“Go slowly,” he whispered loud enough to be heard by all in the boat. “Let’s see if we can’t get a shot at that big crocodile over there.”
Salas slowly drew in his paddle, laying it across his knees, while his hand went back to the holster strap.
“You keep paddling slowly, Syd, and the señorita can prevent us from capsizing when we fire,” the lad continued eagerly. His own revolver still rested in its holster, while his eyes were bent upon the outlaw’s hand fumbling with the buttoned flap. Mentally he measured the slight figure before him and then the frail boat in which they were seated. The terrible risk he was running came to him almost overpoweringly. Overboard in this river full of hungry crocodiles was unnerving enough to those who could swim, but Maria had said that her small brother could not, and for him death in this swift current would be assured. With his own paddle resting on his knees he braced his feet cautiously but firmly on the round of the bilge so as to put an equal pressure on each side. The outlaw, with his eyes on the crocodile as yet undisturbed in his doze, had succeeded in releasing the flap; his thumb and forefinger grasped lightly the revolver handle, drawing it slowly, thoughtfully, from its cover. Phil’s hand was partly raised, as if he held his revolver ready to shoot at the formidable animal. He muttered a silent prayer that the crocodile would not awake before his plan had succeeded. He felt that out of the corner of his eye the outlaw was watching him, but Phil’s hope was that his act would be so swift and unexpected that Salas would have no time to avoid it and jeopardize the lives of those in the boat.
CHAPTER XIV
CLEVERLY OUTWITTED
As Salas’ hand slowly drew his revolver from its holster, Phil’s right hand with the speed of a mongoos seizing its prey clutched the slender wrist of the outlaw; the lad’s left hand had moved deftly to the slack of the native’s strong khaki trousers, and the next second he had raised the surprised Filipino from off his seat and held him for an instant balanced in the air.
“Turn her down-stream,” the midshipman ordered in a hoarse voice, as he flung the struggling man into the water clear of the rocking boat.
Maria by a well-timed stroke had instantly spun the canoe about, and all four bent desperately to their paddles. Phil saw the broad-brimmed sombrero of their enemy floating on the surface and a fear instantly filled his thoughts that Salas might not swim. The next second he was reassured; the head of the native covered with thick black hair could be plainly seen swimming toward the far shore; the menacing presence of the crocodile had deterred him from attempting to reach the land but a few strokes away. Every second the lad expected to hear a loud call for help from the outraged officer. Phil, over his shoulder, measured the distance yet to be gained by the struggling native. Why had he not cried out a warning to his men? Surely they were within hearing; the trail over which they had gone must be but a short distance from the river.
Under the straining muscles of the midshipmen, helped by the swiftness of the current, the canoe sped toward the grassy slope where their horses were waiting. A bend in the river, and the swimmer disappeared from sight.
“Why hasn’t he given the alarm?” Phil demanded nervously. “What does it mean?”
“He will as soon as he reaches shore,” Maria gasped breathlessly. “The monkeys when they fall in the water always scream, so Salas knows better than to signal to all the crocodiles within hearing.”