"What are you trying to do to me?" indignantly demanded Chunky.
"Too much saw-mill noise—no good," declared the Indian. "Make that noise again, then me show you something Indians do to stop noise."
Stolidly Charlie John departed from the tent, but there was nothing stolid about the fat boy's quivering rage.
"If Mr. Copper Face can't let me alone, I'll make him wish he had," growled Stacy, shaking angry fists at the retreating Indian. In his rummaging about the camp young Brown had discovered a ten-ounce bottle of anise-seed oil, and as Chunky now gazed at this bottle the light of new mischief began to dawn in his eyes. Charlie John would have done well to watch him.
"Heap big fun!" muttered the fat boy, choking down too visible evidences of glee. "I'll scatter this around the camp and bring a million-billion bees here. Then I'll hide in my tent, and, as the bees won't know where to find me, they'll devote all their time to Charlie. When he gets it too bad I'll holler to him to come into the tent and hear me snore. Wow!"
In a short time, while the Indian was at a little distance, Stacy had sprinkled considerable of the oil on the ground. Charlie John, returning, sniffed suspiciously, but Chunky had the bottle out of sight. Charlie, however, had a keen nose, so he watched in silence.
Stacy's innocent face betrayed nothing, and the boy kept on sprinkling a ring of oil clear around the camp. He was chuckling to himself all the time, congratulating himself on the happy idea that had come to him with the finding of the anise oil. Stacy was confident that he was going to have the time of his life.
In this the fat boy was right, though he did not realize fully to just what that fun would lead. Had he realized, no doubt he would have replaced the stopper in the oil bottle without the loss of a second.
The buzzing of a bee recalled him to the peril of his position. The buzz was very businesslike, too. Stacy made a vicious strike at the sound, then dived for the protection of his tent. Reaching that, he jerked the flap shut and peered out, red-faced, big-eyed. Charlie John, who had been bending over a garbage hole that he had just dug, suddenly leaped straight up into the air, clapping a hand to the back of his neck. A busy bee had momentarily alighted there, and, before leaving, the bee had pricked the tough hide of the half-breed.
Ere Charlie had recovered from his surprise he got another sting. Stacy was about to yell again, but catching a glimpse of the Indian's face, convulsed with anger, Stacy quickly withdrew into the tent, prudently closing the flap and tying it on the inside. The boy then sat down and, with arms clasped about his knees, rocked back and forth, fairly choking with laughter. He could hear the Indian thrashing about on the outside. The sound was sweet music to the ears of the fat boy. Then a new sound was heard. It was a yell, and the yell was pitched in a new key. Stacy stepped out to see what was going on, then he, too, uttered a yell, louder and more piercing than that of the Indian.