530 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 2, 1909. 
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Hams,” according to which flank he struck first. 
To add to their iniquities the tattooer’s party 
had left behind them an empty keg which, after 
long cumbering the cabin as a most uncomfort¬ 
able seat, had been metamorphosed into one of 
Ham’s latest hobbies. 
“Made hit into a bear trap, suh,” said he to 
Chuff—nick name for our fattest member, who 
usually sat thereon. 
Chuff looked relieved. “A bear trap! What’s 
that?” This query being looked on purely in 
the light of a joke. 
Ham proceeded with his explanations in his 
own way. Their purport was as follows: While 
we fished a neighboring trout stream and rested 
up for more vigorous operations later on, Uncle 
Ham started in the morning to cut a bee tree 
he had located. We like honey, and so do the 
bears, which said trap was intended to catch. 
A number of long, sharp, steel spikes driven 
slanting downward toward the one head left in 
the keg, together with a piece of wire netting 
to wrap round the honeycomb, formed the other 
accessories of this method of bear catching. 
Conveyed to a place where bears are to be rea¬ 
sonably expected, the keg was to be firmly at¬ 
tached to a long chain and the other end hooked 
round a tree or log to await further develop¬ 
ments on the part of the bear. 
Bear are not now plentiful in West Virginia, 
but the edges of Webster and Pocahontas coun¬ 
ties still furnish occasional surprises in this line. 
The very length of the lapses of time between 
occasions makes the surprise all the more pro¬ 
nounced; sometimes ludicrously so. 
Meanwhile, to keep Japhet from straying 
away, he had been fastened in the stable, where 
inadvertently the new trap had been stored for 
its final bait of honeycomb. This last, wrapped 
in the wire netting, was to be tacked to the 
bottom of the keg. 
The trout stream being duly whipped, and 
enough trout taken to insure an appetizing mid¬ 
day lunch, we were leisurely returning to the 
camp when the distant sound of a tree falling 
caused the loiterer of our party, Chuff, to make 
a detour in that direction. Chuff loves honey. 
He had heard axe strokes and suspected Ham’s 
being in that neighborhood. The negro was 
more of a success as a bee hunter than a wild 
honey gatherer. The bees were sending out 
scouting parties to find the disturbers of their 
home. The tree lay prone, and from a safe 
distance Chuff saw the old man hesitate to ap¬ 
proach the center of danger. How easy it is 
to advise others—at times. “Hold your breath 
and dive in!” shouted Chuff. “Bees won’t sting 
you if you hold your breath good and hard.” 
So Ham drew a check on his wind and pro¬ 
ceeded to gather honey and comb from a large 
split midway of the hollow trunk. Suddenly 
the bees made a rear attack in force that caused 
Ham to straighten up and emit a loud whoop. 
He was attacked on all sides by “more’n a 
millyun, suh,” as he afterward deposed. Then, 
indeed, did our Ethiopian camp Nestor show his 
real talents as a sprinter. He jumped higher 
and longer and more persistently than a pro¬ 
fessional usually does in a half-mile dash. 
Chuff's laughter was turned into dismay when 
he saw Ham heading in his direction. He de¬ 
termined not to be overtaken by the negro as 
long as the latter affiliated with such company. 
But Ham was hard to shake under such circum¬ 
stances, so Chuff dodged under the creek bank 
and allowed the procession to pass. 
Ham kept on. His bow-legs reached far out 
before, pulled the distance under him and kicked 
it recklessly out of sight behind. He looked to 
Chuff like a streak of Africans yards on yards 
long. Passing the mule shed, half a mile fur¬ 
ther down the creek, he still had sense enough 
left to remember that Japhet needed water and 
was fastened up inside. Japhet, too, might divert 
some of the bees still hanging about his master. 
He did, though with unexpected vigor. 
Ham pulled out the wooden door plug as he 
ran. The stable door fell open and with a loud, 
muffled “Hunngh-ungh-ungh!” something that 
looked like Japhet went out like a bobtail rail¬ 
way train, and on up the trail as hard as it 
could gallop. Chuff, following and seeing this, 
again cautiously dodged under the creek bank. 
Sheer amazement caused Ham to halt in his 
rash career, pry open his eyelids and stare. Was 
that Japhet? Had those diverted bees already 
enlarged Japhet’s head to the size of a keg? 
UNAFRAID OF THE CAMERA. 
The thought caused a sudden reminder. Ham 
dashed inside the stable as rapidly as Japhet 
had dashed out. 
