The boys made a note of this, and determined to try the experiment at the first chance.
Arrived at the cabin, Ben busied himself in preparing the sulphur torches. He took strips of burlap and wound them tightly about the ends of pine sticks. Between each roll of the canvas he sprinkled a generous quantity of powdered sulphur.
He explained that when the tree fell some one must run forward and hold a lighted torch at the cavity. The torch-bearer must then blow the sulphur fumes down into the trunk to disable the bees till the honey could be “boxed out” and secured.
Toward late afternoon the boys were surprised to hear the deep, musical baying of a hound in the woods near at hand. Ben came to the door at the sound, and peered expectantly down the trail.
“I’ll bet it’s Bill Lang,” he declared, and he uttered a loud helloa, which was instantly answered. “Yep, that’s him, boys. Now you’ll hear some real stories from a genuine trapper.”
A lean, black and white hound, with long, trailing ears, came out of the woods and wiggled its way to Ben to be petted.
“Helloa, Moze,” cried the guide, stooping to reach the dog; “where’s Bill, eh?”
Then a thick-set man about the age of Ben came into view and waved his hand at the group in the doorway.
“Helloa, Bill!”
“Howdy, Ben.” And the trapper turned his keen eyes on the boys, who were endeavoring to make friends with his dog.