Wild Western Scenes Part 34

Joe did not desire to pursue the subject any further, and they proceeded on their way in silence, ever and anon breaking through the snow-crust. The atmosphere became still more temperate when the bright sun beamed over the horizon. Drops of water trickled down from the snow-covered branches of the trees, and a few birds flitted overhead, and uttered imperfect lays.

"Here we are," said Sneak, halting in the midst of a clump of enormous sycamore trees, over whose roots a sparkling rivulet glided with a gurgling sound.

"I know we're here," said Joe; "but what are you stopping _here_ for?"

"Here's where I live," replied Sneak, with a comical smile playing on his lips.

"But where's your house?" asked Joe.

"Didn't I say you couldn't find it, even if you was to rub your back agin it?"

"I know I'm not rubbing against your house now," replied Joe, turning round and looking up in the huge tree he had been leaning against.

"But you have been leaning agin my house," continued Sneak, amused at the incredulous face of his companion.

"I know better," persisted Joe; "this big sycamore is the only thing I've leant against since we started."

"Jest foller me, and I'll show you something," said Sneak, stepping round to the opposite side of the tree, where the ascent on the north rose abruptly from the roots. Here he removed a thin flat stone of about four feet in height, that stood in a vertical position against the tree.

"You don't live in there, Sneak, surely; why that looks like a wolf's den," said Joe, perceiving a dark yawning aperture, and that the immense tree was but a mere sh.e.l.l.

"Keep at my heels," said Sneak, stooping down and crawling into the tree.

"I'd rather not," said Joe; "there may be a bear in it."

Soon a clicking sound was heard within, and the next moment Joe perceived the flickering rays of a small lamp that Sneak held in his hand, illuminating the sombre recesses of the novel habitation.

"Why don't you come in?" asked Sneak.

"Sneak, how do you know there ain't a bear up in the hollow?" asked Joe, crawling in timidly and endeavouring to peer through the darkness far above, where even the rays of the lamp could not penetrate.

"I wonder if you think I'd let a bear sleep in my house," continued Sneak, searching among a number of boxes and rude shelves, to see if any thing had been molested during his absence. Finding every thing safe, he handed Joe a stool, and began to kindle a fire in a small stone furnace. Joe sat down in silence, and looked about in astonishment. And the scene was enough to excite the wonder of an Irishman. The interior of the tree was full eight feet in diameter, while the eye was lost above in undeveloped regions. Below, there was a surface of smooth stones, which were comfortably carpeted over with buffalo robes. At one side was a diminutive fireplace, or furnace, constructed of three flat stones about three inches in thickness. The largest was laid horizontally on the ground, and the others placed upright on it, and attached to a clay chimney, that was by some means confined to the interior side of the tree, and ran upward until it was lost in the darkness. After gazing in amazement several minutes at this strange contrivance, Joe exclaimed:

"Sneak, I don't understand this! Where does that smoke go to?"

"Go out doors and see if you can't see," replied Sneak, placing more fuel on the blazing fire.

"Go out of the _hole_ you mean to say," said Joe, creeping out.

"You may call it jest what you like," said Sneak; "but I'll be switched if many folks lives in _higher_ houses than I does."

"Well, I'll declare!" cried Joe.

"What ails you now?" asked Sneak, thrusting his head out of the aperture, and regarding the surprise of Joe with much satisfaction.

"Why, I see the smoke pouring out of a hole in a _limb_ not much bigger than my thigh!" cried Joe. This was true. Sneak had mounted up in the tree before building his chimney, and finding a hollow bough that communicated directly with the main trunk had cut through into the cavity, and thus made a vent for the escape of the smoke.

"Come in now, and get something to eat," said Sneak. This was an invitation that Joe was never known to decline. After casting another admiring glance at the blue vapour that issued from the bough some ninety feet from the ground, he pa.s.sed through the cavity with alacrity.

"Where are you?" cried Joe, upon entering and looking round in vain for his host, who had vanished in a most inexplicable manner. Joe stared in astonishment. The lighted lamp remained on a box, that was designed for the breakfast-table, and on which there was in truth an abundance of dried venison and smoking potatoes. But where was Sneak?

"Sneak, what's become of you?" continued Joe, eagerly listening for a reply, and anxiously scanning the tempting repast set before him. "I know you're at some of your tricks," he added, and sitting down at the table, commenced in no indifferent manner to discuss the savoury venison and potatoes.

"I'm only up stairs," cried Sneak, in the darkness above; and throwing down a rope made of hides, the upper end of which was fastened to the tree within, he soon followed, slipping briskly down, and without delay sprang to Joe's a.s.sistance.

When the meal was finished, or rather, when every thing set before them had vanished, Sneak rose up and thrust his long neck out of the aperture.

"What are you looking at?" asked Joe.

"I'm looking at the warm sun shining agin yonder side of the hill,"

said Sneak; "how'd you like to go a bee-hunting?"

"A bee-hunting!" iterated Joe. "I wonder if you think we could find a bee at this season of the year? and I should like to know what it'd be worth when we found it."

"Plague take the bee--I mean the _honey_--don't you like wild honey?"

continued Sneak.

"Yes," said Joe; "but how can you find any when there's such a snow as this on the ground?"

"When there's a snow, that's the time to find 'em," said Sneak; "peticuly when the sun shines warm. Jest come out here and look," he continued, stepping along, and followed by Joe; "don't you see yander big stooping limb?"

"Yes," replied Joe, gazing at the bough pointed out.

"Well," continued Sneak, "there's a bee's nest in that. Look here," he added, picking from the snow several dead bees that had been thrown from the hive; "now this is the way with all wild bees (but these are tame, for they live in my house), for when there comes a warm day they're sartin as fate to throw out the dead ones, and we can find where they are as easy as any thing in the world."

"Sneak, my mouth's watering--suppose we take the axe and go and hunt for some honey."

"Let's be off, then," said Sneak, getting his axe, and preparing to place the stone against the tree.

"Stop, Sneak," said Joe; "let me get my gun before you shut the _door_."

"I guess we'd better leave our guns, and then we won't be so apt to break through," replied Sneak, closing up the aperture.

"The bees won't sting us, will they?" asked Joe, turning to his companion when they had attained the high-timbered ridge that ran parallel with the valley.

"If you chaw 'em in your mouth they will," replied Sneak, striding along under the trees with his head bent down, and minutely examining every small dark object he found lying on the surface of the snow.

"I know that as well as you do," continued Joe, "because that would thaw them."

"Well, if they're froze, how _kin_ they sting you?"

"You needn't be so snappish," replied Joe. "I just asked for information. I know as well as anybody they're frozen or torpid."

"Or what?" asked Sneak.

"Torpid," said Joe.

"I'll try to 'member that word," continued Sneak, peeping under a spreading oak that was surrounded by a dense hazel thicket.