Under the Tonto Rim

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Zane Grey (1926)
Country of origin: USA
Available texts by the same author here

Chapter 10

   September came, with the first touches of frost on the foliage, the smoky haze hovering over the hollows, the melancholy notes of robins and wild canaries, the smell of forest fire in the air.
   Edd did not remind Lucy that he had promised to take her bee-hunting. This, like so many things in the past, piqued her; and the more she upbraided herself for that the less could she forget it. Finally she said to him one night at supper:
   "Edd, I thought you were going to take me bee-hunting."
   "Shore. Whenever you say," replied Edd. "Then I say to-morrow," returned Lucy.
   A clamour from the children and an excited little cry from Clara attested to the eagerness of others to share Lucy's good fortune. She was curious to see if Mrs. Denmeade would approve of some one else accompanying them. Lucy had in mind that among the people with whom she had associated in Felix it would hardly have been the proper thing for her to go with Edd into the woods alone.
   Edd laughed down the importunities of the children.
   "Nope, kids; you wait till I'm ready to cut down a bee tree not far away," he said, to appease them. "I've got one located...An' as for you, Miss Clara, I reckon you'd better not risk a long climb till you're stronger."
   "Will you take me with the children?" asked Clara wistfully.
   "Shore. Reckon I'll be glad to have you all packin' buckets of honey," drawled Edd.
   "Edd, I seen the other day that Miss Lucy's boots wasn't hobnailed," spoke up Denmeade. "Reckon you mustn't forget to put some nails in them for her. Else she might slip an' hurt herself."
   "Wal, now you tax me, I'll just naturally have to hobnail her boots," returned Edd dryly. "But fact was I wanted to see her slide around some."
   "Very sweet of you, Edd," interposed Lucy in the same tone. "Couldn't you wait till winter and find me some ice?"
   "Say, slidin' down a slope of grass an' pine needles will take the tenderfoot out of you," he retorted.
   "Oh, then you think I need that?" she queried.
   "Wal, I reckon you don't need no more," he said quaintly.
   "Is Edd complimenting me?" asked Lucy, appealing to Mrs. Denmeade. She nodded smilingly.
   "Thanks. Very well, Edd. I shall fetch my boots for you to hobnail. And to-morrow you may have the pleasure of watching me slide."
   After supper she watched him at work. He had an iron last, upside down, over which he slipped one of her boots. Then with a hammer he pounded small-headed hobnails into the soles. He was so deft at it that Lucy inquired if he were a shoemaker.
   "Reckon so. I used to tan leather an' make my own shoes. But I only do half-solin' now."
   Presently he removed the boot from the last, and felt inside to find if any nails had come through.
   "That one's jake," he said.
   Lucy examined the sole to find two rows of hobnails neatly and symmetrically driven round the edge. Inside these rows were the initials of her name.
   "Well, you're also an artist," she said. "I suppose you want to make it easy for anyone to know my boot tracks."
   "Wal, I can't say as I'd like anyone trailin' you," he replied, with a deep, grave look at her.
   Lucy changed the subject. When she returned to her tent dusk had fallen and Clara was sitting in the doorway. Lucy threw the boots inside and sat down on the lower step to lean back against her sister. Often they had spent the gloaming hour this way. The cool, melancholy night was settling down like a mantle over the forest land. Bells on the burros tinkled musically; a cow lowed in the distance; a night hawk whistled his strange, piercing note.
   "Lucy, I like Edd Denmeade," said Clara presently.
   "Goodness! Don't let him see it--or, poor fellow, he--"
   "Please take me seriously," interrupted Clara. "I believed I'd always hate men. But to be honest with myself and you, I find I can't. I like Mr. Denmeade and Uncle Bill--and the boys. Edd is a wonderful fellow. He's deep. He's so cool, drawly, kind. At first his backwoodsness, so to call it, offended me. But I soon saw that is his great attraction for me. As you know, I've gone with a lot of city boys, without ever thinking about what they were...I wonder. City clothes and manners, nice smooth white hands, ought not be much in the make-up of a man. Edd's old jeans, his crude talk and ways, his big rough hands--they don't repel me any more. I don't quite understand, but I feel it. He's good for me, Lucy dear. Do you know what I mean?"
   "Yes. And I'm glad. You've had a bitter blow. No wonder you think now what boys are...As for me, I don't really know whether Edd has been good--or bad for me."
   "Lucy!"
   "Listen. I'll tell you something," went on Lucy, and she related the story of Edd's taking her to the dance.
   "How funny! How--" exclaimed Clara, laughing--"how I don't know what!...Lucy, I just believe it tickles me. If he had been rude--you know, fresh, I mean--I'd have despised him. But the way you told it. Oh, I think it's rich! I believe I would have liked him better."
   Lucy might have confessed that deep in her heart she had done this very thing herself, but the fact was not acceptable to her.
   "Joe is the best of the Denmeades, and quite the nicest boy I ever knew," she said earnestly. "What do you think of him, Clara?"
   "It's dreadful of me, but I like to be with him," whispered Clara. "He's so--so sweet. That's the only word. But it does not fit him, either. He has the same strong qualities as Edd...Lucy, that boy rests me. He soothes me. He makes me ashamed...Tell me all about him."
   "Well, Joe's ears will burn," laughed Lucy and then she began her estimate of Joe Denmeade. She was generous. But in concluding with the facts about him that had come under her observation and been told by his people, Lucy held rigidly to truth.
   "All that!" murmured Clara thoughtfully. "And I'm the only girl he ever looked at?...Poor Joe!"
   Next morning there was a white frost. Lucy felt it and smelled it before she got up to peep out behind the curtain of the tent door. The sun had just tipped the great promontory, a pale blaze that made the frost on grass and logs shine like an encrustment of diamonds.
   "Ooooo, but it's cold!" exclaimed Lucy as she threw on her dressing-gown. "Now I know why Edd insisted on installing this stove. Any old 'morning now I'd wake up frozen!"
   "Come back to bed," advised Clara sleepily.
   "I'll start the fire, then slip back for a little. Oh, I wonder--will we have to give up living out here when winter comes?"
   The stove was a wood-burning one, oval in shape, and flat on top, with a sheet-iron pipe running up through the roof of the tent. Lucy had thought it sort of a toy affair, despite Edd's assertion as to its utility. He had laid the pine needles, and splinters and billets of wood, so that all Lucy had to do was to strike a match. She was not an adept at building fares, and expected this to go out. Instead it flared up, blazed, crackled, and roared. Fortunately Lucy recollected Edd's warning to have a care to turn the damper in the stove-pipe.
   "This stove is going to be a success. How good it feels!"
