Bob hurried through the debris¹ of dead timber till he got a clear view of the bee-yard. It was plain enough that something was seriously wrong, for the whole place was in a state of wild disorder². The air was full of circling bees, and the white fronts of most of the hives were brown with masses of bees, crawling and surging excitedly. One hive near him was actually almost hidden by the cloud that hovered³ about it. It looked as if a swarm⁴ was coming out, but Bob knew better. It was war in the apiary⁵. The bees had gone on a robbing riot, and this hive had been overcome and was being sacked.  
How this fearful state of things had started, Bob was unable to imagine. To be sure, there had been no honey coming in lately, and bees will always rob if they get a chance in a honey dearth⁶; but all the colonies at this yard were now strong and should have been well able to defend themselves. Bob could not think how matters had ever got in such a state as this.
 
Advancing a little incautiously, a bee stung him on the nose, and he dodged⁷ back again into the shelter of a thicket⁸. Keeping under cover, he skirted about the apiary, viewing the scene carefully, till at the other end he came upon the clue to the mysterious rioting.
 
Two hives had been upset, and supers, combs, covers, and bottomboards lay strewn about the stony¹⁰ ground. What had done it he could not guess. The thought of Larue passed through his mind, but this hardly looked like the work of any human honey-thief, for the parts of the hives were tossed pell-mell, and frames and combs were smashed and crushed on the ground. He was too far away to get a good view and was afraid to go nearer, for the air was alive with half-maddened bees. Not many bees appeared about the wrecked¹¹ hives, however; and probably every drop of honey had been licked up from them long ago, but there was no doubt that all this broken honey in the yard had started the rioting.
 
There is something about stolen honey, especially when it is obtained close to the hives, that causes bees to become almost insane—sometimes entirely¹² so. Virtually every hive seemed to be engaged in repelling¹³ robbers and trying itself to rob other colonies. The ground was covered with knots of fighting insects; in front of the hive that was being sacked there was fully⁹ a quart of dead and dying bees that had perished in the battle. As soon as this hive had been cleaned out the robbers would attack another, in greatly increased force, and after that a third.
 
Bob had no means of knowing how long this state of things had been going on, but it would greatly reduce the apiary if it continued much longer. He knew well what he ought to do; the colonies doing most of the robbing should be smoked well to take the courage out of them; the colonies that were being robbed should have wet grass piled all around the entrance. But he needed a veil, for it was really as much as his life was worth to venture unprotected into that cloud of maddened insects. Gloves would be useful, too, but above all he needed a smoker¹⁴.
 
All these things were stored in the little hut that they had made in the center of the bee-yard, but to get to it he would have to pass right through the thickest of the fighting. He hung back for some time, hesitating and reluctant. He wished vainly for his brother, but at last he made up his mind, pulled his hat over his eyes, buried his hands in his pockets, turned up his collar, and made a bolt for the little storehouse.
 
He shot between the rows of hives so fast that for ten yards nothing touched him. Then he was stung on the chin, and again on the nose. But he had almost reached the hut when something caught him by the right ankle with such force that it seemed to break his leg. He tumbled headlong with a sharp cry, fell against a hive and knocked it sideways.
 
Fortunately it did not overturn, but a gust¹⁵ of savage¹⁶ bees surged into his face. He brushed at them, and tried to get on his feet. Something that hurt extremely was hanging to his right foot. He made a blind leap to get away from that vortex of stinging insects, but was pulled up short by the ankle and fell again, with a rattle¹⁷ of metal. And now he saw the great, rusty¹⁹ steel trap gripping his foot. He had walked squarely into Carl’s bear trap. He had forgotten that it had been set in this yard.
 
For the moment he was too bewildered to realize more than this bare fact. He crawled away as far as the chain would let him, lay flat on his face and tried to protect himself from the tormenting²⁰ insects. It seemed to him that all the bees in the yard had turned upon him. They were in his hair, they got under his collar and up his sleeves. Probably there were in reality only a few hundred attacking him, but it seemed to him that he got a fresh sting every second, till his whole body was in agony.
 
