Then, finding itself held by a forepaw, it turned with gaping, hissing jaws, and sprang on the foe that struggled in bottom of the water.
The snapper has the bulldog habit to seize and hold till the piece tears out.

In the muddy water it had to seize in the dark, and fending first the left arm of its foe, fastened on with fierce beak and desperate strength.

At this moment Quonab recovered his tomahawk; rising into the air he dragged up the hanging snapper, and swung the weapon with all the force of his free arm.

The blow sank through the monster's shell, deep into its back, without any visible effect, except to rob the Indian of his weapon as he could not draw it out.
Then Rolf rushed into the water to help.

But Quonab gasped, "No, no, go back--I'm alone." The creature's jaws were locked on his arm, but its front claws, tearing downward and outward, were demolishing the coat that had protected it, and long lines of mingled blood were floating on the waves.
After a desperate plunge toward shallow water, Quonab gave another wrench to the tomahawk--it moved, loosed; another, and it was free.
Then "chop, chop, chop," and that long, serpentine neck was severed; the body, waving its great scaly legs and lashing its alligator tail, went swimming downward, but the huge head, blinking its bleary, red eyes and streaming with blood, was clinched on his arm.