The harpoon left Matt's hand, and the hatchet left Dick's, at the same moment. The hatchet was turned by the reptile's scaly coat as by so much armor plate. The harpoon, however, by a chance, struck just back of the alligator's fore-leg in the place where the hide was not so thick. The big fellow had lifted head and shoulders out of the water in the fierceness of the attack on the pitpan—which fact alone made Matt's blow possible.
Dick, tumbling out of the conning tower, seized one end of a coil of rope and hurled it toward Carl. The Dutch boy grabbed it, and Dick drew him in rapidly, hand over hand.
The alligator, meantime, had whipped away around the bow of the Grampus, half its head only on the surface, and leaving a reddened trail in its wake.
Carl, sputtering and gasping, fell dripping on the submarine's deck.
"Be jeerful, be jeerful," he mumbled. "I tell you somet'ing, dot vas der glosest call vat efer I hat mit meinseluf. Dot's righdt."
He pulled himself up by means of the periscope mast, and shook his fist after the alligator, which was returning to the bayou.
"You don'd make some meals off me, I bed you!" he taunted. "Nexdt dime you do a t'ing like dot, meppy I vill haf a rifle hanty. Den, py shinks, I gif you more as you can dake care oof."
"You'll have to pay Speake for that harpoon, Carl," laughed Matt.
"Mit bleasure," answered Carl. "Id vas der harboon vat safed my life."
"How did you come to get in that fix?"