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Updated: May 29, 2025
The beehunter had killed a buck only the day before the opening of our narrative, and shouldering a quarter, he had left the remainder of the animal suspended from the branches of a tree, near the place where it had been shot and cleaned.
"I am glad your garrison is so strong," answered the beehunter, thoughtfully; "but mine is too weak to stay any longer, out here in the openings. Whiskey Centre, I intend to break up, and return to the settlement, before the red-skins break loose in earnest.
Every beehunter knows how the bees from the same tree will clip and strike at one another around his box, when they are first attracted to it. After they are seriously engaged in carrying away his honey, they pay no attention to one another or to bees from other swarms. That bees tell one another of the store of honey they have found is absurd. The unity of the swarm attends to that.
As the savages knew that the beehunter was without a paddle, and that the wind blew fresh, the expectation of overtaking their late captive, in this manner, was by no means chimerical. Half a dozen active young men would prove very formidable to one in such a situation, more especially while entangled in the mazes of the rice-plant.
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