*XV*
*THE VICIOUS GARRAPATOES*
At once Ken turned back, and if he thought again of the jaguar it wasthat he could come after him the next day or send Pepe. Another viciousbite, this time on his leg, confirmed his suspicions that many of theticks had been on him long enough to get their heads in. Then he wasbitten in several places.
Those bites were as hot as the touch of a live coal, yet they made Kenbreak out in dripping cold sweat. It was imperative that he get back tocamp without losing a moment which could be saved. From a rapid walk hefell into a trot. He got off his back trail and had to hunt for it.Every time a tick bit he jumped as if stung. The worst of it was thathe knew he was collecting more _garrapatoes_ with almost every step.When he grasped a dead branch to push it out of the way he could feelthe ticks cling to his hand. Then he would whip his arm in the air,flinging some of them off to patter on the dry ground. Impossible as itwas to run through that matted jungle, Ken almost accomplished it. Whenhe got out into the open he did run, not even stopping for his coat, andhe crossed the flat at top speed.
It was almost dark when Ken reached the river-bank and dashed down tofrighten a herd of drinking deer. He waded the narrowest part of theshoal. Running up the island he burst into the bright circle ofcamp-fire. Pepe dropped a stew-pan and began to jabber. George dove fora gun.
"What's after you?" shouted Hal, in alarm.
Ken was so choked up and breathless that at first he could not speak.His fierce aspect and actions, as he tore off his sleeveless and raggedshirt and threw it into the fire, added to the boys' fright.
"Good Lord! are you bug-house, Ken?" shrieked Hal.
"_Bug-house! Yes!_" roared Ken, swiftly undressing. "Look at me!"
In the bright glare he showed his arms black with _garrapatoes_ and asprinkling of black dots over the rest of his body.
"Is that all?" demanded Hal, in real or simulated scorn. "Gee! butyou're a brave hunter. I thought not less than six tigers were afteryou."
"I'd rather have six tigers after me," yelled Ken. "You littlefreckle-faced redhead!"
It was seldom indeed that Ken called his brother that name. Hal wasproof against any epithets except that one relating to his freckles andhis hair. But just now Ken felt that he was being eaten alive. He wasin an agony, and he lost his temper. And therefore he laid himself opento Hal's scathing humor.
"Never mind the kid," said Ken to Pepe and George. "Hurry now, and getbusy with these devils on me."
It was well for Ken that he had a native like Pepe with him. For Pepeknew just what to do. First he dashed a bucket of cold water over Ken.How welcome that was!
"Pepe says for you to point out the ticks that 're biting the hardest,"said George.
In spite of his pain Ken stared in mute surprise.
"Pepe wants you to point out the ticks that are digging in the deepest,"explained George. "Get a move on, now."
"What!" roared Ken, glaring at Pepe and George. He thought even thenative might be having fun with him. And for Ken this was not a funnytime.
But Pepe was in dead earnest.
"Say, it's impossible to tell _where_ I'm being bitten most! It's allover!" protested Ken.
Still he discovered that by absolute concentration on the pain he wasenduring he was able to locate the severest points. And that showed himthe soundness of Pepe's advice.
"Here--this one--here--there.... Oh! here," began Ken, indicatingcertain ticks.
"Not so fast, now," interrupted the imperturbable George, as he and Pepeset to work upon Ken.
Then the red-hot cigarette-tips scorched Ken's skin. Ken kept pointingand accompanying his directions with wild gestures and exclamations.
"Here.... Oo-oo! Here.... Wow! Here.... Ouch!--that one stung!Here.... _Augh_! Say, can't you hurry? Here! ... Oh! that one was in amile! Here.... _Hold on_! You're burning a hole in me! ... George,you're having fun out of this. Pepe gets two to your one."
"He's been popping ticks all his life," was George's reasonable protest.
"Hurry!" cried Ken, in desperation. "George, if you monkey round--foolover this job--I'll--I'll punch you good."
All this trying time Hal Ward sat on a log and watched the proceedingswith great interest and humor. Sometimes he smiled, at others helaughed, and yet again he burst out into uproarious mirth.
"George, he wouldn't punch anybody," said Hal. "I tell you he's all in.He hasn't any nerve left. It's a chance of your life. You'll never getanother. He's been bossing you around. Pay him up. Make him holler.Why, what's a few little ticks? Wouldn't phase me! But Ken Ward's sucha delicate, fine-skinned, sensitive, girly kind of a boy! He's too niceto be bitten by bugs. Oh dear, yes, yes! ... Ken, why don't you showcourage?"
Ken shook his fist at Hal.
"All right," said Ken, grimly. "Have all the fun you can. Because I'llget even with you."
Hal relapsed into silence, and Ken began to believe he had intimidatedhis brother. But he soon realized how foolish it was to suppose such athing. Hal had only been working his fertile brain.
"George, here's a little verse for the occasion," said Hal.
"There was a brave hunter named Ken, And he loved to get skins for his den, Not afraid was he of tigers or pigs, Or snakes or cats or any such things, But one day in the jungle he left his clothes, And came hollering back with _garrapatoes_."
"Gre-at-t-t!" sputtered Ken. "Oh, brother mine, we're a long way fromhome, I'll make you crawl."
Pepe smoked, and wore out three cigarettes, and George two, before theyhad popped all the biting ticks. Then Ken was still covered with them.Pepe bathed him in _canya_, which was like a bath of fire, and soonremoved them all. Ken felt flayed alive, peeled of his skin, andsprinkled with fiery sparks. When he lay down he was as weak as a sickcat. Pepe said the _canya_ would very soon take the sting away, but itwas some time before Ken was resting easily.
It would not have been fair to ask Ken just then whether the prize forwhich he worked was worth his present gain. _Garrapatoes_ may not seemimportant to one who simply reads about them, but such pests are aformidable feature of tropical life.
However, Ken presently felt that he was himself again.
Then he put his mind to the serious problem of his note-book and theplotting of the island. As far as his trip was concerned, CypressIsland was an important point. When he had completed his map down to theisland, he went on to his notes. He believed that what he had found outfrom his knowledge of forestry was really worth something. He had seena gradual increase in the size and number of trees as he had proceededdown the river, a difference in the density and color of the jungle, aflattening-out of the mountain range, and a gradual change from rocky toclayey soil. And on the whole his note-book began to assume such acharacter that he was beginning to feel willing to submit it to hisuncle.