He sat down and rested for half an hour after dressing, and then felt recovered sufficiently to make another attempt at subduing the fighting bees. It was imperative that the disorder be stopped at once, and his late experience had given him a hint how to do it.
Going to the windward side of the yard, he collected rubbish and lighted a number of smoky fires, so that the smoke drifted across the hives. Under cover of this smoke he advanced further into the yard and lighted more fires, till the whole apiary was veiled in clouds of vapor.
Fighting stopped instantly. The one thought in each bee’s mind was to get back to its own hive, and by myriads they flew or crawled home. In a few minutes Bob was able to make his way safely to the little store-hut, where he secured a veil and smoker, though really he now had little need of either. The few bewildered bees drifting about through the smoke were far too frightened to think of stinging.
Peace was restored, though it might be only a temporary one. Bob made haste to contract the entrances of all colonies that he thought might be weak. With a night’s rest and only an inch-and-a-half doorway to defend, he thought they should be able to take care of themselves.
Then he went to examine the cause and beginning of the trouble—the two overturned hives, and he had scarcely glanced at them when he uttered a loud exclamation. There was no doubt at all who had been the disturber here. Long claw-marks ripped the paint of the hives. The combs and frames had been chewed and mangled, showing plenty of tooth-marks on the splintered wood, and a wisp of black hair clung to one of the covers.
“Br’er Bear, and no mistake about it!” muttered Bob.
About half the combs had been chewed up, both the super combs of honey and the lower-story combs of brood. Apparently the bear had liked the taste of unhatched bees. What honey he had left had, of course, been cleaned up by the bees from the yard, and all the scattered wax was now dry as bone. No doubt the raid had been made during the night, and in the morning the neighboring bees had pounced on the spilled and scattered honey and gone mad with robbing.
There was not much that he could do now. He put the hives together again, gathered up the scraps of wax, and also straightened the hive that he had fallen against when the trap caught him. But he was much concerned for the future. It was very probable that the bear would return to this sweet corner, and the trap was very little likely to catch him. In any case, the bees would probably recommence their robbing the next morning. For some time that apiary would need careful attention.
He would have liked to leave his smudges burning so that the odor of the smoke would warn the bear away, but he decided that it would be unsafe. The lakeside slope was littered with all sorts of dry rubbish, and a little fire might easily burn up the entire apiary. Having done all he could, he took his rifle and limped home, rather painfully, for his ankle was very lame.
“How much honey did you find there?” Carl demanded when he entered the cabin.