   Then she noticed the neat pile of chips and billets of red-wood stacked behind the stove, and a small box full of pine needles. Edd Denmeade was thoughtful. Lucy put a pan of water on the stove to heat, and slipped back into bed. Her hands and feet were like ice, matters that Clara was not too sleepy to note. Soon the tent-room was cosy and warm. Lucy felt encouraged to think it might be possible for her and Clara to occupy this lodging all winter. Edd had averred the little stove would make them as snug as birds in a nest. To make sure, however, that they could live outdoors, he had suggested boarding the tent wall half-way up and shingling the roof.
   "Sleepy-head!" called Lucy, shaking her sister.
   "Ah-h!...I just never can wake up," replied Clara. "It's so good to sleep here...I didn't sleep much down there in the desert."
   "My dear, you've slept three-fourths of the time you've been here, day as well as night. It's this mountain air. I was almost as bad. Well, good sleep is better than wasted waking hours. Now I'm going to be heroic."
   By nine o'clock all trace of frost had vanished from grass and logs. Edd presented himself at the tent.
   "Wal, I'm a-rarin' to go."
   "Yes, you are!" called Lucy banteringly. "Here I've been ready these last two hours."
   "City girl! You can't line bees till the sun gets warm."
   "Backwoods boy! Why not?"
   "Bees don't work so early. You see, it's gettin' along towards fall."
   "I'll be right out...Let's see--my gloves and knapsack...Well, sister mine, why do you stare at me?"
   Clara was sitting at the little table, with speculative gaze fastened upon Lucy. It made Lucy a little sensitive to her attire. This consisted of a slouch felt hat, a red scarf round the neck of her brown blouse, corduroy riding trousers, and high boots. On the moment Lucy was slipping on her gauntlets.
   "Clara, it'll be a long, hard tramp, up and down," declared Lucy, as if in self-defence.
   "You look great," rejoined Clara, with one of her sweet, rare smiles. "I'm not so sure about your welfare work, in that get-up. I think it's plain murder?"
   Clara made an expressive gesture, to indicate Edd outside. Lucy was not quite equal to a laugh. Sometimes this realistic sister of hers forced home a significance that escaped her idealistic mind.
   "If you only could go!" sighed Lucy. "I--I think I need you as much as you need me...Don't forget your welfare work. Good-bye."
   Edd carried a gun, a small black tin bucket, and a package which he gave to Lucy to put in her knapsack.
   "Ma reckoned you'd like somethin' to eat," he explained.
   So they set off across the lane, through the strip of woods, and out into the sorghum-field. Lucy experienced an unaccountable embarrassment. She felt like a callow girl taking her first walk with a boy. She did not feel at all at her ease in this riding garb, though the freedom of it had never been so manifest. She was guilty of peering round to see if any of the Denmeades were in sight, watching them cross the field. She could not see anyone, which fact helped a little. Then she did not discover her usual fluency of speech. Finding herself alone with this stalwart bee hunter, facing a long day in the wilderness, had turned out to be something more than thrilling. Lucy essayed to throw off the handicap.
   "What's in your little black bucket?" she inquired. "Honey. I burn it to make a sweet, strong smell in the woods. That shore fetches the bees."
   "What's the gun for?"
   "Wal, sometimes a bear smells the honey an' comes along. Bears love sweet stuff, most of all honey."
   "Bears! In broad daylight?" ejaculated Lucy.
   "Shore. One day not long ago I had four bears come for my honey. Didn't have no gun with me, so I slipped back an' hid. You should have seen the fun they had stickin' their noses an' paws in my bucket of honey. They stole it, too, an' took it off with them."
   "You won't leave me alone?" queried Lucy fearfully.
   "Wal, if I have to I'll boost you up into a tree," drawled Edd.
   "I wonder if this is going to be fun," pondered Lucy. Suddenly she remembered the proclivity for playing tricks natural to these backwoods boys. "Edd, promise me you will not try to scare me. No tricks! Promise me solemnly."
   "Aw, I'm shore not mean, Lucy," he expostulated. "Fun is fun an' I ain't above little tricks. But honest, you can trust me."
   "I beg your pardon. That about bears--and boosting me up into a tree--somehow flustered me a little."
   Soon they crossed the clearing to the green wall of cedars and pines. Here Edd led into a narrow trail, with Lucy at his heels. His ordinary gait was something for her to contend with. At once the trail began to wind down over red earth and round the head of rocky gullies, choked with cedars, and downward under a deepening forest growth.
   Lucy had never been on this trail, which she knew to be the one that led over the Rim. She thrilled at the thought of climbing to the lofty summit of that black-fringed mountain mesa, but she was sure Edd would not put her to that ascent without a horse. The low hum which filled her ears grew into the roar of a brawling brook.
   "Bear track," said her guide, halting to point at a rounded depression in the dust of the trail. Lucy saw the imprint of huge toes. Her flesh contracted to a cold, creeping sensation. "That old Jasper went along here last night. Reckon he's the bear that's been killin' our little pigs. Pa shore will be rarin' to chase him with the hounds."
   "Edd! Is there any danger of our meeting this old Jasper, as you called him?" inquired Lucy.
   "Reckon not much. Shore we might, though. I often run into bears. They're pretty tame. Hope we do meet him. I'd shore have some fun."
   "Oh, would you? I don't believe it'd be very funny for me," declared Lucy.
   "Wal, in case we do, you just mind what I say," concluded Edd.
   Somehow his drawling confidence reassured her, and she reverted again to the pleasurable sensations of the walk. The trail led down into a deep gorge, dense with trees large and small, and along a wildly boulder-strewn stream bed, where the water roared unseen through its channel. Here towered the lofty silver spruces, so delicate of hue and graceful in outline. The sunlight filtered through the foliage. Everywhere Lucy gazed were evidences of the wildness of this forest, in timber and rock and windfalls, in the huge masses of driftwood, in the precipitous banks of the stream, showing how the flood torrents tore and dug at their confines.
   Lucy did not see a bird or squirrel, nor hear one. But as to the latter the roar of rushing water would have drowned any ordinary sound. Gradually the trail left the vicinity of the stream and began a slight ascent, winding among beds of giant boulders covered with trailing vines. Lucy was particularly struck by the almost overpowering scent of the woodland. It appeared dominated by the fragrance of pine, but there was other beside that spicy tang. Through the woods ahead she caught glimpses of light and open sky. Then Edd halted her.
   "I hear turkeys cluckin'," he whispered. "Hold my bucket, an' keep right close to me, so you can see. Walk Injun, now."
