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."