The May morning was sunny and warm, and the highland air sparkling. The road ran between dense, tangled masses of second-growth spruce and hemlock, now and then broken by a wide burned slash, thick with raspberry canes. These were just beginning to grow green, and the young beekeepers looked at them with great interest, for their fortunes depended on these prickly jungles.
Now and then they caught a glimpse of a small lake. Several times ruffed grouse rose with a roar and thunder behind the screen of evergreens, and once their driver stopped to point out the slender, delicate hoof-mark of a deer on a bit of sandy road.
They had left Morton at eight in the morning. It was after noon, and they were hungry, and tired with walking, and sore with riding, when the driver pointed with his whip across the hemlocks.
The trail curved suddenly. There was a desolate, stump-filled clearing, with the squat forms of several log buildings at the other end. All about them stood rows and rows of large, rude-looking boxes painted dark red, and above the creaking of the wagon they caught a deep, distant roar of insect wings.
“Oh!” cried Alice, “the bees!”
CHAPTER II
TROUBLE IN THE DARK
At first they saw nothing of Carl, but as the wagon lumbered up through the stumpy clearing, he came dashing around the cabin with a whoop of delight. He was carrying his shotgun and was accompanied by a fox-terrier, which rushed to the wagon, barking loudly with joy.
“Hurrah!” cried Carl. “I’ve been looking for you all day. Here’s your dog,” he added to the wagoner. “Thanks. He’s been a great help to me.”
“Carl!” Alice screamed. “What in the world is the matter with your face?”
“Haven’t been fighting with Jack, have you?” inquired the driver. “You and him both look as if you’d been up against it.”