usly
towards the tickle.

There was less light than before, but still sufficient to disclose the
baleful eyes and writhing arms of the squid when the boat was yet a safe
distance away. One by one the arms fell back into the water, as if from
exhaustion; slowly the beating of the tail subsided. After a time all
sound and motion ceased. The boys waited for some further sign of life,
but none came. The squid was still, as if dead.

"Sure, he's dead now," said Billy. "Leave us pull close up."

"Oh, no, b'y! He's but makin' believe."

But Billy thought otherwise. "I wants that squid," he said, in a dogged
way, "and I'm goin' to have him. I'll sell him and get a new punt."

Bobby protested in vain. Nothing would content Billy Topsail but the
possession of the big squid's body. Bobby pointed out that if the long,
powerful arms were once laid on the boat there would be no escape. He
recalled to Billy the harbor story of the horrible death of Zachariah
North, who, as report said, had been pursued, captured, and pulled under
water by a devil-fish in Gander Bay.[2]

It was all to no purpose, however, for Billy obstinately declared that
he would make sure of the squid before the tide turned. He admitted a
slight risk, but he wanted a new punt, and he was willing to risk
something to obtain it.

He proposed to put Bobby ashore, and approach the squid alone; but Bobby
would not listen. Two hands might be needed in the boat, he said. What
if the squid were alive, after all? What if it laid hold of the punt? In
that event, two hands would surely be needed.

"I'll go," he said. "But leave us pull slow. And if we sees so much as
a wink of his eye we'll pull away."

They rowed nearer, with great caution. Billy was in the bow of the boat.
It was he who had the ax. Bobby, seated amidships, faced the bow. It was
he who did the rowing.

The squid was quiet. There was not a sign of life about it. Billy
estimated the length of its body, from the beak to the point of the
tail, as twenty feet, the circumference as "the size of a hogshead." Its
tentacular arms, he determined, must be at least thirty-five feet long;
and when the boat came within that distance he shuddered.

"Is you sure he's dead?" Bobby whispered, weakly.

"I don't know!" Billy answered, in a gasp. "I thinks so."

Bobby dropped the oars and stepped to the bow of the punt. The boat lost
way and came to a stop within twenty feet of the squid. Still there was
no sign