He drew his foot under him to examine the trap, and see if it could not be taken off. Age and rust¹⁸ had taken a good deal of the strength out of the springs, and, luckily, Bob was wearing heavy shoepacks that day with his trousers tucked inside them, so that the combined thicknesses of stout²¹ leather, cloth, and socks had deadened the force of the springing jaws²². But it hurt extremely; his foot was numb²³, and he could not see how to extricate²⁴ himself.
 
He tried to press down the springs with his hands, but he was not strong enough. It needed a lever to set that trap. Reckless of stings, Bob stood up and tried to stamp down the spring with his free foot, but in his constrained²⁵ posture²⁶ he was barely able to stir it. It would certainly take a lever to open the jaws. If he could only escape into the security of the woods, away from these maddening bees, he felt sure that he could contrive²⁷ to get himself free, but the chain would let him go no farther. The chain was riveted²⁸ to the trap in a heavy swivel, and the other end was attached to a stout maple²⁹ sapling. The tree was too large to break off, but Bob had a stout pocket-knife and thought he might hack³⁰ through it if he had time enough.
 
But he was beginning to feel sick and dizzy with the stinging. A professional bee-keeper thinks little of being stung, and Bob was pretty well hardened to it by this time, but not to such wholesale³¹ doses. His body was beginning to feel numb all over, and his tongue seemed swelling³² in his mouth. A horde³³ of bees, he thought, roared and crawled over him, but his brain seemed stupefied, and he could hardly think connectedly of anything.
 
The idea dawned upon him that he was really going to be stung to death, and the horror of it whipped his brain to a last effort. He cast about for some expedient³⁴. If he only had a smoker! But why could he not make a smoke without one?
 
Instantly he struck a match and dropped it into a heap of dead leaves that lay beside him. They flamed up, and at the first puff³⁶ of smoke the bees about his head drifted away. He piled on more leaves, using the dampest he could find, and created a suffocating³⁷ cloud of smoke. He choked in it himself, but there were no bees about him now, except a few entangled³⁸ in his clothing.
 
He crawled toward the maple sapling, raking the burning smudge along with him. Under cover of the smoke he began to whittle⁴⁰ into the hard trunk with his knife. Between the thick smoke and a bee-sting that had nearly closed his eye, he worked rather blindly, and had hacked⁴¹ nearly half through the trunk before he discovered that no such work was necessary. The chain was merely wound around the tree a few times and hooked back into its own links. He might have known that it would be so fastened, and if he had been a little more clear-headed, he could have released himself a moment after being caught.
 
However, he cast the chain loose immediately and began to hobble toward the woods, trap and all. Once under cover, he pried⁴³ open the trap without much difficulty, using a stout pole. There was a deep purple furrow⁴⁴ on each side of his ankle, and his foot was blue and numb. He rubbed it a long time and bathed it in the lake before feeling came back to it.
 
He felt decidedly weak and shaky and had to take off all his clothes in order to get rid of the bees that were still crawling and stinging in their recesses⁴⁶. Being stripped, he ducked himself in the cool lake three or four times and felt better. Naturally, he selected a spot for his bath that was at a safe distance from the apiary, where the war was still raging.
 
He sat down and rested for half an hour after dressing⁴⁷, and then felt recovered sufficiently⁴⁸ to make another attempt at subduing⁴⁹ the fighting bees. It was imperative⁵⁰ that the disorder be stopped at once, and his late experience had given him a hint how to do it.
 
Going to the windward side of the yard, he collected rubbish and lighted a number of smoky fires, so that the smoke drifted across the hives. Under cover of this smoke he advanced further into the yard and lighted more fires, till the whole apiary was veiled in clouds of vapor⁵¹.
 
