Under the Tonto Rim (1991) (25 page)

"She belongs to different bee trees. She knows the way home better than any other livin' creature. Can't you see that? Straight as a string! Reckon you never heard the old sayin', 'makin' a bee line for home.'"

"Oh, is that where that comes from?" ejaculated Lucy, amused. "I certainly appreciate what it means now."

"Now shift back to this other bee line," instructed Edd. "When you ketch another, follow her till you lose her, an' then tell me where that is. Mark the place."

Lucy made several attempts before she succeeded in placing the disappearance of a bee close to the tip of a tall pine on the distant ridge.

"Wal, that's linin' as good as ever Mertie or Allie," asserted Edd, evidently pleased, and he picked up his gun and bucket. "We're off."

"What do we do now?" queried Lucy.

"Can't you reckon it out?"

"Oh, I see! We've got the bee line. We follow it to that pine tree where I lost the last bee."

"Right an' exactly," drawled Edd.

"Oh--what fun It's like a game. Then where do we go?"

"Wal, I can't say till we get there."

"We'll watch again. We'll sight more bees. We'll get their line. We'll follow it as far as we can see--mark the spot--and then go on," declared Lucy excitedly.

"Lucy, your granddad might have been a wild-bee hunter," said Edd, with an approving smile.

"He might, only he wasn't," laughed Lucy. "You can't make any wild-bee hunter of me, Edd Denmeade."

"Shore, but you might make one of yourself," drawled Edd.

Lucy had no reply for that. Falling in behind him as he headed across the clearing, she pondered over his words. Had they been subtle, a worthy response to her rather blunt double meaning, or just his simplicity, so apt to hit the truth? She could not be sure, but she decided hereafter to think before she spoke.

Edd crossed the clearing and plunged into the forest. As he entered the timber Lucy saw him halt to point out a tree some distance ahead. This, of course, was how he marked a straight line. Lucy began to guess the difficulty of that and the strenuous nature of travelling in a straight line through dense and rugged forest. She had to scramble over logs and climb over windfalls; she had to creep through brush and under fallen trees; she had to wade into ferns as high as her head and tear aside vines that were as strong as ropes.

They reached the bank above the roaring brook. As Edd paused to choose a place to get down the steep declivity, Lucy had a moment to gaze about her. What a wild, dark, deep glen! The forest monarchs appeared to mat overhead and hide the sun. Boulders and trees, brook and bank, all the wild jumble of rocks and drifts, and the tangle of vines and creepers, seemed on a grand scale. There was nothing small. The ruggedness of nature, of storm and flood, of fight to survive, manifested itself all around her.

"Wal, shore if you can't follow me you can squeal," shouted Edd, above the roar of the brook.

"Squeal! Me? Never in your life!" replied Lucy, with more force than elegance. "If I can't follow you, I can't, that's all. But I'll try."

"Reckon I didn't mean squeal as you took it," returned Edd, and without more ado he plunged in giant strides right down the bank.

Lucy plunged likewise, fully expecting to break her neck. Instead, however, she seemed to be taking seven-league-boot-steps in soft earth that slid with her. Once her hands touched. Then, ridiculously easily, she arrived at the bottom of the forty-foot embankment. Most amusing of all was the fact that Edd never even looked back. Certainly it was not discourtesy, for Edd was always thoughtful. He simply had no concern about her accomplishing this descent.

Crossing the brook had more qualms for Lucy, and when she saw Edd leap from one slippery rock to another she thought it was a good thing she had been put on her mettle. Edd reached the other side without wetting a foot. Lucy chose boulders closer together, and by good judgment, added to luck, she got safely across, though not without wet boots.

