Mother Carey's Chicken Part 24

"Hope it ar'n't lions or tigers," said Billy, as he panted on under the load of a bag which contained certain bottles of beer.

"No lions or tigers in an island like this," said Small oracularly.

"Oh, there they are."

A turn in the river-bed had brought Mark and his companions in sight of the major and the two mates about a hundred and fifty yards away. Mr Morgan was kneeling down by a pool doing something to the dog, while the major and Gregory looked on.

"I was right," said Small; "they have shot your dog, Mr Mark."

At that moment Bruff caught sight of his master, and uttering a loud bark, he started off from where he stood and came limping on three legs towards Mark, holding his right fore-paw in the air and whimpering piteously.

"Why, Bruff, old chap, what is it?" cried Mark, as the dog came up holding out his leg as if for sympathy; "have they shot you? Why, no; he has been in a trap."

"No," said the boatswain, examining the dog's leg, "he's been fighting and something has bitten him. Wild pig, for a penny."

"Here, Mark, my lad," cried the major, "you nearly lost your dog."

"What's been the matter?" cried Mark.

"A crocodile got hold of him by this pool."

"How, how!" cried Bruff, throwing up his head and giving vent to a most dismal yell, as if overpowered by the recollection.

"Ah, I said as they likes dog," said Billy Widgeon sententiously.

Bang, bang!

Then, as the smoke rose up slowly after the discharge of both barrels of his piece, Morgan exclaimed:

"See that?"

"See it! I nearly felt it," cried the major, drawing back from the edge of the disturbed pool, from which a good-sized crocodile, evidently pressed by hunger, had charged out at his legs. "Did you hit him?"

"Yes, I must have hit him both times, for he swerved at the first shot, and turned back at the second; but small-shot can't do much harm to one of these scaly-hided ruffians."

"Well, I should like to kill that brute," said the major, looking ruffled, and speaking as if he thought that a great insult had been offered to an officer in Her Majesty's service. "Think it was the one which laid hold of the dog?"

"How, how!" cried Bruff piteously, and then, trotting on three legs to the water's edge, he began to bark furiously.

"Call him away," cried Morgan excitedly, c.o.c.king his gun and following the dog; "that pool swarms with the beasts."

"Here, Bruff, Bruff, Bruff!" cried Mark.

But his cry would have been too late, even if the dog had obeyed, for at that moment the water was parted and a hideous head with dull gleaming eyes appeared, as one of the monsters made a rush at Bruff.

Morgan was ready for him, though, and quick as thought, from a distance of not more than four yards, he poured the contents of his gun right in the reptile's face, following it up with the second barrel.

To the delight of all, the monster gave a bound and made a clumsy leap out on to the dry ground, where it lay beating the water with its tail, giving it resounding blows, and only lying still to begin again.

"Shall I give him another shot?" said Gregory.

"No; half his skull is blown away," said the major. "Let him die."

"Put the game in the bag, sir?" said Billy respectfully.

"Ask Mr Morgan," said the major haughtily. "I did not fire the shot."

Small took out his great pocket-knife, and cut a rattan to a length of about twenty feet, and after tr.i.m.m.i.n.g off the leaves readily contrived a running noose at the end, then cleverly contrived to noose one leg as well. A sharp s.n.a.t.c.h drew the noose tight, and at the boatswain's suggestion everyone took hold of the cane and the struggling reptile was hauled right away from the water to die, proving a goodly weight though it was not above nine feet long.

"There, Bruff, old man," said the boatswain, "suppose you give one of his paws a nip to serve him out. It would be only fair. Shall I give him the knife, sir?"

"No," said Mr Gregory, "the brute is dying. Good heavens! what's that?"

It was unmistakably a shot, and not fired with a fowling-piece, but evidently from some good-sized gun.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

HOW THERE WAS A STARTLING SURPRISE.

"What in the world is that?" cried Gregory.

"That sir?" said the major importantly. "That was the report of a gun."

"Good gracious, man, I know that," said the mate.

"There again," cried Morgan.

"s.h.i.+p firing signals for recall," said the major. "We are wanted aboard."

"Nonsense, sir!" said Gregory tartly. "We have no guns that would make such a report as that. What?"

This last was to Morgan, who whispered something to him excitedly.

"Pooh! nonsense, man!" cried Gregory again. Just then there was another shot, and another, and the first-mate's face turned of a muddy hue.

"It's fighting, as sure as I'm a soldier," said the major nodding his head.

"You're right, Morgan," said the first-mate hoa.r.s.ely.

"Come along, quick! There's something wrong aboard the s.h.i.+p."

"Aboard our s.h.i.+p--the _Petrel_?" cried Mark, with a curious choking sensation coming upon him, and his heart beating rapidly.

"There, don't turn like that, my lad," said Morgan kindly, as he clapped the lad on the shoulder. "We only fancy there may be something wrong, and I hope we have been deceived."

"Do you think there will be a fight, Gregory?" said the major excitedly.