Too late. The monstrous tail smote the log with a force that sent Arnold flying up into the air. And Terry, wildly grabbing for his gun, saw with horror that his friend had dropped slap on top of the writhing, struggling monster.
For an instant both disappeared. Then up they came again, and Terry could hardly believe his eyes when he saw Arnold seated astride on the huge scaly neck, while the alligator, thrashing the water with its tail, swam round and round in wide circles.
Terry, finger on trigger, dashed out on the log. He was certain the brute would dive and take Arnold with him, and yet he dared not shoot for fear of hitting his friend.
"Don't shoot!" roared Arnold, catching sight of Terry out of the tail of his eye. "Hold on. I'll have him."
The alligator seemed unable to sink. Yet it was evidently trying to. Finding this impossible, it swung its great head round, snapping at Arnold with a sound like the clashing of a shunting train.
But Arnold had his knife out, and every time the brute came round at him drove the point deep into the soft flesh at the joint of the neck.
"The rope!" shouted Arnold.
Terry bounded ashore, and next moment was back with the rope coiled and a slipknot at the end of it.
Round and round went the alligator, churning the water to foam, and sending small waves slapping under the hollow banks. It was fast exhausting its mighty strength.
"Now!" yelled Arnold, as the beast came sailing straight under the log.