"That's just what I was about to propose. My first 'gator, so perhaps I'd
like to get his hide, if possible, or some of his teeth, anyway,"
returned the other, getting into the small boat with Frank.

Sure enough, they found a dead alligator up on the bank. The load of
shot, fired at such a short distance, must have gone pretty much like a
bullet. Some of them had entered his protuberant eyes, and by accident
must have pierced his brain.

"A lucky shot, all right. I don't believe it could ever happen again,
especially when the one who fired was almost behind the 'gator,"
commented Frank.

"How big is he?" asked the one who had slain the reptile.

"I should say all of ten feet, perhaps even eleven. They seldom grow
bigger than twelve down here, I'm told, so this one is something of a
whopper. If the alligator man I talked with at Coney Island a year ago
told the truth, then this one must be several hundred years old."

"Whew! Perhaps he saw Columbus land!" suggested Bluff humorously, for he
could not quite believe any such tale.

He concluded merely to knock out a tooth or two, to remember the event,
but when Will heard about it he insisted on being ferried over so as to
get a picture of their first Florida 'gator, with the proud Bluff
standing beside it, to prove its length.

They got under way about eight o'clock.