"Bait, is it?" asked Terry eagerly.
"Just so."
"But that ould Crundall said he wouldn't have a hooked 'gator at any price," replied Terry, puzzled. "An' sure we couldn't hook one anyhow widout a hook."
"True, Terence," laughed Arnold. "Sh—quietly!" As he spoke he dropped flat behind a log. As Terry did the same, there was a crisp rustling in a patch of saw palmetto about fifty yards away, and an old razorback sow, with six piglings behind her, came slowly out into the open.
"Take the first little 'un," muttered Arnold. "Keep your second barrel for the old beggar if she charges. Now!"
Two reports crashed out. Over rolled two of the small pigs. The old sow threw up her sharp head, then with a squeal of alarm bolted with the survivors of her family.
"Good business!" cried Arnold, jumping up and running forward. "Raw pork for Mr. 'Gator, and roast for ourselves. Eh, Terry?"
"Faith, 'tis a funny thing to catch a ten-foot alligator wid!" remarked Terry, ruefully surveying the plump little porker.
"Quite enough," replied Arnold with a grin, as he shouldered the other pig.
The ground began to slope away, pine gave place to live oaks, and live oaks to cabbage palms and cypress. The soil was black and oozy beneath their feet, and at last they found themselves on the edge of a deep river, whose brown stream wound sluggishly beneath the gloomy branches of giant cypress trees.