There followed a battle royal. Whatever the thing was that had
felt the spears, it certainly lost no time in showing its
resentment. It thrashed the water into furious waves until I
momentarily expected the raft to be swamped.
One Inca stood on the farther edge of the craft desperately
plying an oar; the other tugged lustily at the spear-thongs. I
could see a black, twisting form leap from the water directly
toward the raft, and the oarsman barely drew from under before it
fell. It struck the corner of the raft, which tipped perilously.
That appeared to have been a final effort, for there the battle
ended. The oarsman made quickly for the shore, paddling with
remarkable dexterity and swiftness, while the other stood braced,
holding firmly to the spear-thongs. Another minute and they had
leaped upon the ledge, drawing the raft after them, and, by
tugging together on the lines, had landed their victim of the
deep.
It appeared to be a large black fish of a shape I had never
before seen. But it claimed little of my attention; my eye was on
the two spears which had been drawn from the still quivering body
and which now lay on the ground well away from the water's edge,
while the two Incas were dragging their catch toward the mouth of
the passage leading from the cavern.
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