“Look out!” exclaimed Blake, as he saw the bird sentinels fly from the back of the big beast. “What is it?” asked Joe, who was working the camera. “He’ll be coming this way soon if he happens to see us. He’s getting uneasy now that the birds are gone.” Joe, who had been looking at the mechanism of the moving picture machine, glanced over toward the rhino. The huge creature did indeed seem to be getting restless. He stopped feeding and began sniffing the air, at the same time peering about with his little pig-like eyes. The birds were circling about, seemingly in an endeavor to locate the enemy they had sensed. Whether or not they would locate them our heroes did not know. They were fairly well screened amid some bushes, but this would offer no barrier to the rush of the rhinoceros. With the birds gone the rhino knew something was wrong and it began casting about to discover it, either by the sense of smell or his sharp hearing. But the wind carried from him to the boys, consequently he did not get their odor, nor did the slight clicking of the machine carry to him. With a puzzled “woof” and his peculiar whistling grunt the big beast finally moved off into the depths of the jungle, crashing his way through the underbrush. The tick birds followed as if satisfied that their walking restaurant had done the right thing. “There he goes,” said Blake, with a sigh of relief, for they had brought no guns with them and were some distance from the river camp. “Yes, we got some good pictures and without any danger,” observed Joe. “Well, shall we get back?” “Might as well, I guess,” agreed his chum, and they took to the trail again, a deserted elephant path through the fastness of the jungle affording good footing. On their way back they had rather a curious experience. They had often read of the honey bird, but had not yet seen one, and when a little feathered creature began circling about them, uttering a peculiar note and seeming to be urging them to follow, Joe said: “That must be a honey bird, Blake.” “I believe it is. Let’s trace it and see if we can pick out a honey tree. Maybe that story about it is all bosh.” But it was not, as they soon found. The bird flew on ahead of them, perching in one tree after another until it had led them about half a mile. Then, alighting on the limb of a gum tree, it stayed there, calling shrilly. “The bees must be near here,” observed Joe. They looked around and, finally attracted by the buzzing of some insects, they located the bees’ nest in a hollow tree. Building a fire, which they caused to smoke heavily by piling damp leaves on it, they had soon routed most of the bees, and then with a small hatchet they had with them they managed to chop out a portion of good wild honey, some of which they took back to camp with them. “And where does the honey bird come in?” asked Joe.