of honey might be found. There was nothing there. Tad had turned his attention to the tree that Chunky tried to climb. About twenty-five feet up he had made out a broad crotch, and as a ray of light from the rising sun shot across the crotch the boy thought he saw some bees dart out. At least he was sure he had seen several dark streaks cross the bar of light.

"I think they are up this tree, Mr. Vaughn. Shall I try it?"

"No, you may get stung and fall down. I will be there in a minute."

The guide descended much faster than he had gone up. Reaching the ground, he eyed the tree critically, then shinned up it with somewhat more speed than he had climbed in the first instance.

"This is the bee tree," he called down before he got to the crotch. Cale then hastily got down, covered his face with a head protector of netting, put on his gloves, then went up again. No sooner had he reached the crotch than a black swarm enveloped his head and body. The infuriated bees were attacking him from all sides.

"Anything there?" called Tad.

"I should say there is! I won't take it all."

"How are you going to get the honey down?" asked Ned.

"I will pass it down to you. I have a long rope with me."

Wrapping several combs of honey in a second piece of netting, which he fastened to the end of his rope, the guide lowered it to the waiting hands of the Pony Rider Boys. It was a sticky mess. Stacy Brown was so full of anticipation that he forgot his stings for the moment, and his were the first hands to reach the bundle. As he grasped it, Stacy uttered a piercing scream and clapped both hands to his eyes. His head was covered with the angry bees, and they were peppering every exposed part of his face.

"Oh, wow!" howled the fat boy, starting away on a run. He fell over a log and went rolling and groveling in the brush and dead leaves.

"Have you anything that will help him, Professor?" asked Tad. "I guess he has been pretty badly stung."

"Yes, there's some ammonia in my kit at the camp. I'll take him back."

"Let me do it, Professor," offered Ned.

"Very good."

Ned hastened to the suffering Chunky and, assisting him up, led the boy back to the camp. Ned found the ammonia, but by this time the fat boy's eyes were swollen almost shut. In applying the ammonia, Rector accidentally held the mouth of the bottle under the patient's nose. Chunky took a deep breath. The fat boy's howls called the others to camp on the run.

"He—he did it on purpose," wailed Stacy as they came running to the scene demanding to know what fresh disaster had befallen Chunky.

"I didn't do it on purpose," protested Ned indignantly. "I was trying to help him. It isn't my fault that he took a smell of the stuff. I was nearly strangled by it myself. That is what I get for trying to be a good fellow. You doctor yourself."

"Let me attend to him," said the Professor, getting down on his knees to examine the swollen face. "You did get stung, didn't you?"

"Strange none of the rest of us was stung," wondered Walter.

"They must have known that Chunky was the easy mark," grinned Ned. "But I am sorry for you, Chunky. I would rather have been stung myself."

"I wish you had been," moaned the fat boy. "It would have served you right."

"That will do," rebuked the Professor.

"Did you get any honey?" stammered the suffering Chunky.

"About twenty-five pounds of it," answered Vaughn triumphantly, coming up at this juncture, bearing his prize into camp.

"Give me some of it!" cried Stacy.

"Yes, give the poor child a taste," begged Ned. "It may lead him to forget his troubles, and incidentally give us a rest from his howls."

A liberal chunk was broken off and handed to Stacy, who sat up instantly and began munching it contentedly, peering out through the narrow slits between lids that were swollen almost shut.

"Be careful," warned Tad. "There may be a bee in the comb."

"I'll eat it if there is," mumbled Stacy. "It's good."

"We can see that," grinned Ned.

After making away with this piece, Stacy demanded more. To keep him quiet they gave the fat boy another chunk. Breakfast was about ready to serve when Stacy again woke the echoes with his howls. This time there was a new note in his tone. Instead of holding his hands to his face, Stacy was holding his stomach, groaning dismally, moaning and rolling over and over.

"For goodness' sake, what is the matter with that boy now?" demanded Walter.

"He is crying for more honey," scoffed Ned.

"Fat boy git pain under belt," volunteered Charlie John.

The boys looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"I was waiting for that," nodded Cale.

"For what?" questioned Tad.

"For the report. Any fellow who can eat a pound of rich honey before breakfast is entitled to have a stomach ache a yard wide. Give him a cup of hot coffee."

"Wait, I will fix him up," said the Professor.

In a moment he was forcing a draught between the unwilling lips of the fat boy. It was a hot dose, too, and it brought fresh moans from Stacy, but it had its effect, and in a few minutes Stacy was able to sit up and take interest in the breakfast that was now being served.

"Give—give me some honey," begged Chunky.

"I think you have had enough for the present," warned Vaughn.

"I want some honey," insisted the fat boy.

"No more honey today," answered the Professor incisively. "Stacy, what are we going to do with you?"

"Give me honey."

"We can't be bothered with you in this way. You will have to exercise better judgment, or I shall be forced to send you home. We are out for an enjoyable trip, not to carry along an indiscreet young man like yourself," warned Professor Zepplin.

"I—I can't help it if I get stung, can I?" muttered Chunky.