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Nathan Thorn’s Story 
Lining a Bee Tree— Camping on the Trail of a Bear 
—The Solution of a Mystery 
By DICK SWIVELLER 
Aunt Sallie beamed a welcome, and there 
B OB and I were shooting grouse in the 
mountains. It was near the close of the 
second day’s sport. We were to stay 
the night at Uncle Nathan Thorn’s, and were 
bending our steps toward his mountain home. 
The day had been a strenuous one on men and 
dogs. Our game bags were heavy, and when 
we came to a valley, we were glad to stop for 
rest in this inviting spot. The ground was 
covered with leaves, making the tread very 
soft and pleasant. Then we followed on up the 
valley, and desiring to make time to Thorn’s, 
we moved quickly on toward Long Gorge, a 
place where the mountain range is divided by a 
wild spot full of queer places, deep ravines, 
precipices and a cave of unknown extent, with a 
stream flowing through, holding its course from 
east to west at one side of the cave. 
Night came on. “Are we not getting too far 
west?” asked Bob. “It appears to me we ought 
to be near Uncle Nathan Thorn’s now. 
“What’s that—the baying of a hound?” We 
stood still listening. There it was again and 
apparently nearer. We started on toward the 
sound and saw in the distance a light, as if from 
a number of large sticks of wood. 
“Speak, Ned, speak.” The dog gave tongue 
at once and was answered from below by three 
hounds. We gave the mountain signal of 
“Whoopee-whoop.” Back came the answer, in 
old man Thorn’s voice above the canine chorus. 
We hurried down the ridge and soon were 
shaking hands with Uncle Thorn. 
“Why how-dy-do, young men, how-dy-do? I 
am very glad you made this side so early. I 
see you about four this arternoon a-going 
down Gray Ridge away off to the westerd, and 
I calkerlated from what Bob told me last Satur¬ 
day a week ago as how it was him and you. 
Why, William, it’s been a good many year since 
you was up here. Lemme see—yes, it’s been 
nigh on to ten year, the time that young feller 
"from Philadelphy come with you. I never did 
see a young man enjoy himself so, or tear 
good clothes mor’n that Philadelphy chap. 
Come right in. Here, Gus, snap them hounds 
up, er there’ll be a dog fight of the wuss kind 
in a, minit, and I calkerlate no bird dogs left 
in any kind of shape for to-morrow. 
“Sallie, here is Bob and William, and mighty 
glad you all are -to see them. 
were cordial greetings all around. 
“Now, I guess you boys ain’t had anything 
to eat to-day of any account,” said Aunt Sallie. 
“I ain’t got much to offer, only some ham and 
eggs, hot biscuits an’ coffee, an’ some quince 
jelly; an’ there’s the salt cucumber pickles, and 
there’ll be a pumpkin warmin’ by the fire¬ 
place. I do declare, Nathan, there is that wild 
honey.” 
“To be sure. I’ll have some on a platter in 
a minute. Here, Belle, get me something to 
put it in,” and Miss Belle, the youngest of the 
two daughters, handed her father a deep dish, 
and he disappeared, going to where the honey 
was kept in a cool place. 
A fresh bucket of water from the spring, the 
basin and towels, and our toilet was soon 
made. The dogs cared for and the game hung 
up for the night, then we sat down to the 
bountiful table. It was a cheerful scene. The 
log house contained six rooms. The largest one 
served for dining room and kitchen. Around 
the table sat Uncle Nathan, his wife Sallie, two 
daughters, son Gus and his guests. 
A hickory wood fire was burning in the ample 
fire-place, for the October night air was very 
cool. On the mantle over the fire-place were 
two china cats looking as bright and trim and 
unconcerned as could be. An old-fashioned 
high, square clock ticked loudly on the corner 
of the mantel. On the wall nearby was a 
picture of Webster’s reply to Hayne. On three 
sides of the room hung old-fashioned prints. 
Two of them would attract attention because of 
the incongruity in their proximity to each other, 
one being the prodigal son coming home 
dressed in green rags, and being received by a 
forgiving father in a red gown; the other 
picture was of Flora Temple, one of the most 
famous trotting horses in racing history, getting 
in her best licks to make the then great record 
of 2.19^4. 
Nathan Thorn was a mountaineer, but not 
so rough and unlettered as are mountaineers 
in other sections. He gained a livelihood from 
a small acreage in the mountains, cutting and 
hauling wood for the people in the town below. 
In the summer quite a revenue was derived 
from the huckle and black berry crop. He kept 
a couple of horses and a cow, and managed, 
assisted by the sturdy hands of his family, to 
provide well for the wants of all. 
“Uncle Nathan,” I asked, “how did,you get 
this honey? It is prime.” 
“You must ask Gus, he lined out the bees 
and follered ’em up.” 
“Tell us about it, Gus.” 
“It was mor’n two weeks ago,” said Gus; “me 
an’ Baldy Green an’ Linkturn, Baldy’s brother, 
was across the west side of the big pine ridge 
when we see the bees a-linin west. It was 
about ten o’clock, and afore two o’clock we 
found the tree, a good-sized holler oak, a good 
seven miles from here. So we puts our mark 
on the tree in two big blazes and makes tracks 
for axes and kettles, and long afore we was 
ready to go back, it was good dark. 
“Pop, he said there was no use in goin’ out 
agin that night, but me an’ Baldy an’ Link was 
in for the fun and the honey, you bet. So we 
took some grub, plenty of matches, Pop s 
lantern an’ my gun an’ some birch bark an 
made a start for the bee tree. We got on very 
good till we thought as how we should be 
pretty near the place where the tree stood; then 
we searched careful for mor’n an hour an 
could find no blazed tree. You see, we didn’t 
want to give the thing up after tuggin’ that dis¬ 
tance, so ’greed to separate an’ look three at 
a time. I went trudgin’ along, a-lookin’ at 
most every tree that was likely lookin’, and the 
more I looked, the more mixed I was a-gettin’ 
an’ couldn’t make out nohow why I was so 
bothered, ’cause I know these ’ere mountains 
from a to izzard. So I sot down an’ rested. In 
half an hour I heard a noise like some one a- 
steppin’ very soft, so I said, ‘Hi, Baldy, is that 
you?’ but nary a word did I get back. Then I 
was sort of oneasy. Presently I heard the soft 
step agin; this time nearer. Then I scratched 
a match and fired a bunch of birch, an’ see two 
eyes shined by the fire a-lookin’ right at me. 
I jist laid that torch on the ground and took 
good aim an’ pulled both triggers almost at 
once, an’ the buckshot struck jist where it was 
intended fur. There was a fearful squallin’ an’ 
tumblin’, an’ then all was quiet. 
“I built a fire an’ loaded my gun. Then I 
heard a whoopin’ an’ Baldy, he come—then we 
found I had killed a good-sized catamount. As 
soon as Link come in, he said, ‘Have you found 
the tree?’ an’ I said, ‘No.’ Then he looked 
around and begun a-laffin’ an’ pointin’ to the 
very tree what I had been settin’ under. ‘Why, 
Gus,’ said he, ‘that’s the tree,’ an’ sure enough 
there it was, blazes an’ all. I don’t know what 
was the matter with me that night to lose my 
bearin’s that way. I was more ashamed of my¬ 
self than I let on, I can tell you.” 
“Maybe you was thinking of Janey Brewster, 
and that tangled you up,” said Miss Belle. Two 
red spots came to Gus’s cheeks, his eyes 
