One hive caught fire before they could save it, and burned fiercely with a flare of beeswax, until a great gush of honey smothered the flame. Alice was throwing sand in an attempt to choke the fire; the boys, dashing in, moved hive after hive; but within a few minutes the light blaze of the berry-canes began to die down. It was like a fire of straw, and it went out as fast as it had arisen. Flame ceased to drift over the hives, and presently there was only a great glow of rapidly fading embers.
“Safe, I guess,” said Bob with relief.
“That was those men again!” cried Alice, choking with anger. “I didn’t think they’d do such a thing. They tried to burn up our bees. I wish we’d shot them!”
“I expect they thought the hives would burn easier than they did. We’re lucky to have lost only one,” said Joe. “I wonder what they’ll start next.”
They watched and listened nervously, as the remains of the fire went blackly out. But there was no sound except the hooting of owls from the swamps, the plaintive cry of a raccoon, and the uneasy roaring and rumbling of the disturbed bees. But none of the young apiarists felt like sleeping any more.
“I’m hungry,” said Carl. “These midnight alarms are wearing on the system.”
They were all hungry, and they ate cold cornbread and cold rabbit and drank coffee before finally lying down to rest once more. Twice Joe imagined he heard some suspicious sound during the night, and crept out with his rifle; but both alarms proved false. It was a badly broken night for the bee-keepers, and they were all tired and heavy-eyed and inclined to be nervous and despondent the next morning.
There was a little honey flow that day, and the bees were getting enough to keep them in good temper. But no work could be done with them, and their owners were all lounging on the shady side of the cabin, when, shortly before noon, a sudden outburst of firing rattled from the woods across the bayou. Two or three bullets thudded into the cabin; another perforated a beehive, and several more sang shrilly through the air. Then the fusillade stopped as sharply as it had begun.
It had taken only a few seconds, and the boys could not detect where the shots had come from. Everything relapsed into hot quiet again, and watching was of no use. Apparently the shots had been fired without much deadly intent, but merely to terrify. Late in the afternoon there was another sudden volley of four shots, coming from a different angle, and aimed into the bee-yard, and ceasing before they had time to make out even a puff of smoke.
“They’re not trying to hit us—only to scare us,” said Joe. “Nothing to do but just stand it. We’ll be gone in a few days now. What I’m most afraid of is that they’ll burn the cabin one of these nights.”