The pair had now reached the end of the trail beside the creek and for the time being the conversation came to an end. There was a small brook to ford and then the side of a hill to climb. Here the giant trees sent their roots sprawling in all directions and they had to proceed with care lest one of the steeds might stumble and break a leg. The forest was dense, for a woodman’s axe had never yet entered it, and in some spots the gloom was intense while at others the faint rays of sunshine piercing the boughs above served only to intensify the darkness. In spots the trail was very damp and the trees covered with fungi, in other places there were patches of green moss as soft as the most delicate carpet. Here and there the boughs hung so low they had to lift them to get past.
“What a solitude!” remarked Joseph Morris, as they came to a halt in a glade surrounded by stately walnuts. They held up their heads to listen. Not a sound broke the stillness close around them. From afar came the songs of birds and the chant of some swamp frogs. Around them floated butterflies of various hues, and presently came a cluster of honey bees, heading for an old tree they had just passed. At once all else was forgotten by Joseph Morris but the bees.
“A bee tree, Dave!” he cried. “See, we are in luck for once!”
“A bee tree, true enough!” echoed the youth. “It ought to be pretty well filled with honey by this time, too. Of course you’ll mark it, Uncle Joe.”
“To be sure, although I shouldn’t forget it very easily—being so close to this opening and so near to the trail. But we’ll mark it, so that nobody else can claim it between now and the time we come for the honey.”
Approaching the tree with caution Joseph Morris noticed the bees go into an opening just above the lower branches. His experienced eye told him that there was here a hive of considerable size with a good many pounds of honey in it. He marked the tree with care, so that it now became his property by right of discovery.
“We’ll gather in that honey just as soon as we return from Annapolis,” he said. “It will please mother I’m sure, for we are short on sweets for this winter.”
And then they proceeded once more on their way.
CHAPTER IV
DEER SHOOTING BY MOONLIGHT
Night found Dave and his uncle at the cabin of a settler named Risley, an Englishman who had come to the neighborhood a year before. Visitors were far from frequent in those days and the newcomers were made heartily welcome by the farmer and his wife. The former insisted on helping them care for their horses, while the latter bustled about to prepare a substantial meal for their benefit.