BEEKEEPERS IN STRANGE PLACES 
67 
tains after heavy rains. As we mounted higher, the 
canyon walls drew closer, turning and twisting, and 
the trail led over rocks and massive boulders. 
I had strapped on my belt a hunting knife, of 
which I was inordinately proud. I never had used 
it for its original purpose of skinning and bleeding 
animals, but many times drew it from its sheath for 
various utilitarian purposes when on a tramp. I 
equipped myself with it that morning with the idea 
of cutting out some honey comb. I had a hankering 
for a taste of “wild honey,” so we carried a pan, 
a big square of mosquito netting, and a package of 
cigarettes—the two latter articles to serve in place 
of bee-veil and smoker. 
We found the bees in a shallow, easily-reached 
cavity, but a pile of burnt twigs at the entrance and 
traces of former combs plainly indicated that some 
other bee-hunter had been there before us and helped 
himself to what he could readily scoop out. The 
bees themselves were gently disposed, a few puffs of 
cigarette smoke driving them off their front combs 
back into the narrow recess under the rock. How¬ 
ever, although the combs were full of eggs and lar¬ 
vae, they were nearly dry of honey. So I did not 
fill my pan with wild honey as planned but left the 
little colony what it had and contented myself with 