   Lucy complied instinctively, and she was all eyes and ears. She could not, however, give undivided attention to the scene in front and at the same time proceed noiselessly. Edd walked slower and stooped lower as the trail led round a corner of thicket toward the open. Lucy saw a long narrow clearing, overgrown with small green cedars and patches of sumach shining red and gold in the sunlight. At the same instant she saw something move, a white and brown object flashing low down. Edd swiftly rose. The gun cracked so suddenly that Lucy was startled. Then followed a tremendous flapping of wings. Huge black and grey birds flew and sailed out of the clearing into the woods, crashing through the foliage. Next Lucy heard a loud threshing in the brush just in front, and a heavy thumping. Both sounds diminished in volume, then ceased.
   "Wal, I reckon you'll have turkey for dinner to-morrow," said Edd, looking to his gun. "Did you see them before they flew?"
   "I saw a flash. Oh, it went swiftly! Then you shot, and I saw them rise. What a roar! Did you kill one?" replied Lucy excitedly.
   "I shore did. It was a good shot. He was rarin' to get out of here," said Edd, as he walked forward through the patch of sumach.
   Lucy followed him to the open place where lay a beautiful wild turkey, its shiny plumage all ruffled and dishevelled, its wings wide, its gorgeous bronzeawl-white tail spread like a huge fan. Lucy was astonished at the variety and harmony of the colours. This wild bird was as beautiful as a peacock.
   "Gobbler, two years old," said Edd. "Just fine for eatin'. I'll hang him up in the shade an' get him on our way home. Shore it's risky, though, because there's cats and lions around."
   He carried the turkey into the edge of the woods, where Lucy heard him tramping around and breaking branches. When he emerged again he led her to the upper end of this clearing, meanwhile telling her that his father had years before cut the timber and tried to cultivate the ground. It had not been a successful venture. A tiny stream of water ran through the upper end, making smooth, deep holes in the red clay. Edd pointed out deer and turkey tracks, with muddy water in them. He followed the stream to its source in a spring at the head of the clearing. A small, shallow basin full of water, weeds, and moss lay open to the sun.
   "Wal, here's where we start," announced Edd enthusiastically. "Listen to the hum of bees."
   The air seemed murmurous and melodious with the hum of innumerable bees. What a sweet, drowsy summer sound! Lucy gazed all around.
   "Oh, I hear them! But where are they?" she cried.
   "Wal, they're flyin' around, workin' in the tops of these pine saplings," replied Edd.
   "Do they get honey up there?" queried Lucy in amaze.
   "They shore get somethin'," replied Edd. "If you go climbin' round pine trees an' get your hands all stuck up with pitch an' sap you'll think so, too. I reckon bees get somethin' in these pines to help make their wax...Now look down along the edge of the water. You'll see bees lightin' an' flyin' up. I've watched them hundreds of times, but I never made shore whether they drank, or diluted their honey, or mixed their wax with water."
   "Well! Who'd have thought honeybees so interesting?...Yes, I see some. Will they sting me?"
   "Tame as flies," returned Edd easily.
   Trustingly Lucy got down on hands and knees, and then lay prone, with her face just above the water. Here, at a distance of a foot, she could see the bees distinctly. At once she noted several varieties, some yellow and black, which she knew to be yellow-jackets, some fuzzy and brown like the tame honeybee, and a few larger, darker. As she leaned there these wilder bees flew away.
   Edd knelt to one side and pointed at the bees. "The yellow ones are jackets, an' she shore hates them."
   "She! Who's she?" queried Lucy.
   "Wal, I call the wild bees she. Reckon because I've caught an' tamed queen bees. Shore that's some job."
   "I remember now. You told me in rainy season the yellow-jackets fought and killed the wild bees and stole their honey. These yellow bees are the ones...They're pretty, but they're mean-looking."
   "Hold still," said Edd suddenly. "There's a wild bee, the kind I'm goin' to line to-day. He lit by that little stone."
   "I see him," whispered Lucy.
   "Wal, now look close. Is he drinkin' or movin' his legs in the water? You see he's just at the edge. Look at his knees. See the little yellow balls? That's wax."
   "How funny!" said Lucy, laughing. "Why, his legs look deformed, burdened with those balls! Where does he carry his honey?"
   "I never was shore, but I reckon in his mouth. Some bee hunters think the yellow balls are honey. I never did. It tastes like wax."
   "It's beeswax. I know what that is. But where does the bee use it?"
   "Shore you'll see that when I cut down a bee tree."
   Apart from Lucy's great sympathy with the singular passion this wild bee hunter had for his calling she was quite fascinated on her own account. It needed very little to stimulate Lucy's interest, especially in a problem or mystery, or something that required reason, study, perseverance to solve. She was getting acquainted with bees. The yellow-jackets were lively, aggressive, busy-body little insects that manifestly wanted the place to themselves. The wild bees had a very industrious and earnest look. At the approach of yellow-jackets they rose and flew, to settle a little farther away. Lucy espied bees all along the edge of the water. The big one Edd had called her attention to flew away, and presently another took its place. Lucy wished for a magnifying glass, and told Edd that if they had one they could tell exactly what the bee was doing there.
   "By George!" ejaculated Edd, in most solemn rapture. "Shore we could. I never thought of that. Wal, I never even heard of a glass that'd magnify. Where can we get one?"
   "I'll fetch you one from Felix."
   "Lucy, I reckon I don't want you to go, but I'd shore love to have that kind of a glass."
   "Why don't you want me to go?" asked Lucy gaily.
   "It's hard to say. But I'm not so shore. Reckon Mertie will have a grand time. You're awful good to take her. But won't she get her head full of notions about clothes an' city boys?"
   "Edd, you're worrying a lot, aren't you?"
   "Yes," he said simply.
   "Haven't you faith in me? I'm going to satisfy Mertie's passion for pretty things. Once in her life! And I'm going to see that Bert Hall goes with us."
   Lucy raised on her elbows to mark the effect of this statement upon her companion. For once his stoicism was disrupted. He seemed thunderstruck. Then his dark face beamed and his grey eyes shone with the piercing light Lucy found hard to face.
   "Wal!--Who in the world's ever goin' to make up to you for your goodness?"
   "Edd, it's not goodness exactly," returned Lucy, somewhat affected by his emotion. "It's not my welfare work, either. I guess I'll get more out of it than Mertie and Bert. Real happiness, you know."
   "Shore. But I know what I think."
   Lucy dropped back to study the bees. A number of the wild species had settled down right under her eyes. They were of different sizes and hues, and the very smallest carried the largest balls of wax on his knees. She strained her eyes to see perfectly, and was rewarded by sight of an almost imperceptible motion of both their heads and legs.
   "Edd, I believe they drink and wet their wax. Both. At the same time."
   "Wal, shore I've reckoned that often. Now get up an' watch me line a bee."
   This brought Lucy to her feet with alacrity. Edd's voice sounded a note entirely at variance with his usual easy, cool, drawling nonchalance. About most things he was apparently indifferent. But anything pertaining to his beloved bee hunting touched him to the quick.
