The Journal of a Sporting Nomad 
perhaps half a mile, the bird keeping just in 
front of us, until suddenly I missed it. The boys, 
too, began to look round. Cooe pointed to 
a hole in a tree, which numbers of bees were 
entering and leaving. He took an axe from 
another of my boys and hit the bole of the tree, 
which sounded quite hollow. The entrance to 
the beehive which Cooe then started to eut in 
and enlarge was but four or five feet from the 
ground. The bees came out in crowds, stinging 
him and one of my other boys; the third, having 
no use for bees and their stings, cleared out to a 
respectful distance, where he awaited develop- 
ments. I remained all the time close to the tree. 
The bees did not molest me, except in the case 
of one that settled on my left hand, and I 
brushed this one off before it had time to sting 
me. In a short time Cooe had cut a hole suffi- 
ciently large to permit his pulling out with his 
hands some lovely combs of virgin honey. — 
He also gathered a lot of combs with the 
young bees or pupz in it (this is, I believe, 
termed ‘“ bee-bread’’). Out of that hole he 
must have taken at least twenty pounds of 
honeycomb. I wondered how we were going to 
get it all back to my camp, but it was done by 
him in this way. He stripped from off a tree a 
large semicircular piece of bark, then he hit up 
the ends with the head of the axe, making an 
altogether satisfactory dish three feet long by 
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