“How close is as close as possible?” questioned Crane.
“Right up against the nest if we can put it there; not over six or eight inches away, at most.”
“Well,” drawled Sile, with a returning touch of whimsicality, “I’d sartainly like to see some of yeou fellers make that smudge and start it goin’.”
“Misery loves company,” laughed Rod. “I don’t judge there’s enough wealth in this outfit to tempt me to try that.”
“Perhaps we can work it without getting near enough to be stung,” said Ben.
“How? how?” they cried.
“If we can find a pole long enough to enable me to reach the nest and remain hidden behind the end of the tent, I’ll show you.”
Some time was spent in securing the pole, but eventually, some rods from the camp, a tall, straight, slender sapling was selected, cut and trimmed. Then Stone searched about for the material to make his smudge, stripping the bark, both wet and dry, from cedar tree trunks. He also secured a huge dry toadstool as large as his two fists.
With these things the boys returned to the smoldering campfire, where, placing the toadstool in the center, Ben wound and twisted and tied the strips of cedar bark about it, with plenty of the dry bark on the outside and numerous strips running through the elongated ball. The end of the pole, whittled sharp, was then carefully thrust into this ball, after which Ben set it afire and fanned it until it was sending forth a surprisingly heavy, rank cloud of smoke.
“Now,” he said, “to see what can be done with our friends, the enemy.”