Slowly, very slowly, the alligator rose till not only its great gnarled head, but the whole of its long ridged back, was above the water.
"What a brute!" muttered Godfrey, instinctively drawing his big hunting-knife. "Get on, Fred. The alligator's coming closer."
"There's an ugly place just here," replied the other, and Godfrey saw his friend sink nearly to his shoulders, recover himself with an effort, and scramble up the far side. "Wait; I'll help you, Jack," he said, turning.
He pulled his friend across the gap, and then as they both stood up on the far side, in water hardly more than ankle-deep, a simultaneous gasp of horror burst from them both.
Three more alligators had appeared, and, even as they watched, more and more of the hideous monsters rose in ominous silence above the quiet water and came gliding slowly onward toward the causeway.
Their cruel, unwinking eyes shone like green fire in the moon-rays, and the breathless air was full of a sickening odor of musk. There were dozens of them; from huge, rugged veterans of ten or twelve feet and weighing perhaps half a ton, down to fierce, active, hungry six-footers.
For a moment the two young fellows stood hesitating, staring breathlessly at the nightmare spectacle before them. Then Kinnersly desperately cried: "Come on, Jack!"
"Shoot. Why don't you shoot?" exclaimed Godfrey.
"Not till I have to," replied Kinnersly. "Ducane may hear and suspect. If he does, he'll move farther up, and attack Sam before we can reach him."
"But the brutes are closing in."