Fighting stopped instantly. The one thought in each bee’s mind was to get back to its own hive, and by myriads⁵² they flew or crawled home. In a few minutes Bob was able to make his way safely to the little store-hut, where he secured a veil and smoker, though really he now had little need of either. The few bewildered bees drifting about through the smoke were far too frightened to think of stinging.
 
Peace was restored, though it might be only a temporary one. Bob made haste to contract the entrances of all colonies that he thought might be weak. With a night’s rest and only an inch-and-a-half doorway⁵³ to defend, he thought they should be able to take care of themselves.
 
Then he went to examine the cause and beginning of the trouble—the two overturned hives, and he had scarcely glanced at them when he uttered a loud exclamation⁵⁴. There was no doubt at all who had been the disturber here. Long claw-marks ripped the paint of the hives. The combs and frames had been chewed and mangled⁵⁵, showing plenty of tooth-marks on the splintered wood, and a wisp of black hair clung to one of the covers.
 
“Br’er Bear, and no mistake about it!” muttered Bob.
 
About half the combs had been chewed up, both the super combs of honey and the lower-story combs of brood. Apparently⁵⁶ the bear had liked the taste of unhatched bees. What honey he had left had, of course, been cleaned up by the bees from the yard, and all the scattered⁵⁷ wax was now dry as bone. No doubt the raid had been made during the night, and in the morning the neighboring bees had pounced⁵⁸ on the spilled and scattered honey and gone mad with robbing.
 
There was not much that he could do now. He put the hives together again, gathered up the scraps⁵⁹ of wax, and also straightened the hive that he had fallen against when the trap caught him. But he was much concerned for the future. It was very probable that the bear would return to this sweet corner, and the trap was very little likely to catch him. In any case, the bees would probably recommence their robbing the next morning. For some time that apiary would need careful attention.
 
He would have liked to leave his smudges burning so that the odor of the smoke would warn the bear away, but he decided⁴⁵ that it would be unsafe. The lakeside slope was littered with all sorts of dry rubbish, and a little fire might easily burn up the entire apiary. Having done all he could, he took his rifle and limped home, rather painfully, for his ankle was very lame³⁵.
 
“How much honey did you find there?” Carl demanded when he entered the cabin.
 
“I don’t know. I forgot to look,” said Bob. “Only there isn’t so much as there was yesterday, and there’ll be still less if we don’t look sharp.”
 
“What on earth’s the matter?” cried Alice. “And how did you ever get so badly stung?”
 
“Robber bees—robber bears—steel traps!” said Bob succinctly⁶⁰; and he proceeded to tell them of the deplorable conditions he had discovered.
 
“A bear—a real bear this time!” exclaimed his brother. “He’ll be certain to come back to-night for more. I’m going to lay for him. Allie, I’ll get you your bearskin after all.”
 
“Then I’ll see you do it,” said Alice. “For if you’re going after it to-night I’ll go too.”
 
“Nonsense! We may be up all night. Bob’ll go with me.”
 
“Not on your life!” returned Bob, wearily. “I wouldn’t walk back there this evening to save all the bees from destruction. There’s no sense in going to-night anyway. The bear will never come back with that strong smell of smoke in the yard.”
 
“You can’t tell. I believe he would,” Carl argued. “His mouth will water for honey too hard to resist. Anyhow, I’m going to take a chance on it and wait for him with some buckshot shells.”
 
“And I’m certainly going!” affirmed Alice. “You don’t want to go alone—and Bob says the bear won’t come, so there’ll be no danger.”
 
Carl really did not want to spend the night in ambush⁶² alone, and as Bob was in no condition for the adventure, he agreed to allow Alice to go with him. There would be a moon that night, but not till after eleven o’clock, and if they were to reach the apiary before dark, it would be necessary to start immediately after supper.
 
Alice put on a short skirt, a jersey⁶³, and a tam-o’Shanter, and took the shotgun, for which Carl carried half a dozen buckshot shells in his pocket. He carried Bob’s rifle himself, and they took a lunch with them, for if the vigil lasted all night, they would be decidedly exhausted⁶⁴ before daylight. Bob jeered⁶⁵ mildly at the whole proceeding⁶⁶, and after watching them off went immediately to bed.
 
