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Authors: Willard Price
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mementoes of his bout with the army ants, again proved to be an appetizing morsel. Some people are possessed of a chemical composition that attracts hungry creatures. Roger unfortunately belonged in this group.
They had not been in their hammocks more than an hour when Roger woke. He could not tell what had wakened him. There was a slight pain in the big toe of his right foot. He put his hand on it and felt something wet.
He turned on his flashlight. His hand was smeared with blood, and so was the toe. The blood continued to pour out of a hole about an eighth of an inch in diameter that was as neatly bored as if it had been made with a gimlet.
‘Hey! Ym being eaten alive,’ he yelled.
Hal woke from a dream that cannibals were making a meal of his younger brother. He was a little disgusted when he saw the hole.
‘You probably cut your foot on a thorn.’
‘Don’t be a dope. There are no thorns here. Besides, why does it keep on bleeding?’
Dad spoke from his hammock. ‘Listen!’
Somewhere above was a canopy of beating wings, hundreds of them.
Suddenly Hal remembered the bats of the caverns.
‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is too good to be true.’
‘What’s good about it?’ retorted Roger, sopping blood with his handkerchief.
They must be vampire bats. The London Zoo will pay two thousand dollars for one.’
‘I must see that,’ said dad, struggling to get out of his hammock.
‘Stay where you are. I’ll bring it to you,’ and Hal took hold of the pedal specimen and nearly dragged Roger out of his hammock in order to show dad the punctured foot.
‘What am I, a guinea pig?’ wailed Roger, but no one was paying much attention to his complaints.
Think of it, dad,’ Hal cried. ‘If we could only get one! You remember what Dr Ditmars told us— the one he got was the first ever exhibited in the Bronx Zoo. And it died after only a few months. And the London Zoo has never had one.’
‘Bandage his toe until it stops bleeding,’ dad said, Then put on iodine. You’ll live,’ he assured Roger.
‘But how are we going to catch one?’ wondered Hal. ‘Of course we could wait until one bites Roger again and then grab it.’
Roger glared at his brother. ‘Be your own guinea pig,’ he snapped. And when his toe was bandaged he covered himself completely with his blanket, face and feet included. ‘Now let the ugly little beasts try to get at me.’
If it was a dare, it was soon taken up. The camp was quiet only a few minutes before there was another yelp from Roger.
The boy had forgotten to put the blanket under him as well as over. An exploring bat had discovered a slight rip in the seat of his trousers and had bitten him through the meshes of the hammock. But, again, the visitor had escaped.
Despairing of making a meal on Roger, the greedy little monsters were turning their attention to dad and Hal. Dad had already had a caller. Before it could make an incision he grabbed at it, but it was off and away before his fingers closed.
Hal got a small hand net from the kit.
‘Now I’m going to set a trap for them.’
‘What will you use for bait?’
‘Me,’ laughed Hal, a little uneasily. ‘If William Beebe could do it, I can.’
Beebe, the well-known naturalist, had deliberately exposed his arm and waited for a vampire to bite him. The creature landed lightly and began to make an opening. Beebe’s imagination played tricks with him and he thought he felt blood flowing. He tried to seize the bat but it eluded him. Examining the arm, he found that he had interrupted the bat too soon — only a slight scratch had been made and there was no blood.
Hal determined that he was going to stick it out, no matter how it felt. The methods of the vampire bat had always been a dark mystery that was only now beginning to be cleared up by such men as Ditmars and Beebe.
The vampire had always been called a ‘bloodsucking bat’. Ditmars had proved that it does not suck blood, but laps it up as a
They had not been in their hammocks more than an hour when Roger woke. He could not tell what had wakened him. There was a slight pain in the big toe of his right foot. He put his hand on it and felt something wet.
He turned on his flashlight. His hand was smeared with blood, and so was the toe. The blood continued to pour out of a hole about an eighth of an inch in diameter that was as neatly bored as if it had been made with a gimlet.
‘Hey! Ym being eaten alive,’ he yelled.
Hal woke from a dream that cannibals were making a meal of his younger brother. He was a little disgusted when he saw the hole.
‘You probably cut your foot on a thorn.’
‘Don’t be a dope. There are no thorns here. Besides, why does it keep on bleeding?’
Dad spoke from his hammock. ‘Listen!’
Somewhere above was a canopy of beating wings, hundreds of them.
Suddenly Hal remembered the bats of the caverns.
‘Oh, no!’ he exclaimed. ‘This is too good to be true.’
‘What’s good about it?’ retorted Roger, sopping blood with his handkerchief.
They must be vampire bats. The London Zoo will pay two thousand dollars for one.’
‘I must see that,’ said dad, struggling to get out of his hammock.
‘Stay where you are. I’ll bring it to you,’ and Hal took hold of the pedal specimen and nearly dragged Roger out of his hammock in order to show dad the punctured foot.
‘What am I, a guinea pig?’ wailed Roger, but no one was paying much attention to his complaints.
Think of it, dad,’ Hal cried. ‘If we could only get one! You remember what Dr Ditmars told us— the one he got was the first ever exhibited in the Bronx Zoo. And it died after only a few months. And the London Zoo has never had one.’
‘Bandage his toe until it stops bleeding,’ dad said, Then put on iodine. You’ll live,’ he assured Roger.
‘But how are we going to catch one?’ wondered Hal. ‘Of course we could wait until one bites Roger again and then grab it.’
Roger glared at his brother. ‘Be your own guinea pig,’ he snapped. And when his toe was bandaged he covered himself completely with his blanket, face and feet included. ‘Now let the ugly little beasts try to get at me.’
If it was a dare, it was soon taken up. The camp was quiet only a few minutes before there was another yelp from Roger.
The boy had forgotten to put the blanket under him as well as over. An exploring bat had discovered a slight rip in the seat of his trousers and had bitten him through the meshes of the hammock. But, again, the visitor had escaped.
Despairing of making a meal on Roger, the greedy little monsters were turning their attention to dad and Hal. Dad had already had a caller. Before it could make an incision he grabbed at it, but it was off and away before his fingers closed.
Hal got a small hand net from the kit.
‘Now I’m going to set a trap for them.’
‘What will you use for bait?’
‘Me,’ laughed Hal, a little uneasily. ‘If William Beebe could do it, I can.’
Beebe, the well-known naturalist, had deliberately exposed his arm and waited for a vampire to bite him. The creature landed lightly and began to make an opening. Beebe’s imagination played tricks with him and he thought he felt blood flowing. He tried to seize the bat but it eluded him. Examining the arm, he found that he had interrupted the bat too soon — only a slight scratch had been made and there was no blood.
Hal determined that he was going to stick it out, no matter how it felt. The methods of the vampire bat had always been a dark mystery that was only now beginning to be cleared up by such men as Ditmars and Beebe.
The vampire had always been called a ‘bloodsucking bat’. Ditmars had proved that it does not suck blood, but laps it up as a
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