Under the Tonto Rim (1991)

by Grey, Zane

  "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 Lu
cy 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.