. Having somewhat recovered, I was able
to watch Tim and his strange steed. Whenever the alligator showed an
inclination to go either up the stream or down to the lake, Tim turned
it with a fierce blow of his shillelagh; and thus kept it moving
backwards and forwards between the two banks.

The Indians and Sambo had now got directly opposite the spot it
generally reached in its rapid circuit, Kallolo carefully watching the
movements of the monster while his companions were hastily cutting some
long and tough trailing vines hanging from a neighbouring tree.

"Bear a hand! bear a hand, or sure I will be after riding to `Davy
Jones's locker' sooner than will be altogether pleasant!" shouted Tim,
gasping for breath.

"Keep up its head! keep up its head!" cried the Indians in return,--a
piece of advice Tim fully intended to follow as long as he had the
power.

At length the alligator came directly towards Kallolo, who at that
moment drawing his bow sent a poisoned arrow directly down its throat.
The alligator, feeling the pain, turned round, and again dashed across
the stream; but once more Tim managed to turn it with his well-dealt
blows, and again it dashed back to the bank, close to where Kallolo
stood. Throwing down his bow and quiver, the Indian, apparently
doubting whether the poison would produce its usual effects on the
monster, sprang forward into the water and drove his knife directly into
its breast. As he did so it gave another fierce lash with its tail, but
it was the last. The Indian drew out his knife, ready to repeat the
blow, but there was no necessity for him to strike; the alligator rolled
over from side to side, its head dropping in spite of Tim's efforts to
keep it up.

"Jump off, or it will carry you to the bottom!" cried Kallolo; who then,
turning round, shouted to his companions to bring the rope. They came
hurrying to the spot with a ready-made noose, which they dexterously
slipped over the monster's head, Tim at the same moment, springing on
its back, leaped from thence to the shore.

"I have mounted many a skittish horse when I was a spalpeen of a lad,
but never in all my born days have I ridden so ill-mannered a baste; and
sure I hope as long as I live that I may not have to break in such
another as this one," exclaimed the Irishman.

The Indians, while Tim was speaking, were getting ready their ropes,
which they managed to slip round the monster's forelegs; then, all hands
hauling