   "Now, you stand behind me an' a little to one side," he directed. "An' we'll face toward that far point on the Rim. Eagle Rock we call it. Most of the bees here take a line over there."
   Suddenly he pointed. "See that one?"
   Though Lucy strained her eyes, she saw nothing. The wide air seemed vacant.
   "Don't look up so high," he said. "These bees start low. You've shore got to catch her right close...There goes another."
   "I'm afraid my eyes aren't good," complained Lucy, as she failed again.
   "No. Keep on lookin'. You'll line her in a minute."
   Just then Lucy caught sight of a tiny black object shooting over her head and darting with singularly level, swift flight straight away. It did not appear to fly. It swept.
   "Oh, Edd, I see one!...He's gone."
   "Shore. You've got to hang your eye on to her."
   Lucy caught a glimpse of another speeding bee, lost it, and then sighted another. She held this one in view for what seemed an endless moment. Then having got the knack of following, she endeavoured to concentrate all her powers of vision. Bee after bee she watched. They had a wonderful unvarying flight. Indeed, she likened them to bullets. But they were remarkably visible. No two bees left the water-hole together. There was a regularity about their appearance.
   "Wal, you're doin' fine. You'll shore make a bee-hunter," said Edd. "Now let's face west awhile."
   Lucy found this direction unobstructed by green slope and red wall. It was all open sky. A line of bees sped off and Lucy could follow them until they seemed to merge into the air.
   "Why do some bees go this way and some that other way?" she queried.
   "She belongs to different bee trees. She knows the way home better than any other livin' creature. Can't you see that? Straight as a string! Reckon you never heard the old sayin', 'makin' a bee line for home.'"
   "Oh, is that where that comes from?" ejaculated Lucy, amused. "I certainly appreciate what it means now."
   "Now shift back to this other bee line," instructed Edd. "When you ketch another, follow her till you lose her, an' then tell me where that is. Mark the place."
   Lucy made several attempts before she succeeded in placing the disappearance of a bee close to the tip of a tall pine on the distant ridge.
   "Wal, that's linin' as good as ever Mertie or Allie," asserted Edd, evidently pleased, and he picked up his gun and bucket. "We're off."
   "What do we do now?" queried Lucy.
   "Can't you reckon it out?"
   "Oh, I see! We've got the bee line. We follow it to that pine tree where I lost the last bee."
   "Right an' exactly," drawled Edd.
   "Oh--what fun It's like a game. Then where do we go?"
   "Wal, I can't say till we get there."
   "We'll watch again. We'll sight more bees. We'll get their line. We'll follow it as far as we can see--mark the spot--and then go on," declared Lucy excitedly.
   "Lucy, your granddad might have been a wild-bee hunter," said Edd, with an approving smile.
   "He might, only he wasn't," laughed Lucy. "You can't make any wild-bee hunter of me, Edd Denmeade."
   "Shore, but you might make one of yourself," drawled Edd.
   Lucy had no reply for that. Falling in behind him as he headed across the clearing, she pondered over his words. Had they been subtle, a worthy response to her rather blunt double meaning, or just his simplicity, so apt to hit the truth? She could not be sure, but she decided hereafter to think before she spoke.
   Edd crossed the clearing and plunged into the forest. As he entered the timber Lucy saw him halt to point out a tree some distance ahead. This, of course, was how he marked a straight line. Lucy began to guess the difficulty of that and the strenuous nature of travelling in a straight line through dense and rugged forest. She had to scramble over logs and climb over windfalls; she had to creep through brush and under fallen trees; she had to wade into ferns as high as her head and tear aside vines that were as strong as ropes.
   They reached the bank above the roaring brook. As Edd paused to choose a place to get down the steep declivity, Lucy had a moment to gaze about her. What a wild, dark, deep glen! The forest monarchs appeared to mat overhead and hide the sun. Boulders and trees, brook and bank, all the wild jumble of rocks and drifts, and the tangle of vines and creepers, seemed on a grand scale. There was nothing small. The ruggedness of nature, of storm and flood, of fight to survive, manifested itself all around her.
   "Wal, shore if you can't follow me you can squeal," shouted Edd, above the roar of the brook.
   "Squeal! Me? Never in your life!" replied Lucy, with more force than elegance. "If I can't follow you, I can't, that's all. But I'll try."
   "Reckon I didn't mean squeal as you took it," returned Edd, and without more ado he plunged in giant strides right down the bank.
   Lucy plunged likewise, fully expecting to break her neck. Instead, however, she seemed to be taking seven-league-boot-steps in soft earth that slid with her. Once her hands touched. Then, ridiculously easily, she arrived at the bottom of the forty-foot embankment. Most amusing of all was the fact that Edd never even looked back. Certainly it was not discourtesy, for Edd was always thoughtful. He simply had no concern about her accomplishing this descent.
   Crossing the brook had more qualms for Lucy, and when she saw Edd leap from one slippery rock to another she thought it was a good thing she had been put on her mettle. Edd reached the other side without wetting a foot. Lucy chose boulders closer together, and by good judgment, added to luck, she got safely across, though not without wet boots.
   Then Lucy climbed after Edd up a bank of roots that was as easy as a ladder, and thence on into the forest again. A thicket of pine saplings afforded welcome change. How subdued the light--how sweet the scent of pine! She threaded an easy way over smooth, level mats of needles, brown as autumn leaves. Edd broke the dead branches and twigs as he passed, so that she did not have to stoop. On all sides the small saplings shut out the light and hid the large trees. Soon the hum of the brook died away. Footsteps on the soft needles gave forth no sound. Silent, shaded, lonely, this pine smale appealed strongly to Lucy. Soon it ended in a rough open ridge of cedar, oak, and occasional pine, where Edd's zigzag climb seemed steep and long. It ended in an open spot close to a tree Lucy recognised.
   "I thought--we'd never--get here," panted Lucy. "That was easy. Can you pick out where we stood in the down clearin'?"
   Lucy gazed down the slope, across the green thicket and then the heavy timber marking the channel of the brook, on to the open strip bright with its red sumach.
   "Yes, I see the water," she replied.
   "Wal, turn your back to that an' look straight the other way an' you'll soon get our--bee line."
   She had not stood many moments as directed before she caught the arrowy streak of bees, flying straight over the ridge. But owing to the background of green, instead of the sky that served as background, she could not follow the bees very far.
   "Here's where we make easy stages," remarked Edd, and started on.
   Open ridge and hollow occupied the next swift hour. Lucy had enough to do to keep up with her guide. The travel, however, was not nearly as rough as that below, so that she managed without undue exertion. She had been walking and climbing every day, and felt that she was equal to a gruelling task. She had misgivings, however, as to that endurance being sufficient for all Edd might require. Still, she had resolved to go her very limit, as a matter of pride. Mertie had confided to Lucy that the only time Sadie Purdue had ever gone bee-hunting with Edd she had given out, and that, too, on a rather easy bee line. It would have to be a bad place and a long walk that would daunt Lucy this day.
