Bumpus was fully awake to the great possibilities of the occasion. Somehow this honey hunting had become a sort of mania with him. It was not that he loved the sweet nectar of the hive any better than Giraffe for instance; but his nature was such that he liked to find things that were lost. And somehow the idea of locating a genuine bee tree appealed immensely to the fat boy.
So he tramped sturdily along, looking upward with a great effort, on account of his stout build, and frequently wishing Nature had endowed him with that “rubber neck” which Giraffe boasted, and which must be an ideal one for a wild honey hunter, Bumpus imagined. It was perhaps the first and only time he had ever envied his comrade in the possession of such a long neck.
But Bumpus really believed that fortune was going to be extra kind to him. He kept telling himself that if any one discovered the wonderful bee tree, it must be himself, because he had dreamed of it so very often.
Now and then he answered the calls which Allen sent out. He did this because he had a horror of getting lost. These woods seemed everlastingly big to him; and he could just imagine the terrible condition that must face any tenderfoot scout who managed to stray away from contact with his camp mates.
About three quarters of an hour had gone now, and as yet no cry announcing the successful find had come pealing along the line. Bumpus was beginning to feel tired, without any question. He admitted it to himself, but grudgingly, for he did not want to halt the proceedings, now that they were actually engaged in the bee hunt.
He refreshed himself at every water hole he came to, whether it were a running brook, or just a tiny pond with a thin skim of ice along the shore.
They were passing through a rather thick patch of woods when Bumpus felt another thrill. He felt certain that he had caught something that sounded like the buzzing of a swarm of insects; and as he had more than once meddled with the hive his people had at home, Bumpus was well qualified to know what the droning might be like.
Eagerly did he look upward, all around him. Then he began to locate the quarter from which it seemed to come, and in so doing brought to bear what little woods’ lore he had managed to pick up; for he actually noted the direction of the slight breeze, and how the noise came to him more clearly as he moved to a certain point.
Finally he believed it must come from one tree in particular. He made several tests, and each time his conviction grew more and more positive. And still the droning kept up. But the tree was a very tall one, and Bumpus had never trained his eyes to detecting small objects at a distance. In fact, some of his friends had even declared that he must be near-sighted, though he stoutly denied this.
Then suddenly, he saw a confused blur between himself and the blue sky above the tops of the trees. It actually moved back and forth in a singular swaying way.