in over the side. “It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t get him. It was going at him straight as an arrow when he dodged.”
“I’ll get him yet,” muttered Lester to himself, as he straightened up for another effort.
129He took his time in aiming and summoned up all his strength. Then he threw.
The sharp point caught the shark a little behind the head and went clear through his body. It must have struck a vital point for the monster gave one convulsive leap and fell back in its death flurry, lashing the water into yeast. Then it turned part way over and remained motionless, the leverage of the shaft preventing it from turning wholly on its back.
A yell of triumph went up from the delighted boys.