   Edd's easy stages proved to be short distances from mark to mark, at every one of which he took pleasure in having Lucy again catch the bee line.
   "When are you going to burn the honey in your bucket?" asked Lucy, once, happening to remember what Edd had told her.
   "I don't know. Maybe I won't have to," he replied: "If I lose the bee line, then I'll need to burn honey."
   "It seems, if things keep on as they are, you'll lose only me," observed Lucy.
   "Tired?"
   "Not a bit. But if I had to keep this up all day I might get tired."
   "We'll eat lunch under this bee tree."
   "That's most welcome news. Not because I want the hunt to be short, at all! I'm having the time of my life. But I'm hungry."
   "It's always good to be hungry when you're in the woods," he said.
   "Why?" she asked.
   "Because when you do get to camp or back home, near starved to death, everythin' tastes so good, an' you feel as if you never knew how good food is."
   Lucy was beginning to appreciate what this philosophy might mean in more ways than applied to hunger. It was good to starve, to thirst, to resist, to endure.
   The bee line led to the top of a slope, and a hollow deeper, rougher than any of the others, and much wider. Edd lined the bees across to the timber on the summit of the ridge beyond, but he was concerned because there appeared so little to mark the next stage. The pines on that side were uniform in size, shape, and colour. There were no dead tops or branches.
   "Now, this is easy if we go straight down an' up," said Edd. "But if we go round, head this hollow, I reckon I might lose our bee line."
   "Why should we go round?" inquired Lucy.
   "Because that'd be so much easier for you," he explained.
   "Thanks. But did you hear me squeal?"
   Edd let out a hearty laugh, something rare with him, and it was an acceptance that gratified Lucy. Thereupon he went straight down the slope. Lucy strode and trotted behind, finding it took little effort. All she had to do was to move fast to keep from falling.
   "Yes, I see the water," she replied.
   "Wal, turn your back to that an' look straight the other way an' you'll soon get our--bee line."
   She had not stood many moments as directed before she caught the arrowy streak of bees, flying straight over the ridge. But owing to the background of green, instead of the sky that served as background, she could not follow the bees very far.
   "Here's where we make easy stages," remarked Edd, and started on.
   Open ridge and hollow occupied the next swift hour. Lucy had enough to do to keep up with her guide. The travel, however, was not nearly as rough as that below, so that she managed without undue exertion. She had been walking and climbing every day, and felt that she was equal to a gruelling task. She had misgivings, however, as to that endurance being sufficient for all Edd might require. Still, she had resolved to go her very limit, as a matter of pride. Mertie had confided to Lucy that the only time Sadie Purdue had ever gone bee-hunting with Edd she had given out, and that, too, on a rather easy bee line. It would have to be a bad place and a long walk that would daunt Lucy this day.
   Edd's easy stages proved to be short distances from mark to mark, at every one of which he took pleasure in having Lucy again catch the bee line.
   "When are you going to burn the honey in your bucket?" asked Lucy, once, happening to remember what Edd had told her.
   "I don't know. Maybe I won't have to," he replied: "If I lose the bee line, then I'll need to burn honey."
   "It seems, if things keep on as they are, you'll lose only me," observed Lucy.
   "Tired?"
   "Not a bit. But if I had to keep this up all day I might get tired."
   "We'll eat lunch under this bee tree."
   "That's most welcome news. Not because I want the hunt to be short, at all I I'm having the time of my life. But I'm hungry."
   "It's always good to be hungry when you're in the woods," he said.
   "Why?" she asked.
   "Because when you do get to camp or back home, near starved to death, everythin' tastes so good, an' you feel as if you never knew how good food is."
   Lucy was beginning to appreciate what this philosophy might mean in more ways than applied to hunger. It was good to starve, to thirst, to resist, to endure.
   The bee line led to the top of a slope, and a hollow deeper, rougher than any of the others, and much wider. Edd lined the bees across to the timber on the summit of the ridge beyond, but he was concerned because there appeared so little to mark the next stage. The pines on that side were uniform in size, shape, and colour. There were no dead tops or branches.
   "Now, this is easy if we go straight down an' up," said Edd. "But if we go round, head this hollow, I reckon I might lose our bee line."
   "Why should we go round?" inquired Lucy.
   "Because that'd be so much easier for you," he explained.
   "Thanks. But did you hear me squeal?"
   Edd let out a hearty laugh, something rare with him, and it was an acceptance that gratified Lucy. Thereupon he went straight down the slope. Lucy strode and trotted behind, finding it took little effort. All she had to do was to move fast to keep from falling.
   This mode of travel appeared to be exhilarating. At least something was exhilarating, perhaps the air. Lucy knew she was excited, buoyant. Her blood ran warm and quick. What an adventure! If only she could have felt sure of herself! Yet she did not admit to her consciousness where she felt uncertain. "I'll live this with all I have," she soliloquised, "for I might never go again."
   The slope into this hollow was a delusion and a snare. From above it had appeared no denser than the others. It turned out to be a jungle of underbrush. Live-oak, manzanita, buckbrush formed an almost impenetrable thicket on the southerly exposed side. Edd crashed through the oaks, walked on top of the stiff manzanita, and crawled under the buck-brush.
   Water ran down the rocky gully at the bottom. How Lucy drank and bathed her hot face! Here Edd filled a canvas water bag he had carried in his pocket, and slung it over his shoulder.
   "Shore was fun ridin' the manzanitas, wasn't it?" he queried.
   "Edd, it's--all fun," she breathed. "Remember, if I fall by the wayside--I mean by the bee line--that my spirit was willing but my flesh was weak."
   "Humph! Sometimes I don't know about you, Lucy Watson," he said dubiously.
   When Lucy imagined she deserved a compliment it seemed rather disillusioning to hear an ambiguous speech like that. Meekly she followed him in and out of the clumps of brush toward the slope. Her meekness, however, did not last very long. Edd had the most astonishing faculty for bringing out all that was worst in her. Then by the time she had gotten half-way through a grove of large-leaved oaks she had forgotten what had inflamed her spirit. Every strenuous section of this journey had its reward in an easy stretch, where beauty and colour and wilderness took possession of her.
   Edd zigzagged up this slope, and the turns were so abrupt that Lucy began for the first time to feel a strain. Edd saw it and paused every few moments to give her time to regain breath and strength. He did not encourage her to waste either in speech. This slope stood on end. The ridge proved to be a mountain. Lucy was compelled to dig heels and toes in the hard, red earth, and often grasp a bush or branch, to keep from slipping back.
