The Boy Scouts First Camp Fire | Page 6

charge of the troop, and assume all his duties; "here,
fellows, bring him along back to the spring. I've got something in my
haversack the doctor gave me, that ought to help Bumpus."
"Was it meant for ant bites, Thad, do you know?" asked the victim, as
he allowed his comrades to urge him along slowly; while he rubbed,
first one part of his person, and then another, as the various swellings

stung in succession.
"Well, he really said it was to be used in case any of us got scratched
by a wild animal, and there was danger of poisoning; but it strikes me it
would be a good antiseptic, he called it, in this case."
Having reached the spot where Bob White still faithfully stood guard
over their few belongings, Thad hurriedly threw open his bundle, and
took out a little package carefully wrapped up. It contained rolls of soft
white linen to be used for bandages in case of need; adhesive plaster,
also in small rolls; and a few common remedies such as camphor,
arnica, and the like, intended for ailments boys may invite when
overeating, or partaking too freely of green apples.
"Here it is," he remarked, holding up a small bottle.
"How purple it looks," observed Davy Jones, curiously; "and what's
this on the label, here. 'Permaganate of Potash, No. 6; to be painted on
the scratch; and used several times if necessary.' That's Doc. Philander's
writing, sure."
"It looks pretty tough," commented Giraffe.
"The remedy is sometimes worse than the disease, they say," remarked
Smithy.
"You don't think it'll hurt much, do you, Thad?" asked the victim,
trying to smile, but unable, on account of his swollen cheeks.
"Not a bit, I understand," came the reassuring reply. "Besides, I should
think that you wouldn't hold back, even if it did, Bumpus. You're in a
bad way, and I've just got to counteract that poison before your eyes
close up."
"Go on, use the whole bottle if you want to," urged the alarmed boy.
"The only bad thing about it is that this stuff stains like fun, and you'll
be apt to look like a wild Indian for a day or two," Thad observed, as he

started to apply the potash with a small camel's hair brush brought for
the purpose.
"Little I care about that, so long as it does the business," replied
Bumpus; and so the amateur doctor continued to dab each bite with the
lavender-colored fluid until the patient looked as though he might be
some strange freak intended for a dime museum.
Of course that was too much for the other boys. They snickered behind
their hands, and presently broke out into a yell that awoke the echoes.
Bumpus only nodded his head at them, for he was a very good-natured
fellow.
"Laugh away and welcome, boys," he remarked, grimly. "Feels better
already, Thad, and if the stuff will only do the business I don't care
what happens. Besides, the fellows must have their fun. But they
wouldn't think it a joke if any of them had climbed up, looking for a
honey pot, and dropped through the rotten stuff that covered the hole in
the top of that stump."
"Well," said Step-hen, "if it had been our monkey, now. He'd have had
a great time climbing out; but Davy could have done it; he's more at
home in a tree than on the ground."
He said this because the Jones boy was as nimble as an ape when he
found an opportunity to show off his gymnastics; he dearly loved to
hang from a limb by his toes, and carry on like a circus athlete or
trapeze performer.
"Do we make a start now?" asked Bob White; "exactly fifteen minutes
spent, suh, in rescuing our comrade in distress."
"Are you able to walk with us, Bumpus?" asked Thad.
"Oh! I guess I can amble along somehow," responded the fat boy; "but
please detail a couple of scouts to keep near me, in case I begin to swell
again. I'm sorry we haven't got a rope along; because I'd feel safer if I
had one wrapped around me right now."

"Where's my campaign hat?" burst out Step-hen just then; "anybody
seen it layin' around loose? I declare to goodness it's queer how my
things always seem to disappear. I often think there must be some
magic about it."
"Huh! the only trouble is you never keep a blessed thing where it
belongs," declared Davy, in scorn. "Now, there's Smithy, who goes to
just the opposite extreme; he's too particular, and wastes time, which a
true scout should never do. The rest of us try to be half-way decent; and
you notice we seldom lose anything. There's your old hat right now,
just where you