Then it was seen that Jim Havens' head was surrounded by a dancing cloud of insects.
"Get some pine-knots," yelled the fugitive, slapping wildly at his tormentors. "Ouch! Stir yourselves—beat 'em off—help!"
"Bees!" cried Dave. "Bugville to the front."
All signs of laziness instantly disappeared. He jumped nimbly to his feet, and rushed, with the others, to the fire, where several half-consumed sticks were smouldering.
Havens arrived in their midst. So did the bees. They acted with charming impartiality.
Dick Travers slapped his cheek. "I'm stung first!" he yelled. "Ouch—wow—great Cæsar!"
"Welcome to the honor," said Dave. "Thunderation! Oh—oh! By the flying partridge, that hurts!"
Smoking sticks began to describe half circles and other curves in the air. The boys danced wildly, and hit right and left, up and down, all the while uttering exclamations, as numerous sharp stings were received from the angry insects.
"Take that—and that!" panted Dave. "You will tackle my painting hand, eh?"
"Give it to them!" yelled Bob.