He kept watching the jungle back of the camp as if he expected it to blow up like a powder-mine. But this Tamaulipas jungle was not Penetier Forest. A cloud of smoke rolled up; there was a frequent roaring of dry palms; but the green growths did not burn. It was not much of a forest-fire, and Ken concluded that it would soon burn out. So he took advantage of the waning daylight to spread out his map and plot in the day’s travel. This time Hal watched him with a quiet attention that was both flattering and stimulating; and at the conclusion of the task he said: “Well, Ken, we’re having sport, but we’re doing something more--something worth while.” *XXI* *THE LEAPING TARPON* Just before dark, when the boys were at supper, a swarm of black mosquitoes swooped down upon camp. Pepe could not have shown more fear at angry snakes, and he began to pile green wood and leaves on the fire to make a heavy smoke. These mosquitoes were very large, black-bodied, with white-barred wings. Their bite was as painful as the sting of a bee. After threshing about until tired out the boys went to bed. But it was only to get up again, for the mosquitoes could bite through two thicknesses of blanket. For a wonder every one was quiet. Even George did not grumble. The only thing to do was to sit or stand in the smoke of the campfire. The boys wore their gloves and wrapped blankets round heads and shoulders. They crouched over the fire until tired of that position, then stood up till they could stand no longer. It was a wretched, sleepless night with the bloodthirsty mosquitoes humming about like a swarm of bees. They did not go away until dawn. “That’s what I get for losing the mosquito-netting,” said Ken, wearily. Breakfast was not a cheerful meal, despite the fact that the boys all tried to brace up. George’s condition showed Ken the necessity for renewed efforts to get out of the jungle. Pepe appeared heavy and slow, and, what was more alarming, he had lost his appetite. Hal was cross, but seemed to keep well. It was hard enough for Ken to persuade George and Pepe to take the bitter doses of quinine, and Hal positively refused. “It makes me sick, I tell you,” said Hal, impatiently. “But Hal, you ought to be guided by my judgment now,” replied Ken, gently. “I don’t care. I’ve had enough of bitter pills.” “I ask you--as a favor?” persisted Ken, quietly. “No!” “Well, then, I’ll have to make you take them.” “Wha-at?” roared Hal. “If necessary, I’ll throw you down and pry open your mouth and get Pepe to stuff these pills down your throat. There!” went on Ken, and now he did not recognize his own voice. Hal looked quickly at his brother, and was amazed and all at once shaken. “Why, Ken--” he faltered.