92 HUNTIJTG SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



tlie little laborers were passing in and out. It was in a 

 nearly decayed, not very large post-oak, a tree that pre- 

 fers moist soils, though it also grows on hills. It bears 

 small and rather sweet acorns ; its wood is very durable, 

 and will remain long in the ground without rotting. 

 I rode hastily back to the house, for we had taken a 

 horse with us for the chase, and returned with a pail, an 

 axe, a knife, and a spoon. The tree soon fell under our 

 blows smoke was made, the bees stupefied, an opening 

 cut, and a most beautiful sight for a bee-hunter pre- 

 sented itself, in a number of well-filled cells. We filled 

 the pail with the best, ate as much as our stomachs 

 would bear, set the tree on fire, that the bees might not 

 lead us astray in our next hunt, and returned to the 

 house. 



As there were several things to be done about the 

 house, we remained at home, cut down firewood, and 

 carried it to the house, ground flour in Slowtrap's excel- 

 lent steel mill, and when the evening shadows began to 

 lengthen fast, we sat by the fire, and the old fellow, ren- 

 dered good-humored by the successful bee-hunt, began 

 again with his stories. In the course of the day, we had 

 seen a man pass by with a smooth-bored gun, and as 

 such a thing was a rarity in the backwoods, the conver- 

 sation turned on this circumstance. He said : u I once 

 had a smooth-bored gun, called a musket, and not far 

 from the house where we then lived, was a small lake, 

 generally covered with wild fowl. One morning I took 

 the old thumper, for it kicked tremendously, and lounged 

 towards the lake to have a shot. I had not gone far 

 along the bank, when I saw through a gap, a number of 