   At last they surmounted the great timbered incline. Lucy fell on a pine mat, so out of breath that she gasped. She had an acute pain in her side. It afforded her some satisfaction to see Edd's heaving breast and his perspiring face.
   "What're--you--panting about?" she asked, heroically sitting up.
   "Reckon that pull is a good one to lumber up on," he said.
   "Oh-h-h! Are there--any worse pulls?"
   "Shore I don't know. We might have to climb up over the Rim."
   "Well," concluded Lucy, with resignation, "where's our bee line?"
   "I got plumb off," confessed Edd, in humiliation, as if the error he had made was one of unforgivable proportions. "But, honest, sometimes it's impossible to go straight."
   "I accept your apology, Edward," said Lucy facetiously. "But it wasn't necessary. No human being--even a bee hunter--can pass through rocks, trees, hills, walls of brush, and piles of logs...What'll we do now?"
   "I'll walk along an' see if I can find her. If I don't we'll burn some honey. That'll take time, but it'll shore fetch her. You rest here."
   Lucy could see the two clearings of the Denmeades nestling green and yellow in the rolling lap of the forest. How far she had travelled! She was proud of this achievement already. With her breath regained, and that pain gone from her side, she was not the least the worse for her exertion. Indeed, she felt strong and eager to pursue the bee line to its end. Only by such effort as this could she see the wonderful country or learn something about the forest land. She was high up now, and yet the Rim still towered beyond and above, unscalable except for eagles. She was revelling in the joy of her sensations when Edd's step disrupted them.
   "I found her. We wasn't so far off. Come now, if you're rested," he said.
   "Edd, how far do bee lines usually run from where you find them?" asked Lucy.
   "Sometimes miles. But I reckon most bee lines are short. Shore they seem long because you have to go up an' down, right over everythin'."
   Rolling forest stretched away from the ridge-top, neither level nor hilly. Despite the heavy growth of pines the bee line seemed to penetrate the forest and still preserve its unwavering course. Lucy could see the bees flying down the aisles between the tree-tops, and she was unable to make certain that they curved in the least. Edd could line them only a short distance, owing to intervening trees. Progress here was necessarily slower, a fact that Lucy welcomed. Birds and squirrels and rabbits enlivened this open woodland; and presently when Edd pointed out a troop of sleek grey deer, wonderfully wild and graceful as they watched with long ears erect, Lucy experienced the keenest of thrills.
   "Black-tails," said Edd, and he raised his gun.
   "Oh--please don't kill one of them!" cried Lucy appealingly.
   "Shore I was only takin' aim at that buck. I could take him plumb centre."
   "Well, I'll take your word for it," rejoined Lucy. "How tame they are!...They're going...Oh, there's a beautiful little fawn!"
   She watched them bound out of sight, and then in her relief and pleasure to see them disappear safely she told Edd she was glad he was a bee-hunter instead of a deer-hunter.
   "Wal, I'm not much on bees to-day," he acknowledged. "But that's natural, seein' I've a girl with me."
   "You mean you do better alone?"
   "I reckon."
   "Are you sorry you brought me?"
   "Sorry? Wal, I guess not. 'Course I love best to be alone in the woods. But havin' you is somethin' new. It's not me, but the woods an' the bees an' the work you're thinkin' about. You don't squeal an' you don't want to get mushy in every shady place."
   Lucy, failing of an adequate response to this remarkable speech, called his attention to the bees; and Edd stalked on ahead, peering through the green aisles. The beautiful open forest was soon to end in a formidable rocky canyon, not more than half a mile wide, but very deep and rugged. Lucy stood on the verge and gazed, with her heart in her eyes. It was a stunning surprise. This deep gorge notched the Rim. Red and yellow crags, cliffs, ledges, and benches varied with green slopes, all steps down and down to the black depths. A murmur of running water soared upward. Beneath her sailed an eagle, brown of wing and back, white of head and tail, the first bald eagle Lucy had ever seen.
   "Dog-gone!" ejaculated Edd. "Shore I was hopin' we'd find our bee tree on this side of Doubtful Canyon."
   "Doubtful? Is that its name?"
   "Yes, an' I reckon it's a Jasper."
   "Edd, it may be doubtful, but it's grand," declared Lucy.
   "You won't think it's grand if we undertake to cross."
   "Then our bee tree is way over there some place," said Lucy, gazing at the blue depths, the black slopes, the yellow crags, the red cliffs. They would have looked close but for the dominating bulk of the Rim, rising above and beyond the canyon wall. All was green growth over there except the blank faces of the rocks. Ledges and benches, nooks and crannies, irresistibly beckoned for Lucy to explore.
   "If! We're certainly going to cross, aren't we?" she queried, turning to Edd.
   "Wal, if you say so, we'll try. But I reckon you can't make it."
   "Suppose I do make it--can we go home an easier way?"
   "Shore. I can find easy goin', downhill all the way," replied Edd.
   "Well, then I propose we rest here and have our lunch. Then cross! Before we start, though, you might let me see you burn some honey. Just for fun."
   This plan met with Edd's approval. Just below they found a huge flat ledge of rock, projecting out over the abyss. Part of it was shaded by a bushy pine, and here Edd spread the lunch. Then while Lucy sat down to eat he built a tiny fire out on the edge of the rock. Next he placed a goodly bit of honey on a stone close enough to the fire to make it smoke.
   "Pretty soon we'll have some fun," he said.
   "Wrong! We're having fun now. At least I am," retorted Lucy.
   "Wal, then, I mean some more fun," he corrected. Whereupon they fell with hearty appetites upon the ample lunch Mrs. Denmeade had provided. Edd presently said he heard bees whizz by. But a quarter of an hour elapsed before any bees actually began to drop down over the smoking honey. Then Edd poured some of the honey out on the rock. The bees circled and alighted. More came and none left. Lucy asked why they did not fly away.
   "Makin' pigs of themselves," he said "But soon as they get all they can hold they'll fly."
   By the time the lunch was finished a swarm of bees of different sizes and hues had been attracted to the honey, and many were departing. As they came from different directions, so they left. Edd explained this to be owing to the fact that these bees belonged to different trees.
   "Do all these wild bees live in trees?" she asked.
   "All but the yellow-jackets. They have holes in the ground. I've seen where many holes had been dug out by bears...Wal, we played hob with the lunch. An' now I reckon it's high time we began our slide down this canyon."
   "Slide? Can't we walk?"
   "I reckon you'll see. It'll be a slidin' walk," averred Edd. "Shore I'm goin' to have all the fun I can, 'cause you'll shore never go anywheres with me again."
   "My! How terrible this sliding walk must be!...But I might fool you, Edd. I've decided to go to the dance with you, an' let Clara go with Joe."
