"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.
It would not have been fair to ask Ken just then whether the prize for which he worked was worth his present gain. Garrapatoes may not seem important to one who simply reads about them, but such pests are a formidable feature of tropical life.
However, Ken presently felt that he was himself again.
Then he put his mind to the serious problem of his note-book and the plotting of the island. As far as his trip was concerned, Cypress Island was an important point. When he had completed his map down to the island, he went on to his notes. He believed that what he had found out from his knowledge of forestry was really worth something. He had seen a gradual increase in the size and number of trees as he had proceeded down the river, a difference in the density and color of the jungle, a flattening-out of the mountain range, and a gradual change from rocky to clayey soil. And on the whole his note-book began to assume such a character that he was beginning to feel willing to submit it to his uncle.
XVI
FIELD WORK OF A NATURALIST
That night Ken talked natural history to the boys and read extracts from a small copy of Sclater he had brought with him.
They were all particularly interested in the cat tribe.