It wheeled in a panic and went straight over the bee yard, clearing the hives in great bounds
“Crack! crack! crack!” came the reports of the invisible rifle. But the buck, apparently untouched, vanished into the woods. It left a hive with the cover kicked off, and a cloud of angry bees hovering over it.
In another minute the dog came up on the hot trail, yelping and quivering with excitement.
“Why, that’s Larue’s hound,” whispered Carl.
A moment later the squatter himself emerged from the thickets a hundred yards down the shore and came walking slowly up, with his rifle over his shoulder. The dog had been doubling about where the buck had swerved and now, catching the trail, he dashed into the bee-yard with a loud bay, which was followed by a sharp yell. He had blundered right into the hive that the deer had struck, and he was rolling over and over, with brown knots of bees clinging to his hide. Larue ran toward him, but the dog leaped up and bolted into the woods, yelping with pain and fright. He was evidently done with hunting for that day.
The boys squatted down close under the cedars. They heard Larue muttering angrily, and half expected him to shoot up the apiary. But no shot sounded. Perhaps he had grown afraid to meddle with the bees, and after a time they heard him tramp into the woods again.
“Now isn’t that the toughest kind of luck?” Carl muttered. “We’re always running afoul of that fellow. Now I suppose he thinks he has a new grievance against us, though it wasn’t our fault.”
“I don’t see how we dare go away and leave all this bee outfit alone for the winter,” said Bob. “He’d have it all destroyed before spring. We’ve got to make peace with him somehow.”
“Mr. Farr said that he’d never forget a good turn. I’d take a lot of trouble to do him one, if somebody would only show me how!” said Carl.
For some time they discussed methods of placating him. As soon as they felt sure that he had gone a safe distance from the apiary, they set to work to clear up the fire danger.