   "Aw! That's nice of you," he replied, with frank gladness. His face lighted at some anticipation. "Joe will shore be proud."
   He walked out upon the ledge to get his bucket, driving the bees away with his sombrero, and when he had secured it he took a last long look across the canyon. Lucy noticed what a picture he made, standing there, tall, round-limbed, supple, his youthful leonine face sharp against the sky. He belonged there. He fitted the surroundings. He was a development of forest and canyon wilderness. The crudeness once so objectionable to her was no longer manifest. Was it because of change and growth in him--or in her? Lucy fancied it was the latter. Edd had vastly improved, but not in the elemental quality from which had sprung his crudeness.
   "She'll be right across there," he said, pointing with long arm. "I can line her half-way across. Reckon I see the tree now. It's an oak, sort of grey in colour, standin' on a ledge. An' it's got a dead top an' one big crooked branch."
   "Very well, I'll remember every word," warned Lucy.
   "I'll go ahead, so when you come slidin' I can grab you," he said.
   "See that you don't miss me," replied Lucy, as she started to follow him down off the ledge. At first the descent, though steep, was easy enough. Had Edd zigzagged down she would have had no trouble at all. But he descended straight down over bare earth, rock slides, banks and benches, swerving only for trees and brush, and then taking care to get back again in alignment with whatever he had marked to guide him. Lucy could not go slowly, unless she sat down, which, despite an almost irresistible temptation, she scorned to do. Quite abruptly, without preparation, she found herself standing at the top of a wonderful green and brown slope dotted by pine trees and remarkable for its waved effect. It descended at an angle of forty-five degrees, an open forest standing almost on end! The green colour was grass; the brown, pine needles. This place made Lucy's heart leap to her throat. An absolutely unaccountable and new species of fright assailed her. Never in her life before had she seen a slope like that, or been attacked by such dread.
   "Wal, here's where we slide," drawled Edd, gazing up at her. "Whatever you do, do it quick, an' keep in line with me."
   Then he started down. His action here was very much different from any before. He descended sidewise, stepping, or rather running, on the edge of his boots, holding gun and bucket in his left hand, and reaching back with his right. His position corresponded with the slant of the slope. He slid more than he ran. His right hand often touched the ground behind him. He left a furrow in grass and needles. Forty or fifty feet below he lodged on a bench. Then he straightened round to look up at Lucy.
   "Wal, city girl!" he called gaily. His voice was bantering, full of fun.
   It lent Lucy recklessness. Through it she recovered from the queer locked sensation.
   "All right, country boy, I'm coming," she replied, with bravado.
   Then she launched herself, heedlessly attempting to imitate Edd's method of procedure. A few swift steps landed her upon the pine needles. Quick as lightning her feet flew up and she fell. Frantically she caught the ground with her hands and held on, stopped her momentum. Both breath and bravado had been jarred out of her.
   "Wal, you've started comin', so come on," called Edd, never cracking a smile.
   Lucy, holding on in most undignified manner, glared down upon him, making one last desperate effort to keep her equilibrium and her temper. If he had laughed or smiled, she might have trusted him more.
   "Did you get me here on purpose?" she demanded, with magnificent disregard of reason.
   "Shore. We're on our bee line. You couldn't be talked out of it," he replied.
   "I mean on this terrible hill," she added, weakening.
   "How'd I know she'd make a bee-line over this hill?" he demanded.
   Lucy, seeing that action, not talk, was imperative, got up, and ran downhill right at him. She forgot his method of descending, but executed a very good one of her own. She ran, she flew, she fell, right upon Edd. He caught her outstretched hands and kept her from upsetting.
   "Heavens!" gasped Lucy. "Suppose you hadn't been here?"
   "Wal, you'd have slid some," he said. "But, honest, you did that fine."
   "It was an accident," confessed Lucy as she fearfully gazed below. The next stage, to a bench below, seemed still steeper, and the one below that made Lucy's head reel.
   "I'm sorry I called you city girl," he said contritely. "For you're shore game, an' quick on your feet. You hunt bees like you dance."
   Lucy's misery was not alleviated by the compliment, because she knew she was a sham; nevertheless, she felt a weak little thrill. Maybe she could go on without killing herself.
   "Don't hang on to me," added Edd as again he started. "That's not the way. We'll both slip, an' if we do we'll go clear to the bottom, same as if this hill was snow...When I make it down there you come, same as you got here."
   "Ha! Ha!" laughed Lucy wildly. "Don't worry, I'll come."
   Edd made a splendid achievement of the next descent, and halted in a favourable position to wait for Lucy. It encouraged her. Stifling her vacillations, she launched herself with light steps, leaning back, and depending on her gloved hand. She kept her feet most of the distance, but landed before Edd in a sliding posture. On the next attempt a couple of pine trees made descent easy for her. Below that were successive stages calculated to give her undue confidence.
   "Wal, this is plumb bad," ejaculated Edd, gazing below and to right and left. "But we can't climb back. An' it's worse on each side. Reckon there's nothin' to do but slide."
   And he did slide and fall and roll, and finally lodge against a tree.
   "Hey! you can't do worse than that!" he shouted. "Come on. Don't wait an' think...Come a-rarin'."
   Lucy was in a strange state of suspended exhilaration and acute panic. She was both inhibited and driven. Actually she closed her eyes on the instant she jumped. Then she ran. Her objective was Edd and she had to look. She expected to plunge head over heels, yet she reached Edd upright, and earned another compliment. They went on with varying luck, but at least they made remarkable progress. The farther down this slope they proceeded the thicker lay the mats of pine needles and the scantier grew the patches of grass. Naturally the needles slipped and slid downward. Also, trees and brush grew scarce. Then, to make the situation worse, the descent took a sharper angle and the benches cropped out farther apart. At last they reached a point where Edd seemed at a loss. The slope just below was not only more precipitous and longer than any yet, but it ended in a jump-off, the extent of which Edd could not determine.
   "Lucy, I've played hob gettin' you into this," he said, in remorse.
   "It was my fault," returned Lucy, frightened by his gravity. "Go on. Let's get down--before I lose my nerve."
   All the nerve she had left oozed out as she watched Edd slide to the landing-place selected below. He never took a step. He sat down and slid like a streak. Lucy thought he was going over the precipice. But he dug heels into needles and ground, and stopped his flight in the nick of time.
   "Not so bad as it looked," he shouted. How far below he was now "Come on. It's safe if you let yourself slide straight. So you won't miss me!"
   But Lucy did not obey. She realised how silly she was, but she simply could not deliberately sit down and slide. She essayed to do as she had done above. And her feet flew higher than her head. She alighted upon her back and began to shoot down. She turned clear over on her face. Dust and flying needles blinded her. Frantically she dug in with hands and feet, and rolled and slid to a halt.
