THE BEE TREE
SOME of the more impetuous among the settlers began immediately to draw
back the hammers of their muskets; and one man even threw his gun to
his shoulder, as if eager to be the first to fire at the Indians.
But David Armstrong immediately pushed against him, so that his purpose
was frustrated.
"What would you do, hothead?" demanded Mr. Armstrong. "They are so far
away that your ammunition would only be wasted. Look again, and you
will see that there are only four in all. Besides, they have their
hands raised in the air, with the palms extended toward us. That means
they would talk. It is the same as if they carried a white flag in
token of amity. Let no one fire a shot."
"But at the same time be on your guard against the treacherous hounds,
men!" called out Captain Brady, himself the most inveterate hater
of Indians in the entire colony, and never willing to trust one who
carried a copper-colored skin.
Slowly the four red men advanced, continuing to hold up their hands.
Evidently they wondered at seeing so great a number of armed whites
clustered before the stockade. And the clanging of the bell must have
bewildered them, since possibly it was the very first time such a sound
had ever been heard by any of the quartette.
"We should not allow them to come too near," one man suggested,
cautiously.
"True," called out Brady. "And an equal number of our men should
advance to meet them. Armstrong, do you and Reuben, together with
Brewster and Lane, step out. We will cover you with our guns. They have
laid their bows and tomahawks down on the ground; but look out for
treachery. Should you hear me shout, drop down on your faces, for we
will sweep them out of existence with one volley!"
The two boys watched the little squad meet the four Indians, and enter
into a powwow with them. Much of the conversation had to be carried
on through gesture, since only old Reuben could understand the Indian
tongue. But it was evident that the newcomers meant to be friendly, and
were not the advance couriers of a band bent on burning the post.
Presently David beckoned to Captain Brady, and, as the other
approached, he observed:
"They do not mean us any harm. On the contrary this young chief, who
says his name is Black Beaver, wishes to trade some skins he has for
tobacco. They have been south in Kentucky attending a grand council,
and are on the way home to their village. He also wished to secure a
small amount of meal if we can spare it. And, Captain, since we wish
peace with all the tribes, I have promised to obtain these things for
him."
When they heard this the men set up a shout, such was the great relief
they experienced after the recent scare. Still, the cautious Brady
warned them against being too positive.
"How do we know whether they are deceiving us?" he said, coldly; for he
could not bear to be friendly with any Indian. "Perhaps they are even
now carrying the scalps of our neighbors, the Bancrofts?"
"Not so, Captain, you wrong them," said David, hastily; "for yonder
come those you mention, and apparently none the worse for their delay
in starting."
After that there was no reasonable excuse for prolonging the matter;
and so by degrees the settlers made their way back to their various
homes. The Indians were treated well, and sent on their way with a
supply of tobacco and a measure of meal, which latter David Armstrong
himself supplied.
But little work was done the balance of that day. The result of the
fright occasioned by this, the very first ringing of the alarm bell,
made every one more or less nervous. Mrs. Armstrong would not even hear
of the two boys starting out to hunt in the afternoon, as they had
planned.
"We'd better put it off till to-morrow, Sandy," remarked Bob, when he
saw how the recent excitement had affected his mother's nerves.
"I suppose so," replied the younger lad, with regret in his voice.
"But I had just set my heart on trying to find that bee tree. We saw
the little fellows working in Kate's flower garden, and flying off
with their honey. Just think what a fine thing it would be, Bob, if we
could learn where their storehouse is, and cut down the tree! Wouldn't
mother's eyes just dance to see the piles of combs full of sweetness,
perhaps enough for the whole winter?"
"That's a fact," admitted Bob, his own eyes shining with eagerness as
Sandy thus painted such a pleasant picture. "But it will keep, I guess,
till to-morrow. We ought to get done with our task early in the day,
and then for the woods. You know there is not a great stock of meat
handy, except that jerked venison that neither of us like very well.
I'd enjoy something like a saddle of fresh venison myself."
And so the more impulsive brother found himself compelled to bow to
circumstances, always a difficult task with Sandy.
During the afternoon the young pioneers busied themselves in various
ways, for there were always plenty of things to be done--water to be
carried from the spring, wood for the fire to be cut and hauled close
to the door, some of the first pelts which the boys had taken in their
rusty traps to be attended to in the curing; the garden to be weeded;
and so it went on until the descending sun gave warning that another
night was close at hand.
Sandy had taken an hour off to go fishing in the near-by river.
As usual he brought back enough of the finny prizes to afford the
Armstrong family a bountiful meal that night. From woods and waters
they were accustomed to take daily toll, as their needs arose; nor was
there likely to be any scarcity of food so long as hostile Indians gave
the new settlement a wide berth.
Bob came upon his brother as he was returning to the cabin with a
bucket of water. Sandy was almost through cleaning his fish, and the
older boy naturally stopped a minute to comment on their fine size.
