They pulled the
boat up until it grounded, and then White began hurriedly to fill the
water barrel, while Cabot waded a short distance up stream to see if he
could discover any trout. All at once he stopped, looked bewildered,
and then started back on a run. At the same time he slapped vigorously
at his bare legs, brushed his face, waved his arms, and uttered
exclamations of frantic dismay. The air about him had been suddenly
blackened by an incredible swarm of insects that issued in dense clouds
from the low growth bordering the stream, and attacked the unfortunate
youth with the fury of starvation.
"What's the matter?" inquired White innocently, as his companion rushed
past him towards the open.
"Matter!" retorted the other. "I'm on fire with the bites of these
infernal things, and we want to get out of here in a hurry or they'll
sting us to death."
"Oh, pshaw!" laughed White, though he also was suffering greatly.
"You've only struck a few ordinary Labrador mosquitoes and black flies."
"Mosquitoes and black flies!" cried Cabot. "Hornets and red-hot coals,
you'd better say. How can you stand them? Your skin must be thicker
than sole leather."
"I can't very well," admitted White, "but this cask has got to be
filled, and the sooner we do it the quicker we can get away. Break off
a couple of leafy branches to fight with and then keep 'em off both of
us as well as you can.
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