The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 



one hundred yards of the sand-spit, and remained 

 an hour or more, when we spotted our enemy's 

 ugly nose close to where he had disappeared. I 

 had a '303 single rifle loaded with a soft-nosed 

 bullet. It is at all times difficult to fire accur- 

 ately from a canoe the boat wobbles so discon- 

 certingly, and one's position is so cramped that 

 a miss is scarcely to be wondered at. 



I fired at the small portion of the head showing 

 above the water, and the bullet struck the water 

 slightly beyond my mark. This was aggravat- 

 ing, as the tide was rising and the sand-bank 

 would soon be covered. 



We had brought with us a large shark-hook 

 attached to a length of chain, to which was tied 

 some ten fathoms of new Manilla rope, whilst to 

 the end of the rope we fastened a heavy anchor. 

 We baited the hook with a piece of salt pork 

 weighing six or seven pounds, stuck the shank of 

 the hook into the sand, and covered up the 

 chain and part of the rope in a like manner. 

 The anchor we buried deep on the top of the 

 bank, and here we left it, intending to return on 

 the morrow to see if our plan had been successful. 



Next evening we visited the spot, but nowhere 

 could we find any sign of the tackle. Personally, 

 I think the crocodile was large enough to have 

 dragged the anchor free in his struggles to 

 escape, but Child was of the opinion that a 



native had annexed the whole concern. The 



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