THE COMING OF THE HAIRY HONEY THIEF.
It did not take long for the honey gatherers to fill every receptacle
they had brought along with them. Bumpus was once more feeling a little
like himself, though Step Hen did take occasion to warn him against
showing his pride over being the one to find the bee tree.
“Honors are about even, I guess, Bumpus,” he would remark, with stinging
emphasis; “you found the bees, and they found you, all right, looks like.
And you’re swelled up enough now without letting yourself puff out any
more. We all admit that you’re a wonder, and that you’ve sure got an eye
for bee trees; just as Giraffe here is crazy about the stuff. Look at him
now, would you, munching at that comb just like it was a slice of bread
and jam.”
“Yum! yum!” remarked the person in question, whose face was smeared
almost up to his ears with the sticky stuff; “ain’t had such a delicious
feed since I sneaked into the preserve closet at home when a kid, and the
spring lock caught. I knew I’d be in for a tannin’ and was bound to get
the worth of it first, so I just ate and ate, tryin’ to sample every kind
there was. It made me sick though, which was worse than the strappin’ my
dad gave me. But this is the finest ever, barring none. Yum! yum! and
more to follow, too.”
“Well, if I was like that, I’d just camp out alongside this old nest,
till I’d scraped it clean, if it took all winter,” declared Step Hen; who
did not happen to care particularly for sweet things, and therefore felt
no sympathy for the other pair of scouts.
Bumpus had also tasted his find, and pronounced it prime. They could
hardly coax Giraffe away from the fallen bee tree; and in securing a last
comb of the lovely clear honey, he managed to get a few more stings that
rather added to his ridiculous appearance. Step Hen nearly took a fit
every time he looked at that pair, nor could Allan blame him; for they
certainly were a sight calculated to make any one forget all his own
troubles.
The afternoon wore away, and those who remained in camp talked over the
next thing which was on the programme. This was nothing more nor less
than making an effort to bag a bear; and of course Giraffe was
particularly interested, because of the boast he had made in Cranford
that he did not mean to return home until he had, alone and unaided, shot
a black bear.
“There was sure enough smell of honey in the air around that old bee tree
to set a bear crazy for a taste, if he ever got wind of the treat,”
declared Allan, when Giraffe asked him for the fifth time about the
chances they had of meeting with Bruin.
“Mebbe he’s over there now, fillin’ up?” suggested Bumpus, who was not
very much interested, because he could not be coaxed to go all the way
back to where they had secured their store of sweets, even though sure of
seeing a bear diving into the honey tree, and stowing away great
quantities of the sticky stuff.
“No, it isn’t likely he’s abroad in the daytime,” Allan replied. “He got
something of a scare when we chased him out of here, and I guess he’s
lying snug in some old hollow, where he can take up his quarters for the
winter. But when night comes, I think he’ll venture out; and once he
does, he’ll sniff that scent a mile away; for a bear, like all wild
animals, has a great nose for odors.”
“Then we don’t need to go out till after supper?” suggested Giraffe.
“Glad about that, too, because I’m some tired.”
“I should think you would be,” Step Hen put in, maliciously; “after that
great sprint you did when the little busy bees tried to hand you their
cards. If you could only make that fast time in a schoolboy race, you’d
be a wonder, Giraffe.”
“Huh! glad you think so, Step Hen,” grunted the other.
Time passed on. The afternoon waned, and supper was cooking; but as yet
the absent scouts, with old Eli along, had not returned.
“No use waiting for ’em any longer, fellers,” remarked Giraffe, who, as
the shadows gathered, was anxious to be off, for fear lest the bear get
to the honey tree, and secure a full supply before they arrived.
“Anyhow, we need not be bothered about Thad who knows how to get around,
even if he has to stay out all night,” declared Step Hen.
“Besides, they’ve got old Eli along; and what he don’t know about the
Maine woods you could put in a thimble,” remarked Bumpus, not at all
averse to attacking the supper Jim had cooked, and which seemed to have a
splendid odor.
Accordingly, they sat down, and hurried through the meal. Giraffe kept
urging Allan and Jim to hurry up, and in consequence they were all done
before it was actually dark.
Giraffe took special pains to look his big rifle over before starting,
for he wanted to be able to depend on it when the time came for business.
Doubtless the boy could not quite forget the slurs that had been cast on
his father’s weapon, when the new up-to-date repeater, with its mushroom
bullets, had given such a good account of itself, at the time of the
killing of the moose; and he was fully determined that he would equal the
score Thad had set, if given a chance.
Jim declared he could lead them straight to the fallen bee tree, and
Allan seemed to put full confidence in the guide. So they set forth.
Sebattis, Step Hen and Bumpus was left behind, to guard the camp and the
canoes.
