“Let’s finish him, Bruce!” cried Bart. “Pitch in, then!” cried Bruce; and rushing at the fish, he drove his boat-hook point deep into his side, while, at the same time, Bart, raising his into the air, struck down, so that the hooked part penetrated and held. “Hook him, ‘Bruce!” shouted Bart. “Let’s drag him ashore.” Bruce raised his pole to do so; but at that instant the struggling, writhing fish turned towards them with furious energy, and moving over on its side, it tried to twist Bart’s hook out of its flesh. The water was so shallow that it could not have full exercise of its strength, and Bart held on. The fish, in its struggles, opened its gasping mouth, showing wide rows of sharp, triangular teeth. At that instant Bruce lowered his pole, and drove it straight into the open mouth; forcing it deep into the throat. The monster, in its agony, closed its jaws, and held it with a deathlike tenacity. A cry of triumph burst from Bruce and Bart. “Hurrah, boys! We’ve got him!” they cried. “Pull, Bruce, nearer the shore--into shoaler water.” The water was already too shoal for the fish, which had so carelessly thrown himself into it, and his resistance could not prevent the united energies of Bruce and Bart from dragging him forward a few paces. But that was all. Rousing himself, the monster tossed, and writhed and struggled, and lashed the water into foam. Bruce and Bart could no longer drag him. It was a struggle between them; but the boys had now got their blood up, and they would have been dragged back to the schooner rather than loose their hold. The fish, in its fury or its agony, still kept its teeth closed on Bruce’s pole, and strove to wrench it out of his grasp. His tremendous efforts were prevailing against their united strength, and were dragging them farther out. Bart’s hook had already been thrown off, and he was plunging the pointed iron again and again into the fish’s side. At this instant Arthur came dashing through the foam. Raising his heavy handspike in the air, he poised it for a moment so as to take sure aim, and then, with tremendous force, the weapon descended full on the monster’s head. It was a crushing blow. The struggles and writhings ceased, and changed to feeble motions and occasional convulsive vibrations. It resisted no longer. It was powerless. They dragged it upon the dry ground of the sand-spit, and examined their conquest. The fish was about five feet long, very broad at the head and shoulders, with a very wide mouth, armed with several rows of saw-like teeth. The nose was rounded, and the jaw was underneath. Its back was a dark slate color, and its belly white. “It’s what we call a Shovel-mouth Shark,” said Bruce, as he looked at it, and admired its proportions. “They call it a Dog Fish with us,” said Bart. “It certainly, is a kind of shark,” said Arthur; “and as that sounds better, we’ll call it by that name. Boys, we’ve fought and killed a shovel-mouth shark! Let the ‘B. O. W. C.’ remember that!”