BAITING THE HONEY BEES
The Indian had dumped his seventy-five pound pack on the sleeping
Chunky.
Chunky's howls grew more lusty as the pack was jerked from his body.
"Are you hurt?" begged Cale.
"I'm killed! I'm killed!"
"You are pretty noisy for a dead man. Let's see how badly you are
hurt."
"That tree fell right-right across me."
"It wasn't a tree. Charlie John dropped his pack on you," the guide
informed him.
"He did, eh?" cried Stacy, sitting up.
"Yes, but he didn't see you. You were lying here in the shadow.
Perhaps I am the one to blame. I told him to drop his pack over here,
not thinking that you were there."
"Why don't you folks finish me in a decent way, if you are so anxious
to get rid of me?" demanded the fat boy, dropping over on his back
and commencing to moan again.
"Here you, stop that nonsense!" commanded Tad Butler, grabbing Stacy
and jerking him to his feet. "Any fellow who can raise a rumpus like
that isn't hurt at all. So this is Charlie John, is it?"
"This is the man," nodded the guide.
Tad shook hands with the Indian, who grunted his acknowledgment. The
others made themselves known to the half-breed and after a time the
camp settled down to quietness, Chunky disturbing the quiet at
intervals by a groan, for he really had sustained a severe jolt.
The next morning they were up at daylight. After an early breakfast
the party set out for the dark blue ridge in the distance, and after
an uneventful day they made camp at the foot of Old Bald Mountain.
They had reached the forest. The tall spruce trees were sighing
overhead, the odor of pine was strong in their nostrils, and the
bracing air put new life into every one of the party.
At supper that night Tad chanced to mention that he had been stung by
a bee just before they made camp. Cale was interested at once. He
asked where this had occurred. Tad told him.
"We shall have some honey in the morning," said the guide with a
smile.
"How will you find it?" asked the Professor.
"I will lure the bees. I will show you after supper. You lead me
to the place where you got the sting."
This Tad did, the boys following, full of interest. Vaughn eyed the
trees about them with keen glances.
"I guess we shall have to set a trap for them," he decided, drawing a
small vial from a receptacle in his belt. Shaking the bottle well he
drew the cork and touched it against the trunk of a tree, after which
he corked the bottle and replaced it.
"What is that stuff?" asked the Professor.
"Oil of anise."
"What does it do?"
"Calls the bees. If there are any about here you will see them in
the morning. It will call bears and several other animals, too,"
smiled the guide.
"Will this call the bears?" urged Stacy.
"No, I haven't used enough of it. Besides, there are no bears down
here. We may find bear after we have got deeper into the woods. It
is bees we are after at the present moment."
The boys marveled greatly at this. They had never heard of this use
for oil of anise, and they were full of curiosity as to the outcome
of the experiment.
At daybreak, on the following morning, Vaughn awakened the boys.
"Time to look for bees," he said. "Charlie, you get breakfast while
we are away. Make some biscuit or cakes. You know how, don't you?"
"Me know."
Cale got his rope----not a lasso, but a rope about seven feet long
and very limber. Thus equipped, all hands started out, Vaughn in
the lead, his glances everywhere.
"Ou--ouch!" howled Chunky. "I'm stung! I'm stung!"
"That's good," cried the guide. "There he is!"
"Good? Good?" moaned the fat boy, dancing about holding his nose,
the part that had been touched by the stinger of a bee.
"I meant the bee, not the sting," hastily explained the guide.
"There are more of them," called Tad. "My, they're all here, aren't
they?"
"Watch them, boys. We must find out what direction they take after
they leave here."
"There goes one to the left," cried Ned.
Cale started on a run. He halted a few paces from the tree.
"Spread out over the place. If any of you sees a bee, call to me.
They don't live far from here. I can tell by the way they act. Here
come more of them."
The guide appeared to have the eyes of a hawk. He could see a bee
where the others were able to discover nothing at all. Cale
followed the trail like a hound, except that his nose and eyes were
in the air instead of on the ground.
Vaughn, after running some fifteen or twenty rods, dodging trees,
leaping rocks and fallen trunks, came to a sudden halt. The rest of
the party was floundering some distance in his rear.
"I think we are close to it now. Use your eyes. Look for a hole in
a tree or a crotch that looks as if it might hold a bees' nest.
This looks to me like a bee tree," he announced.
The guide unslung his rope, and, taking off his boots, passed the
rope about the trunk of the tree, holding the free ends in his hands,
and leaning well back he began to climb. This was accomplished by
frequently hitching the rope up, then taking a step upward.
The boys watched his ascent with fascinated eyes. They had never
seen anything like this. Vaughn was as agile as a cat.
"I believe I could do that," declared Chunky.
"Try it," urged the boys.
The fat boy did. After several attempts he succeeded in walking up
the trunk of a tree for fully ten feet. Chunky grinned down at them
jeeringly. "You fellows are not so smart as you think you are, eh?
Why, with a little practice I believe I could walk on a ceiling with
my head down. I'd be the human fly, then, wouldn't I? I--Yeow! I'm
falling!"
The fat boy had leaned forward, forgetting in his enthusiasm that he
must throw his full weight on the rope by leaning backward. Of
course the rope slipped, and down came Stacy.
Tad sprang forward to catch him. He only partially succeeded. Stacy
struck the ground and rolled off, howling lustily, while Tad Butler
went sprawling on his back. To add to the fat boy's discomfiture
two bees struck him under the right eye, bringing from the lad fresh
howls of pain. By this time, Cale had reached the part of the tree
where he believed the bees' store 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.
"No, but you need not permit your eyes to get bigger than your
stomach."
"Bigger than my stomach? Why--I can't see out of my eyes now.
Bigger than my stomach? Pshaw!"
"We will drop the subject for the present," decided the Professor
sharply, whereat Stacy subsided for the time being. Owing to the
lad's condition, however, the party concluded not to start on until
later in the day, Mr. Vaughn offering to give the others some
instruction in woodcraft to fill up the time from then until the
afternoon. Professor Zepplin treated the bee stings, Stacy taking a
certain sense of pride in his condition because it made him feel that
he was a sort of martyr.
The honey was delicious, and the boys ate too much of it, but none
would admit that he suffered any ill effects. Poor Chunky did not
get another taste all the rest of the day. Yet the fat boy, while
nursing his stings, was planning something that would fill the camp
of the Pony Rider Boys with excitement and give them a thrill that
would last them for some days.