“It’s loaded with slugs,” he called to the boys, who were even now taking moving pictures of the strange scene. “I carry it for sharks, but it’ll do as well against a swordfish, though they don’t commonly attack men.”
“Here goes for a cast!” cried the man with the prod, which was a sort of boathook without the hook. “I’ll see if I can spear him!”
Leaning forward he threw the weapon with all his force. The other fishermen, some of whom had grasped the spare oars to swing the boat around, looked eagerly to see the result.
“Missed, by ginger!” exclaimed the captain. “Here, let me try. Where’s Jake?”
“Out there. He’s swimming strong,” was the answer. “The pesky fish is coming back at him again.”
“Duck, Jake, duck!” cried the captain, as he got ready with the gun. “I’m going to shoot. Get down out of the way, and hold your breath. We’ll have you in another minute!”
He could see the swordfish plainly now, rushing directly toward the swimmer. The man heard and followed directions. Deep down he dived, and the fish shot directly over him.
“Say, that’s a great picture!” cried Blake.
“That’s what!” yelled Joe, and then his voice was drowned in the report of the gun, which was doubly charged.
“I got him! By cracky, I got him!” cried the captain. “That’s his blood showing.”