A long shadow dropped
straight downward. It missed Little Sword by an inch or two. And the
gaping, long-toothed jaws of an immense barracouta closed upon the head
of the Inkmaker, biting him clean in halves. The blind body curled
backwards spasmodically; and the tentacles, shorn off at the roots,
fell aimlessly and helplessly apart. Little Sword flashed away,
trailing his limp captors behind him till they dropped off. And the
barracouta ate the remains of the Inkmaker at his leisure. He had no
concern to those swordfish when there was tender and delicious squid to
be had; for the Inkmaker, you know, was just a kind of big squid, or
cuttlefish."
"But what's a barracouta?" demanded the Babe hurriedly.
"Well, he's just a fish!" said Uncle Andy. "But he's a very savage and
hungry fish, some three or four feet long, with tremendous jaws like a
pickerel's. And he lives only in the salt water, fortunately. _He's_
not a nice fellow, either, to have around when you're swimming, I can
tell you!"
"Why?" queried the Babe.
But Uncle Andy ignored the question firmly, and went on with his story.
"After this adventure Little Sword kept a very sharp look-out for the
pallid, squirming tentacles, sometimes reaching out from a dark hole in
the rocks or from under a mantle of seaweed, which he knew to belong to
one of the Inkmakers.
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