Then Lucy climbed after Edd up a bank of roots that was as easy as a ladder, and thence on into the forest again. A thicket of pine saplings afforded welcome change. How subdued the light--how sweet the scent of pine! She threaded an easy way over smooth, level mats of needles, brown as autumn leaves. Edd broke the dead branches and twigs as he passed, so that she did not have to stoop. On all sides the small saplings shut out the light and hid the large trees. Soon the hum of the brook died away. Footsteps on the soft needles gave forth no sound. Silent, shaded, lonely, this pine smale appealed strongly to Lucy. Soon it ended in a rough open ridge of cedar, oak, and occasional pine, where Edd's zigzag climb seemed steep and long. It ended in an open spot close to a tree Lucy recognised.

"I thought--we'd never--get here," panted Lucy. "That was easy. Can you pick out where we stood in the down clearin'?"

Lucy gazed down the slope, across the green thicket and then the heavy timber marking the channel of the brook, on to the open strip bright with its red sumach.

"Yes, I see the water," she replied.

"Wal, turn your back to that an' look straight the other way an' you'll soon get our--bee line."

She had not stood many moments as directed before she caught the arrowy streak of bees, flying straight over the ridge. But owing to the background of green, instead of the sky that served as background, she could not follow the bees very far.

"Here's where we make easy stages," remarked Edd, and started on.

Open ridge and hollow occupied the next swift hour. Lucy had enough to do to keep up with her guide. The travel, however, was not nearly as rough as that below, so that she managed without undue exertion. She had been walking and climbing every day, and felt that she was equal to a gruelling task. She had misgivings, however, as to that endurance being sufficient for all Edd might require. Still, she had resolved to go her very limit, as a matter of pride. Mertie had confided to Lucy that the only time Sadie Purdue had ever gone bee-hunting with Edd she had given out, and that, too, on a rather easy bee line. It would have to be a bad place and a long walk that would daunt Lucy this day.

Edd's easy stages proved to be short distances from mark to mark, at every one of which he took pleasure in having Lucy again catch the bee line.

"When are you going to burn the honey in your bucket?" asked Lucy, once, happening to remember what Edd had told her.

"I don't know. Maybe I won't have to," he replied: "If I lose the bee line, then I'll need to burn honey."

"It seems, if things keep on as they are, you'll lose only me," observed Lucy.

"Tired?"

"Not a bit. But if I had to keep this up all day I might get tired."

"We'll eat lunch under this bee tree."

"That's most welcome news. Not because I want the hunt to be short, at all! I'm having the time of my life. But I'm hungry."

"It's always good to be hungry when you're in the woods," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because when you do get to camp or back home, near starved to death, everythin' tastes so good, an' you feel as if you never knew how good food is."

Lucy was beginning to appreciate what this philosophy might mean in more ways than applied to hunger. It was good to starve, to thirst, to resist, to endure.

The bee line led to the top of a slope, and a hollow deeper, rougher than any of the others, and much wider. Edd lined the bees across to the timber on the summit of the ridge beyond, but he was concerned because there appeared so little to mark the next stage. The pines on that side were uniform in size, shape, and colour. There were no dead tops or branches.

"Now, this is easy if we go straight down an' up," said Edd. "But if we go round, head this hollow, I reckon I might lose our bee line."

"Why should we go round?" inquired Lucy.

"Because that'd be so much easier for you," he explained.

"Thanks. But did you hear me squeal?"

Edd let out a hearty laugh, something rare with him, and it was an acceptance that gratified Lucy. Thereupon he went straight down the slope. Lucy strode and trotted behind, finding it took little effort. All she had to do was to move fast to keep from falling.

"Yes, I see the water," she replied.

"Wal, turn your back to that an' look straight the other way an' you'll soon get our--bee line."

She had not stood many moments as directed before she caught the arrowy streak of bees, flying straight over the ridge. But owing to the background of green, instead of the sky that served as background, she could not follow the bees very far.

"Here's where we make easy stages," remarked Edd, and started on.

Open ridge and hollow occupied the next swift hour. Lucy had enough to do to keep up with her guide. The travel, however, was not nearly as rough as that below, so that she managed without undue exertion. She had been walking and climbing every day, and felt that she was equal to a gruelling task. She had misgivings, however, as to that endurance being sufficient for all Edd might require. Still, she had resolved to go her very limit, as a matter of pride. Mertie had confided to Lucy that the only time Sadie Purdue had ever gone bee-hunting with Edd she had given out, and that, too, on a rather easy bee line. It would have to be a bad place and a long walk that would daunt Lucy this day.