   When she cleared her sight she found she had got out of line with Edd. He was crawling along the precipice to intercept her. Lying prone on the slippery slope, she had to hold with all her might to keep from sliding. Edd's yells, added to all that had happened, terrified her, and she clung there instinctively. It seemed a frightful drop to where Edd knelt. She would miss him and slide over the precipice. Inch by inch she felt herself slip. She screamed. Edd's voice pierced her drumming ears.
   "...darn fool, you! Let go! Slide!"
   Lucy let go because she could no longer hold on. Then she seemed to rush through air and flying needles and clouds of dust. Swifter she slid. Her sight blurred. Sky and trees grew indistinct. She slid from her back over on her face, and plunged down. A mass of debris seemed to collect on her as she plunged. Suddenly she collided with something and stopped with terrific shock. She felt Edd's clutch on her. But she could not see. Again she was moving, sliding, held back, pulled and dragged, and at last seemed to reach a halt. Breathless, stunned, blinded, burning as with fire, and choked with dust, Lucy wrestled to sit up.
   "You shore slid," Edd was saying. "You knocked us over the ledge. But we're all right now. I'll go back for my gun."
   Lucy's mouth was full of dirt and pine needles her eyes of dust. She sputtered and gasped, and could not see until welcome tears washed her sight clear. Then she found she was at the foot of the terrible slope. Edd was crawling up to the bench above. Her hair and blouse and trousers, even her boots and pockets, were full of dust, pine needles, twigs, and dirt. Standing up, shaking and spent, she essayed to rid herself of all she had collected in that slide. Incredible to believe, she had not sustained even a bruise that she was aware of. Then Edd came slipping down, gun and bucket in hand. As he reached her he seemed to be labouring under some kind of tremendous strain.
   "No--use!" he choked. "Shore--I can't--hold it."
   "What, for goodness' sake?" burst out Lucy.
   "If I--don't laugh--I'll bust," he replied, suddenly falling down.
   "Pray don't do anything so--so vulgar as that last," said Lucy, attempting hauteur.
   But sight of this imperturbable backwoods boy giving way to uncontrollable mirth affected Lucy peculiarly. Her resentment melted away. Something about Edd was infectious.
   "I must have been funny," she conceded.
   Edd appeared incapacitated for any verbal explanation of how laughter-provoking she had been; and Lucy at last broke her restraint and shared his hilarity.
   An hour later Lucy perched upon a ledge high above the canyon, exhausted and ragged, triumphant and gay, gazing aloft at a grey old oak tree that had breasted the winds and lightnings for centuries. Part of it was dead and bleached, but a mighty limb spread from the fork, with branches bearing myriads of broad green leaves and clusters of acorns. On the under side of this huge limb was a knot hole encrusted with a yellow substance. Beeswax. It surrounded the hole and extended some distance along the under side, changing the grey colour of the bark to yellow. A stream of bees passed in and out of that knot hole. Edd had followed his bee line straight to the bee tree.
   "She's a hummer," he was saying as he walked to and fro, gazing upward with shining eyes. "Shore, it's an old bee tree. Reckon that whole limb is hollow an' full of honey...Easy to cut an' let down without smashin'! I'll save maybe fifty gallons."
   "Aren't you afraid of those bees?" asked Lucy, seeing how they swooped down and circled round Edd.
   "Bees never sting me," he said.
   Lucy assumed that if there was no danger for him there would be none for her; and desiring to see the bees at close range as they streamed in and out of the aperture, she arose and approached to where Edd stood.
   Hardly had she raised her head to look up when a number of bees whizzed down round her face. In alarm Lucy struck at them with her gloves, which she carried in her hand.
   "Don't hit at them!" shouted Edd, in concern. "You'll make them mad."
   But it was too late. Lucy had indeed incurred their wrath and she could not resist beating at them.
   "Oh, they're after me!...Chase them away... Edd..." She screamed the last as she backed away, threshing frantically at several viciously persistent bees. Then, as she backed against a log and lost her balance, one of the bees darted down to sting her on the nose. Lucy fell back over the log. The bee stayed on her nose until she pulled it off, not by any means without voicing a piercing protest. Then she bounded up and beat a hasty retreat to a safer zone. For a moment she ached with the burning sting. Then the humiliation of it roused her ire. The glimpse she had of Edd through the saplings caused her to suspect that he had again succumbed to shameless glee. Else why did he hide behind the bee tree?
   Lucy was inclined to nurse her wrath as well as her nose. At any rate, she sat down to tenderly hold the injured member. It was swelling. She would have a huge, red, ugly nose. When Edd came to her at length, looking rather sheepish, Lucy glared at him.
   "That horrid old bee stung me right on my nose," she burst out. "Just for that I'll not go to the dance."
   "I have some salve I made. It'll take out the sting an' swellin'," he replied kindly.
   "Does it look very bad yet!"
   "No one'd ever see it," he comforted.
   "Oh, but it hurts. But if it doesn't disfigure me for life I guess I can stand it."
   He gazed thoughtfully down upon her.
   "You stuck to me bettor than any girl I ever took on a bee hunt. I'm shore goin' to tell everybody. Pa an' ma will be tickled. Now I'm askin' you. Reckonin' it all, aren't you glad you had that awful spill an' then got stung?"
   "Well," replied Lucy, gazing up at him just as, thoughtfully, "I'm not glad just this minute--but perhaps I will be later."
   Two hours of leisurely travel down a gradual descent, through a trailless forest, brought Lucy and her guide back to the brook. Edd had been careful to choose open woodland and the easiest going possible. Sunset found them crossing the clearing. Lucy could just wag along, yet she could still look up with delight in the golden cloud pageant, and at the sun-fired front of the Rim.
   "Edd, you forgot the turkey," said Lucy as they entered the lane.
   "Nope. It was only out of our way, comin' back. After supper I'll jump a hoss an' ride after it."
   "Well, Edd, thank you for--our bee hunt."
   As she passed the yard she waved and called gaily to the Denmeades, hiding to the last the fact that she was utterly spent. Clara heard her and flung open the door of the tent, glad-eyed and excited. Lucy staggered up into the tent and, closing the door, she made a long fall to the bed.
   "Oh--Clara," she whispered huskily, "I'm killed I'm dead!...Walked, climbed, slid, and stung to death!...Yes, stung! Look at my poor nose!...We found a bee line, and went a thousand miles--up and down...I stuck to that wild-bee hunter I did, Clara...But, oh, it's done something to me!...What a glorious, glorious day!"
   Clara leaned lovingly over her, and listened intently, and watched with sad, beautiful, wise eyes.
   "Lucy, dear," she said gently, "you're in love with that wild-bee hunter."