Jungle and Stream: or, The Adventures of Two Boys in Siam

"We should have time to spring back," said Phra; "for we should see the water move. Go on pulling in the rope."

"Yes, go on," said Harry excitedly. "I can't bear this waiting. Haul quicker, and let's have it over."

The men obeyed, and another yard was easily and slowly drawn in, the Siamese in their excitement opening their eyelids widely so as to show the opalescent eyeballs; but still there was no check, and the curve of the rope now showed that the hook end must be close under the stage.

"Now, Sahibs, mind," whispered Sree hoarsely; "he is down there by your feet, or else right under the floor."

The lads glanced down at the frail, split bamboos, through whose interstices they could just catch the gleam of the flowing water, while the same idea came to both.

Suppose the brute were to dash its head upward? It would break through as easily as if the flooring had been of laths.

But all was still save the rippling whisper of the water and the hum of insect life outside in the blistering sunshine, as the men drew on cautiously, inch by inch, in momentary expectation of the development of a cunning attack.

It was almost in breathless awe now that the men ceased pulling for a few moments in response to an order from Sree, who whispered to his superiors, —

"We are just at the end, Sahibs; be quite ready to fire."

"We are," they replied, in a husky whisper.

"Then we shall pull now sharply, Sahibs."

"Pull," said Harry. "Quick!"

The men gave two rapid heaves, and the boys started back with a shout.

"Oh!" roared Harry, stamping about the floor, "only to think of that!"

For Sree was standing holding out the frayed and untwisted end of the rope, worn through at last by the crocodile's teeth, and parted in the last rush.

"Oh, I say!" cried Phra.

"Mind! Look out!" yelled Harry, making a dash for the shore, and immediately there was a regular stampede, which ended in the Prince seizing his friend by the arm, and thumping his back with the butt of the gun he held.

"Oh, I say, don't – don't!" panted Harry, who was choking with laughter.

"Then will you leave off playing such tricks?"

"Yes, yes – please, please!" cried Harry. "Oh, don't; it hurts."

"I know: it'll be like that fable of the shepherd boy and the wolf.

Some day he'll come and no one will run."

"I don't care, so long as you leave off thumping me with that gun. Don't, Phra, old chap," he added, growing serious; "it's dangerous to play with guns."

"It's too bad," said Phra. "I thought the beast was jumping on to us.

What a pity, though! All that powder and shot wasted for nothing."

"The bullets were too small, Sahib," said Sree; "but I'm afraid you could never have killed that crocodile."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Harry; "bullets would have done it."

Sree shook his head solemnly.

"Look at him, Phra. I did think he was sensible."

"No; he's nearly as superstitious as any of them," replied the lad.

"No, Sahib," said Sree; "I only think it's strange that you fired shot after shot into that thing, and still he was as strong as ever. I hope he will not stop about here, and make it not safe to come down to the landing-place. It would be bad."

"Ahoy – oy – oy!" rang out in a clear, manly voice, and the sound of oars was followed by a boat gliding into sight.

CHAPTER V

THE DOCTOR'S POST-MORTEM

"Morning, Mr. Cameron," cried Harry heartily, as the boat, propelled by its fore-and-aft rowers, glided up to the landing-stage, Sree handing the crocodile-catching rope to one of the men to make the boat fast, while the occupant of the seat beneath the central awning leapt out.

He was a good-looking, lightly bronzed, red-haired man of about thirty, tall, and active apparently as a boy, and as he strode over the yielding bamboo flooring, making it creak, he shook hands warmly.

"How are you, my lads? – Ah, Sree!" and the hunter salaamed.

"I'm jolly, Mr. Cameron. Phra's bad. Put out your tongue, old chap."

Phra's reply was a punch in the chest.

"Looks terribly bad," said the new arrival, who knew his friends.

"Here, what does all this shooting mean? I came on to see."

"Awful great croc," cried Harry.

"Shooting at it?"

"Yes, and the big slugs rattled off it like hail on a lot of dry thatch."

"Then you did not kill it?"

"Kill it – no. Only wish we had. Mr. Cameron, it was a monster."

"So I suppose. Nine feet long, eh?"

"Nine feet long!" said Harry contemptuously; "why, it was over twenty."

"You young romancer!" cried the new-comer. "How long was it, Prince?"

"I've only seen its head," said Phra. "It was big enough for it to be thirty feet."