Edd's easy stages proved to be short distances from mark to mark, at every one of which he took pleasure in having Lucy again catch the bee line.

"When are you going to burn the honey in your bucket?" asked Lucy, once, happening to remember what Edd had told her.

"I don't know. Maybe I won't have to," he replied: "If I lose the bee line, then I'll need to burn honey."

"It seems, if things keep on as they are, you'll lose only me," observed Lucy.

"Tired?"

"Not a bit. But if I had to keep this up all day I might get tired."

"We'll eat lunch under this bee tree."

"That's most welcome news. Not because I want the hunt to be short, at all I I'm having the time of my life. But I'm hungry."

"It's always good to be hungry when you're in the woods," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because when you do get to camp or back home, near starved to death, everythin' tastes so good, an' you feel as if you never knew how good food is."

Lucy was beginning to appreciate what this philosophy might mean in more ways than applied to hunger. It was good to starve, to thirst, to resist, to endure.

The bee line led to the top of a slope, and a hollow deeper, rougher than any of the others, and much wider. Edd lined the bees across to the timber on the summit of the ridge beyond, but he was concerned because there appeared so little to mark the next stage. The pines on that side were uniform in size, shape, and colour. There were no dead tops or branches.

"Now, this is easy if we go straight down an' up," said Edd. "But if we go round, head this hollow, I reckon I might lose our bee line."

"Why should we go round?" inquired Lucy.

"Because that'd be so much easier for you," he explained.

"Thanks. But did you hear me squeal?"

Edd let out a hearty laugh, something rare with him, and it was an acceptance that gratified Lucy. Thereupon he went straight down the slope. Lucy strode and trotted behind, finding it took little effort. All she had to do was to move fast to keep from falling.

This mode of travel appeared to be exhilarating. At least something was exhilarating, perhaps the air. Lucy knew she was excited, buoyant. Her blood ran warm and quick. What an adventure! If only she could have felt sure of herself! Yet she did not admit to her consciousness where she felt uncertain. "I'll live this with all I have," she soliloquised, "for I might never go again."

The slope into this hollow was a delusion and a snare. From above it had appeared no denser than the others. It turned out to be a jungle of underbrush. Live-oak, manzanita, buckbrush formed an almost impenetrable thicket on the southerly exposed side. Edd crashed through the oaks, walked on top of the stiff manzanita, and crawled under the buck-brush.

Water ran down the rocky gully at the bottom. How Lucy drank and bathed her hot face! Here Edd filled a canvas water bag he had carried in his pocket, and slung it over his shoulder.

"Shore was fun ridin' the manzanitas, wasn't it?" he queried.

"Edd, it's--all fun," she breathed. "Remember, if I fall by the wayside--I mean by the bee line--that my spirit was willing but my flesh was weak."

"Humph! Sometimes I don't know about you, Lucy Watson," he said dubiously.

When Lucy imagined she deserved a compliment it seemed rather disillusioning to hear an ambiguous speech like that. Meekly she followed him in and out of the clumps of brush toward the slope. Her meekness, however, did not last very long. Edd had the most astonishing faculty for bringing out all that was worst in her. Then by the time she had gotten half-way through a grove of large-leaved oaks she had forgotten what had inflamed her spirit. Every strenuous section of this journey had its reward in an easy stretch, where beauty and colour and wilderness took possession of her.

Edd zigzagged up this slope, and the turns were so abrupt that Lucy began for the first time to feel a strain. Edd saw it and paused every few moments to give her time to regain breath and strength. He did not encourage her to waste either in speech. This slope stood on end. The ridge proved to be a mountain. Lucy was compelled to dig heels and toes in the hard, red earth, and often grasp a bush or branch, to keep from slipping back.