Those bites were as hot as the touch of a live coal, yet they made Ken break out in dripping cold sweat. It was imperative that he get back to camp without losing a moment which could be saved. From a rapid walk he fell 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 that he 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 feel the 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 it was to run through that matted jungle, Ken almost accomplished it. When he got out into the open he did run, not even stopping for his coat, and he crossed the flat at top speed. It was almost dark when Ken reached the river-bank and dashed down to frighten a herd of drinking deer. He waded the narrowest part of the shoal. Running up the island he burst into the bright circle of camp-fire. Pepe dropped a stew-pan and began to jabber. George dove for a 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 ragged shirt 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 a sprinkling of black dots over the rest of his body. “Is that all?” demanded Hal, in real or simulated scorn. “Gee! but you’re a brave hunter. I thought not less than six tigers were after you.” “I’d rather have six tigers after me,” yelled Ken. “You little freckle-faced redhead!” It was seldom indeed that Ken called his brother that name. Hal was proof against any epithets except that one relating to his freckles and his hair. But just now Ken felt that he was being eaten alive. He was in an agony, and he lost his temper. And therefore he laid himself open to Hal’s scathing humor. “Never mind the kid,” said Ken to Pepe and George. “Hurry now, and get busy with these devils on me.” It was well for Ken that he had a native like Pepe with him. For Pepe knew 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 the native might be having fun with him. And for Ken this was not a funny time. But Pepe was in dead earnest. “Say, it’s impossible to tell _where_ I’m being bitten most! It’s all over!” protested Ken.