It was a long tramp through the twilight⁶⁷ to the lake apiary, and it was almost dark when they arrived. A faint smell of smoke still lingered in the air from Bob’s smudges, and from the hives arose a dull, uneasy roar. Honey had been won and lost that day, but by no honest means, and all the bees were still suspicious and restless. By morning the fighting would probably recommence.
 
There was a very faint air blowing from south to north, and Carl and Alice ambushed⁶⁸ themselves on the leeward⁶⁹ side of the yard. The ground rose slightly there, so that they had a good view of the whole apiary. Clumps⁷⁰ of small cedars⁷¹ grew all around them, and a big fallen log in front made an excellent breastwork.
 
They placed their weapons across the log and sat down, glad of the rest. The evening air was cool, almost frosty, and the wilderness⁷² was very still. They barely dared converse⁷³, even in the faintest whispers.
 
For an hour or so they were both on tenterhooks⁷⁴ of expectation, but as time passed this wore off, and they began to feel weary and drowsy⁷⁵. Carl would have found more difficulty in keeping awake, only that from time to time his ears caught some rustle⁷⁶ or crackle in the underbrush that set him thrilling with excitement. But nothing ever appeared in the bee-yard, where the roaring had gradually quieted.
 
At last the sky lightened over in the east, and the moon gradually appeared between the trees. It was almost full, and the forest changed marvelously into deep black and pale silver. Voices began to be heard from the wilderness as if this were the dawning of the forest day.
 
The long trail of a swimming muskrat⁷⁷ crossed the surface of the lake. A raccoon cried plaintively⁷⁸ behind them, and away at the other end of the water they heard the uncanny, cackling laugh of a loon⁸⁰. There were strange murmurings and stirrings everywhere in the undergrowth, and then, far away to the north, sounded a single long shriek⁸¹, savage and shrill⁸², that caused a sudden long silence in the woods. Probably it was a lynx on his night’s hunting.
 
Moonrise put them both wide awake again for a time. But as an hour passed and nothing in particular happened, they grew drowsy once more. Alice frankly⁸³ put her head on the big log and dozed⁸⁴, but Carl kept awake with determination, scrutinizing⁸⁵ the edge of the woods all along the ghostly rows of beehives.
 
Time passes very slowly in such a vigil, and the moon was getting lower in the sky. Carl was growing very tired of it, and he had nudged Alice awake several times, when it suddenly struck him that something had moved in the woods behind him. He was not sure what he had heard, or whether he had heard anything, but the next instant a black figure passed between him and one of the nearest rows of hives.
 
Almost breathless, he squeezed Alice’s arm and she looked up, blinking. Carl pointed⁸⁶. The dim figure moved forward, with a stealthy, heavy, noiseless swing, till it came out in the clear moonlight, and they both saw the figure of the bear distinctly.
 
It stopped and seemed a trifle uneasy, swinging its head and evidently sniffing⁸⁷ the air. Then, seeming reassured⁸⁸, it suddenly reared up on its hind⁷⁹ legs, and with one sweep of its paw, sent the cover of the nearest hive flying.
 
They saw the bees boil up like smoke into the bright moonlight. Carl grasped the rifle, and cocked it noiselessly. The bear plunged⁸⁹ his nose into the super, and they heard the delicate combs and frames smash under his teeth.
 
A tearing flash from Carl’s rifle split the shadows. Alice uttered a shriek of excitement. The bear was down, rolling over beside the hive, and apparently done for. Carl dashed out in triumph.
 
But as he approached the animal it reared up unsteadily, and launched a vicious sweep with its iron-clawed paw. Carl sprang back, threw up the rifle and pulled the trigger. Only a soft snap answered. He had forgotten to throw another shell into the chamber

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