Ham’s fear was realized. Being of an in¬ 
vestigating turn and, prompted by thirst, Japhet 
had found the partially prepared trap and thrust 
his elongated head inside. The rest was easy, 
though mayhap from Japhet’s standpoint it 
seemed hard. The mule did not find water, but 
he tested the availability of that trap when once 
a sizeable head was well inside. 
Japhet had disappeared up the trail, his bell 
ding-donging at every jump. The situation was 
becoming complicated and we presently saw Ham 
approaching the camp, slapping off the few re¬ 
maining bees with a fragment of hat and call¬ 
ing on Mrs. Ham for soda, tobacco poultice and 
what not. Presently Chuff appeared and in¬ 
formed us of these prior proceedings. From 
our own tent near the cabin we saw the old 
man and his wife disappear within. Chuff as¬ 
sured us that mule would not stop running short 
of the State line, at least, and was heading when 
last seen straight for the danger center, the 
riven bee tree. We therefore busied ourselves 
in preparing our own dinner after responding 
to various calls from Mrs. Ham for sundry 
remedies for bee sting. 
The day waned, so that it was between sun¬ 
set and dark before Ham once more made hi: 
appearance, feeling sufficiently recuperated tc 
look after his mule and the trap. He was stil 
half blind and quite disconsolate to think tha- 
Japhet had run away with what was intendec 
for the bear. 
“I can’t see to shoot, suh,” said he, “thougl 
I kin travel. Dey’s a sho’ nuff bear sign u[ 
dat gully ’yant whar de bee tree is. Bear dont 
smell dat honey mess and mo’n like you gent 
might git a shot, whiles I tries ter find what’: 
leff er my old mule. Anny er you all gwim 
wid me?” 
Chuff had already laughed himself into “laz; 
man’s cramps.” He declined on the plea tha 
our turn to have fun should be all ours; but h 
overreached, for, when half the distance to th> 
bee tree had been covered, a solemn ding-dong 
ing met our ears. It was spasmodically con 
tinuous and from the region whence Ham' 
first bee skirmishing had ended in defeat am 
flight. The full moon was rising. 
“Dat’s Japhet!” exclaimed Ham, and bright 
ened up wonderfully. He started on the rui 
for the bee tree. Half a mile up a West Vir 
ginia mountain gully is no cinder track fo 
speed, but we managed to keep Ham in sigh 
until we arrived in the timbered bottom wher 
the tree had been felled. The moon bobbe 
up over the eastern hillcrest, disclosing Japhc 
still self-imprisoned, bucking, kicking and wit 
enough angry bees yet awake and active to mak 
life interesting. 
Something else was there, too, in the shap 
of real bears—a female, with a half-grown cul 
They had come to the honey feast when Japhe 
keg-helmeted as aforesaid, emerged on thj 
scene. In proportion to their rarety the Appa 
lachian black bear is usually inoffensive, bv ; 
they do like honey. When the bees attacke, 
this strange, roaring, gyrating creature the’ 
simply climbed a tree and waited development! 
We came up. Ham was already wishing fc 
a gun and lamenting the fix Japhet was in. 
“Is yo’ gents loaded fer b’ar meat.?” E 
eyed the heavy shotgun I carried and the smal 
bore rifle of my companion. “Wisht I had rr 
old Rabe.” He seized my gun, knowing ir 
tenderness of heart where peppering a walru 
hided woods mammoth with bird shot was coi 
cerned. The feel of the heavy ten-bore ba 
rels reassured him. 
“Hit is old Rabe!” said Ham, and would ha> 
made off, but we laid a detaining grip on th 
ancient gun, doubtless an heirloom in the Ha 
family. 
“Nay, nay,” said I, for I was wroth. “Attet 
to your four-legged brother in distress.” Ai 
so Ham did. We smote the waiting bear h 
and thigh, with old-fashioned buckshot. Ai 
though old Rabe nearly unjointed my should* 
the hole those dozen or more small marbles to 
through bruin’s anatomy was consoling. T! 
gun roar was cannon-like. It started Japhet < 
again with Ham swinging to the chain, 
finally took a smith’s sledge and a hard hou: 
work to release Japhet’s head. The spik 
ruined his facial beauty—as a mule. 
“Sell him to the Salvation Army, Ham,” .suj 
gested Chuff later on. 
“Not long as dat b’ar meat lasts, suh, wh 
you alls holp me an ole Rabe ter kill las’ ft 
I truss you shoulder done get well be diss time 
