by Zane Grey
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 s
nare. 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.