"I was just thinking, Bob," remarked the worker, with a shake of his
head, "that perhaps we might see those same Indians again some fine
day."
"What makes you say that?" asked the older lad, quickly; for he knew
that Sandy must have something on his mind to speak in this strain.
"I think I feel a little like Captain Brady does about Indians," Sandy
replied, "and that they are treacherous. Somehow, I just can't trust
them, and that's the truth of it."
"Oh! but how about Blue Jacket? Didn't he prove that he was a true
friend to us?" demanded Bob.
The young Indian to whom he referred was a Shawanee brave who had been
wounded in the fight the settlers had had just before arriving at the
river. The boys had found him desperately hurt, and had cared for him,
even saving his life when the irate Captain Brady wanted to have the
"varment" killed as he would a snake.
In return Blue Jacket had assisted in the rescue of the Armstrong boys
who had fallen into the hands of the Indians.
"That's true, Bob," responded Sandy, readily enough. "Blue Jacket is
our friend, but he's the only wearer of a red skin that I would trust.
Now, of course, you're wondering what ails me. I'll tell you. I didn't
like the way that young Delaware chief looked at our pretty little
sister, Kate!"
"What's that you are saying?" demanded Bob, frowning.
"I saw him, if you didn't," continued Sandy, stubbornly. "He kept
looking at her every little while even as he talked; for, you know,
some of the women and girls came out of the stockade to look at the
Indians. I tell you plainly that my finger just itched to touch the
trigger of my gun when I saw him staring at Kate like that."
"But--he walked over here with us to get the measure of meal father
promised to give him, without accepting any pay?" Bob went on, as if
hardly able to credit the grave thing his brother was hinting at.
"Yes, and I kept just behind him all the time," Sandy went on, "with my
gun in my hands. I think he noticed me after a while, for he stopped
looking. But I wouldn't trust that heathen further than I could see
him."
"Well, they have gone away," said Bob, as though that settled it.
"How do you know that?" questioned Sandy.
"Secretly, acting under orders from Captain Brady, old Reuben followed
them for three miles, keeping himself hidden all the while. He reported
that they had surely kept straight on, secured a canoe just where they
said they had hidden one, and paddled across the river, landing on the
other shore, and disappearing in the forest."
"But Black Beaver plans to come back some day," Sandy continued, as he
arose; "I could see it in his eyes. And I mean to warn mother, so that
she can keep Kate from wandering away from home so much. If ever I see
that Delaware chief sneaking around here it will be a bad day for him."
"We called them Delawares, but old Reuben says now he made a mistake,
and that they belong to the Iroquois. He told me that Black Beaver was
a chief among the Senecas, and that his home was far away toward the
Great Lakes."
"That may be so," remarked the unconvinced Sandy, starting toward the
cabin, for evening was not far away, and he already inwardly felt
clamorous demands for the appetizing supper that would soon be on the
fire. "But even if he lives hundreds of miles away he can come back,
can't he? He has made the journey once, why not again?"
Bob knew that, when once his brother got an idea into his head,
argument was next to useless; so he wisely let the matter drop. He
himself was not altogether convinced that they had seen the last of the
proud young chief, though he hardly anticipated that it would be Kate's
pretty face that might draw Black Beaver south again.
Many of the settlers passed an uneasy night; but there was no alarm.
Talking the matter over among themselves, some of the men had arrived
at the conviction that these representatives of the Iroquois may have
been attending one of those great meetings which were being engineered
by the Pottawottomi sachem, Pontiac, looking toward a combination of
most of the various tribes, by means of which the French in the far
North would be assisted, and the English settlements through Ohio,
Kentucky, and along the Great Lakes be wiped out.
If this were indeed the truth, then Black Beaver had professed a
friendship that he really did not feel, since he must have been forming
some league with the warlike and merciless Shawanees, under such
leaders as the detested renegade, Simon Girty, of whose cruel deeds
history has told.
When the morning finally arrived without any sign of trouble, even
gentle Mary Armstrong seemed to have recovered from her nervousness.
She assented to the wish of the boys to go forth, and see what they
could do in the way of securing fresh food. Before leaving, Sandy
cautioned his mother about Kate, for he could not forget the covetous
looks which the painted young chief had cast toward his pretty little
sister, child though she was, being not more than twelve years of age.
"Be sure and fetch an ax along, Sandy," said Bob, just as they were
ready to start forth, with guns fastened over their shoulders by means
of straps. "But, if you can help it, don't let mother see you. She
would think it strange that we carried such a thing on a little hunt
for a deer."
"But what if we succeed in locating the bee tree, and cut it down; how
are we to carry the honey home?" asked Sandy.
"Time enough for that when we have won out," replied Bob, with a laugh.
