CHAPTER III

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.