Still he discovered that by absolute concentration on the pain he was enduring he was able to locate the severest points. And that showed him the soundness of Pepe’s advice. “Here--this one--here--there.... Oh! here,” began Ken, indicating certain ticks. “Not so fast, now,” interrupted the imperturbable George, as he and Pepe set to work upon Ken. Then the red-hot cigarette-tips scorched Ken’s skin. Ken kept pointing and 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 a mile! 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--fool over this job--I’ll--I’ll punch you good.” All this trying time Hal Ward sat on a log and watched the proceedings with great interest and humor. Sometimes he smiled, at others he laughed, 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 get another. 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 such a delicate, fine-skinned, sensitive, girly kind of a boy! He’s too nice to be bitten by bugs. Oh dear, yes, yes! ... Ken, why don’t you show courage?” Ken shook his fist at Hal. “All right,” said Ken, grimly. “Have all the fun you can. Because I’ll get even with you.” Hal relapsed into silence, and Ken began to believe he had intimidated his brother. But he soon realized how foolish it was to suppose such a thing. 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 from home, I’ll make you crawl.” Pepe smoked, and wore out three cigarettes, and George two, before they had 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 soon removed them all. Ken felt flayed alive, peeled of his skin, and sprinkled with fiery sparks. When he lay down he was as weak as a sick cat. Pepe said the _canya_ would very soon take the sting away, but it was some time before Ken was resting easily.