"Besides, I don't think we'll be more than a quarter, or at most a
third of a mile away from home, unless the little insects are hunting
at a longer distance than they generally do, as Pat O'Mara told me."
"Have you got the sugar and everything along?" questioned Sandy.
"Of course. I'd be a pretty chap to go off unprepared, wouldn't I? Now,
watch your chance, and sneak the ax off. We'll surely need it to chop
the tree down,--if we find it," Bob concluded.
But his sanguine brother never doubted in the least that success was
bound to attend their efforts. He went into everything he did with the
same enthusiasm and confidence.
Ten minutes later the boys were in an open glade not a great distance
away from the Armstrong cabin. Here flowers grew in profusion, even
at this late day in the season; and Kate was in the habit of coming
out to pick great bunches of the pretty posies, for she loved to see
them around the humble cabin, brightening things with their color, and
sweetening the atmosphere with their perfume.
Even in those days the methods of bee hunters did not differ very much
from those which are in vogue in the woods to-day. The Irish trapper
had posted the Armstrong boys as to the way in which a bee tree could
be discovered, once busy little workers were found loading up with
honey in the flowers or blossoms.
First of all the boys hunted until they discovered where some of the
wild bees were busily engaged. Honey was not so plentiful at this
particular season of the year; and, when Bob made a little sirup out
of some yellow sugar he had been wise enough to fetch along, a bee was
quickly attracted to the feast.
When he had loaded himself down with the spoils, and was preparing to
fly away, Bob dextrously caught the little fellow. Taking care not to
be stung he succeeded in attaching a long white thread to the bee's
body, in such a way that it would not interfere with his flying, yet
could be seen for quite a distance.
Then the captive was released. As is universally the case, the bee
arose in the air, and made a straight fly for the hive! That is where
the phrase "a bee-line" originated.
"Watch him now, Sandy!" called Bob, as he liberated the prisoner.
"All right," answered his brother, eagerly. "I can see him still; and
how he does spin along. There, he has disappeared now, right beyond
that big poplar yonder. Do we go there next time, Bob?"
"Yes," came the reply; "that gives us a start, and will bring us just
so much nearer the hive. Then we must catch another bee, and repeat the
job. And, as we may not find as many of them, once we enter the woods,
we will put several in this little bottle I've brought along with me."
This was easily accomplished; after which they walked over to where
they had obtained the very last glimpse of the laden worker.
"We've got the line now," remarked Bob; "and can even go further into
the woods, keeping on a straight road. But, for fear that we may
overshoot the mark, suppose we make another trial right here."
"Just as you say, Bob," returned Sandy. "You got Pat to tell you lots
of things he wouldn't repeat for me. I wonder could it be that leaning
tree through there. Seems to me that might be a fine old hive, for it
looks hollow enough."
"But you remember Pat said they don't often select a _dead_ tree. It
might blow down, and spoil their stock of honey," his brother went on
to say.
"But they do find a hollow, don't they?" Sandy inquired.
"Yes; usually the top of a tree that has a hole in it, or a big limb.
They are wise enough to know that the rain must be kept out, and also
that certain wild animals are mighty fond of honey. Now, here goes,
Sandy. Watch close--there!"
Again Bob cast the gorged prisoner free, and the little insect, after
several vain efforts, managed to mount upward on sagging wings and make
off.
This time as before they marked the last appearance of the laden honey
bee, and then a third trial was made. When a fourth and a fifth drew
them still deeper into the forest Sandy began to grow much excited. He
kept looking all around him while his brother carried out the important
operation of coaxing the bee to accept a cargo of sugar sirup in the
place of the scarce nectar in the flowers.
All at once Bob looked up.
"Hark!" he exclaimed.
Sandy at once made a move as though about to sling his gun around from
his back. Then he saw the smile on his brother's face; and, suspecting
the truth, cocked his own head in a listening attitude.
"I hear it!" he exclaimed, his whole face lighting up. "Nothing but the
hum of a hive of bees could make that noise, Bob, could it?"
"Look up into that sycamore tree and tell me if you can't see them
flying around? Those must be the young ones trying their wings. Pat
said they came out every fine day, and buzzed about. He told me he had
found more than one bee tree just by tracing the sound. Once heard in
the quiet forest it can never be forgotten."
"Hurrah! then we've traced the little rascals to their house!" cried
Sandy, as he threw his gun aside, and, clutching the ax, stepped
forward to strike the first blow toward cutting down the big tree in
which the bees had their hive.
Bob did not try to discourage him, for he knew that when some of this
enthusiasm had died away his turn at the chopping would arrive.
And sure enough it did; for Sandy gave out before a quarter of the task
had been completed, though later on he would recover his breath and
show a willingness to go at it again.
Both lads knew just how to chop a tree so as to lay it where they
wished, and, having chosen the best place to throw the big sycamore,
they kept hacking away with steady strokes, making the chips fairly fly
in showers.