PROFESSOR PUNDIT lay in his hammock beneath the grass thatch of an African hut on the Lower Niger, looking out over the broad, brown stream and the endless masses of dark treetops beyond it, with the gloomy face of a man that was in great trouble. And so he was. He had made a long journey up the great river, and had added to his collection of stuffed birds and beasts several very fine specimens; but, of course, the very thing that he particularly wanted was just the one thing that he could not get, and that was a Yauri crocodile.
In the broader part of the river, just below the town of Yauri (where the Benueh pours into the Niger a flood of water as thick and dark as Turkish coffee) crocodiles of a peculiar breed were said to exist, with quite a different shape of head and jaw from any other crocodiles in Western Africa. This was enough for Dr. Pundit, who at once offered a large reward to anyone that could procure him a specimen; but hitherto all his efforts to catch or kill one, and all the efforts of the natives to catch or kill one for him, had been made in vain.
As a last chance, the professor had sent messengers to bring from the other side of the river a man named Gezo, renowned as the most skillful native hunter of the whole district; and at that very moment a burst of discordant shouts, or rather yells, just behind the hut, announced the great man’s arrival.
His appearance quite startled the worthy doctor, who had always thought that the hero that had faced death in so many frightful shapes, and had killed (according to report) more than twenty lions with his own hand, must be a brawny giant, big and strong enough to fell an ox. The man that he now saw was a small, slight, gray-headed African, rather shorter than himself, and so thin that there seemed hardly enough of him to cast a shadow in the sunlight. But the quick, watchful glance of his keen eye, and the tiger-like springiness of all his movements, told their own story to the experienced professor.
“Gezo is come,” said the veteran. “Will the white chief go down to the river and see the crocodile killed?”
“What, at once?” cried Dr. Pundit, delighted. “But my brother will surely take some food first; he has come a long way to see me.”
“The hunter eats when his work is done,” answered the old man with dignity. “Let us go.”
The professor tumbled out of his hammock as briskly as a sailor at the sound of the boatswain’s whistle, and down to the river they went, followed by the entire population of the village.
Gezo’s preparations were soon made. He threw aside what clothing he had (which was little enough), wrapped a roll of ox-hide around his left arm till it was almost as big as a carpet-bag, and then, taking his broad-bladed knife in his right hand, went right down to the water’s edge and began to imitate with wonderful skill the barking of a young dog.
Now, a dog, especially a young one, is as great a delicacy to a crocodile as truffled partridges or scalloped oysters would be to a man, and it was not long before a huge, notched, scaly head, plastered with clots of black mud, rose suddenly through the thick, slimy waters.
Dr. Pundit, brave as he was, drew back with a start; but the daring hunter, so far from retiring, waded boldly into the stream. Instantly the crocodile darted at him, open-mouthed, with a fierce rush that lashed the water into foam; but, quick as lightning, Gezo thrust his left arm and the roll of hides that protected it into the monster’s gaping jaws up to the very shoulder.
The bundle filled the crocodile’s mouth so completely that he had no room to work his terrible jaws, and as he struggled to free himself, Gezo’s knife gave him a deep wound in the throat. Recoiling from the blow, the monster dragged the
hunter after him under the water, while the swirling eddies that rose to the surface showed what a fearful struggle must be going on below.
Dr. Pundit’s kind heart smote him at the thought of having sacrificed this brave man’s life, and he called loudly for help to the bystanders. But before anyone could stir, Gezo’s gray head shot up again, like a cork amid the bubbling waters, and in another moment the hideous bulk of the terrible crocodile drifted against the bank, limp and dead.
