“Alice and Carl can get a car or buggy from Harper’s up to Uncle Louis’s,” Joe continued. “Alice didn’t want to go, but we made her. This is going to be too dangerous a place for any girl. There wasn’t time to arrange anything, but Carl is going to see if he can’t have help sent down to us—if we can only hold out till it comes.”
They stopped outside the cabin. Dimly in the gloom they could see the pale outline of the rows of beehives, all full of good, straight, new combs and crowded with live bees—a valuable property which the boys had built up out of nothing.
“Those pirates are sure to be back within a day or two,” Joe went on. “They’ll see how we’ve looted the rosin, and then they’ll get us. But what are we to do? Can’t go off and desert the bee-ranch.”
“I should say not,” cried Bob, clenching his fists. “I won’t do that! We mustn’t be beaten now. Joe, we’ve just got to get these bees out of here right away, and down to the railroad!”
“I’m with you. But how are we going to do it?” Joe returned.
Bob had no answer ready. Sam was building a fire and preparing to get supper. Away down the river the steamboat roared sullenly, echoing weirdly over the forests. They were all tired and unstrung with the reaction from that day and night of hard labor, and the wilderness seemed desperately lonely, dangerous, and depressing. The corn-bread that Sam stirred up did not have the flavor of Alice’s hands, and, worse still, there was very little of it left. The pork was almost gone too.
“We’ll have to do some hunting,” said Joe, gloomily.
But the food question troubled them only slightly. It was the problem of getting the bees away that occupied their whole minds. They talked it over from every point of view without reaching any solution, until nearly ten o’clock. Then came a heavy downpour of rain that drove them into the cabin.
It was a torrential deluge that leaked through the cabin roof in a dozen places, but the cabin was at any rate better than the rough shelter outside. The rain slackened a little; they tried to sleep, but lay awake for a long time. Joe dozed at last, and awakened to hear the rain thundering in torrents on the roof again. A stream was falling on his legs. He got up, struck a match, and endeavored to find a less damp spot. Bob was soundly asleep, but Sam suddenly stole forward out of the corner where he had lain down.
“What’s the matter? Getting wet, Sam?” Joe inquired.