The Boy Scouts of Woodcraft Camp

by Thornton W. Burgess

The guide grinned. “A leetle honey would kind o’ sweeten things up some,” he ventured.

“All right,” replied the doctor. “Be prepared to take a small party in to get it day after to-morrow.”

Big Jim’s “honey party,” as he called it, was drawn wholly from the Delawares, in honor of the tree having been discovered by members of that tribe. It included Woodhull, Tug Benson, Upton and Chip Harley. Billy and Spud were denied the privilege of going out of bounds, so could go no farther than the edge of the old clearing. Spud announced that he had had enough of bees anyhow, and chose to stay in camp. But Billy was heart-broken. However, he was fair minded enough to admit to himself that he deserved all that was coming to him, and hiding his chagrin led the expedition to the old clearing and gave the guide the line from the stump on the upper edge. He watched the others disappear into the woods in single file and then sat down to possess himself in such patience as he could until they should return. He had no doubt of their success in locating the tree and as Big Jim was no novice at cutting bee trees, he anticipated no trouble on that score. All the party wore gloves and carried mosquito netting to protect faces and necks from the maddened bees. In fact both Tug and Chip had their veils on when they entered the woods. The guide carried an axe, as did Woodhull, while Walter and Tug each carried a galvanized iron water pail for the expected honey. Billy knew that the guide would run no risk of having his charges badly stung and would undoubtedly smoke the hive well before laying it open.

The minutes passed on leaden wings. What was the matter? Why didn’t Jim whoop when he found the tree as he had agreed to do? Could he have overrun it? A slight rustle in the bushes on the edge of the clearing some thirty yards to the right caught Billy’s attention. Something was moving there. To kill time he started to investigate. “Probably a porcupine,” he muttered to himself, as he softly stole forward.

Creeping on hands and knees to the shelter of a fallen tree trunk he cautiously raised his head and peeped over. Instead of the expected porcupine he saw a little brown furry animal vainly trying to pull over an old log, and emitting funny little discontented whines as it tugged. At first glance it looked something like a clumsy puppy, and then the truth flashed across Billy and made his eyes pop out. It was a bear cub, a very little fellow at that.

With impulsive Billy to act first and think afterward was ever the governing principle. It was so now. Quietly dropping down behind the tree trunk he hastily slipped off his jacket. Then rising to his feet he reached forward and threw it over the head of the unsuspecting little animal, recklessly throwing himself after it. For a few minutes there was a desperate struggle accompanied by muffled squeals. Then Billy succeeded in getting the wildly clawing fore-paws smothered in the folds of the jacket and, pinning down the stout little hind-legs, he had his victim helpless.

“Gee, now I’ve got him what’ll I do with him?” he panted. A sudden inspiration came to him. He remembered noticing a huge hollow stump in the middle of the clearing. If he could get him over to that and drop him into it he could be held prisoner until the bee hunters returned. Wrapping the enveloping jacket still tighter around the imprisoned head and fore-paws Billy gathered the struggling bundle in his arms and started for the stump.

Just before he reached it pandemonium broke loose in the woods behind him. There were wild yells in all keys from Big Jim’s deep base to Chip Harley’s shrill falsetto. Billy chuckled. “Must have stirred them bees up something awful,” he muttered. “Funny I didn’t hear ’em choppin’. There, you little fiend!” He dropped the cub into the hollow and spread the jacket over the top. Then for the first time he realized that a baby as small as his captive must have a mother at no great distance. His face went a trifle pale under its coat of tan. “I wish them fellers would quit fightin’ bees and come out,” he muttered.

Almost with the thought his wish was gratified. Chip came first. The bee veil was still over his head and he looked not on the order of his coming. He floundered out of the brush, caught a heedless toe under a stick and fell headlong. He was up in a flash, blindly struggled through a raspberry tangle that he might have gone around, bumped into a half-hidden stump and went down again with a little moan. Then he was on his feet again and passed Billy as if he was trying to break the hundred yard sprint record.

Tug was a good second, and he had little advantage over Chip in the method of his coming. He seemed to have some pressing engagement back at camp, and was “going strong” when he passed Billy.