Perhaps it would seem a long way to Giraffe, for he had gone through
considerable since daybreak. And those bee stings must have robbed him of
more or less energy. But the prospect of big game buoyed up his spirits,
and he trudged along with the other two, changing his heavy gun
occasionally from one shoulder to the other, in order to rest himself.
“Smells pretty strong of honey, I must say,” he muttered, after they had
been moving quite some time.
This was doubtless intended to be put out as a “feeler;” and it worked
well too, for Allan immediately remarked:
“Nearly there, Giraffe; a few minutes more, and you’ll see the tree we
cut down.”
“D’ye think he c’n be there?” whispered the long scout, nervously
fingering the lock of his rifle, as he peered ahead into the gloom of the
night, possibly seeing a bear rearing up on his hind legs, every time he
caught sight of a dim tree before him.
“Jim says no, he hasn’t come yet,” replied Allan, also allowing his voice
to sink; for although they were coming up to windward of the bee tree, it
was better to be doubly cautious.
Presently they arrived on the spot, and found all quiet. Bruin had
evidently not reached the scene, though both Jim and Allan were just as
positive as ever that the old fellow would be along before a great while.
So Jim selected the place where they would lie in wait. It was close
enough to the broken bee hive to afford Giraffe a splendid chance for a
shot. Allan had made sure to fetch along the little electric hand torch
belonging to Thad. This he meant to manipulate himself, and believed it
would be all that was necessary to catch the attention of the
honey-eating bear, and hold him in surprise until Giraffe could take aim,
and pull trigger.
After that they had to remain very quiet indeed, lest some incautious
movement warn the bear of their presence. Jim had seen to it that both
the boys had dressed warmly, even donning sweaters for the occasion;
since it is a shivery job to sit for one or more hours of a cold night,
hardly daring to move. The blood seems to become congealed in the veins
with the inaction; and once a shiver passes over the frame, the teeth
start to chattering even against all will power.
When an hour had gone, Giraffe began to grow tired. He was more or less
apt to show impatience, at any rate, and had not learned the lesson of
controlling his boyish desire to have things happen quickly.
Allan was just on his left, holding the torch ready for action; and by
leaning that way Giraffe could speak in the lowest of whispers.
“This is gettin’ tough,” he admitted.
“Keep standing it a while longer,” came in reply.
“But do you really think he’ll come along yet?” asked Giraffe,
disconsolately, as he pictured Bumpus and Step Hen sitting so snugly
beside the glowing fire he loved so much.
“Both Jim and I think the chances are the old fellow’s on the way right
now,” answered the comforter.
“All right, then, I’ll just try to stand it a while longer; but I hope my
hands don’t tremble this way when I come to shoot,” Giraffe went on to
say.
“Keep your gun resting on the log, just like I showed you,” said Allan.
“That way it won’t much matter if you are shivering. And be sure and
shoot just as soon as you’re certain you’ve got his shoulder covered. I
won’t butt in unless I think he’s going to get away. Now, close up again,
Giraffe.”
Silence once more rested on the scene. More minutes passed by—five, ten,
fifteen dragging along.
Giraffe was just about to touch Allan on the arm again, and tell him he
really could not stand it, he was so cold, when he heard a strange little
sound that made him forget all about it. In a second, it seemed, his
heart got to pounding away at such a lively rate that he actually felt
hot all over.
Was that a real “sniff, sniff” that came to his ears? He strained his
hearing, and caught it more plainly now; and besides, he could detect a
shuffling sound, such as would indicate the presence of a large body
moving along.
It approached the scene of the wrecked tree hive; and a minute later,
while Giraffe almost held his breath with anxiety, he caught other sounds
that told him the hairy honey thief had set to work gulping down the
scattered combs so full of sweetness, with a greed that even excelled his
own love for the product of the hive.
Apparently it was about time something were doing, unless they meant to
allow the bear to fill himself with the honey, in the hope that while in
this condition he might fall an easier prey.
Then came a nudge in the side from Allan. Giraffe knew what this meant.
He had been warned that when the time for action had arrived Allan would
give him such a dig; and that he was to prepare to take aim and fire, for
the little electric torch would flash immediately afterward.
All of a sudden the bear gave a snort. The intense darkness had been
dispelled by a brilliant ray of light. Well had Allan judged the location
of the honey thief, for Giraffe could instantly see the bear standing
there, with upraised head, staring straight toward the point from whence
that mysterious light sprang.
His side was fortunately toward them. Giraffe thought it looked almost as
big as the famous red barn; and as he glanced along the extended barrel
of his father’s rifle he tried to control his nerves.
“Shoot!” came in a shrill whisper from Allan, who feared lest the other
might be so panic stricken that he could not pull trigger.
And obeying the injunction, Giraffe did shoot, the crash of the rifle
being almost immediately drowned in a terrible roar that burst forth.