DISPOSING OF UNWELCOME NEIGHBORS.

“To begin with,” said Grant, “I told you that I didn’t think the Dutchman was as sleepy as he looked, but I’ll confess I never reckoned him capable of putting up a joke of this sort.”

“Joke!” rasped Crane, shaking with mingled pain and wrath. “I don’t see no joke abaout it.”

“You cuc-can’t see very well, anyhow,” reminded Springer. “One of your eyes is plumb buttoned up. You’re a spectacle.”

“Yeou don’t have to tell me. Say, ain’t there nothing I can put on to stop the smarting? What are you all standin’ around for? Want to see me perish in horrible agony right before yeour eyes? Why don’t yeou do something?”

It is always advisable for campers, when planning to spend some time in the woods, to include in their outfit a medicine case containing such simple remedies as may be needed; but, unfortunately, the Oakdale boys had failed to provide anything of the sort. Therefore they were now at a loss to know what could be done to alleviate Crane’s sufferings, but presently Grant thought of something, and, taking care not to attract the still whirling and whirring hornets, he went back into the shadows of the woods and procured two heaping handfuls of soft, moist earth, which, as well as possible, was presently bound or plastered upon Crane’s wounds.

“Wait till I ketch that Dutchman!” Sile kept muttering through his set teeth.

“Keep still,” advised Rod. “The bandage will hold those dirt poultices over your eye and behind your ear, but you’ll shake off the dabs I’ve stuck to your jaw and in other places, if you keep on talking.”

So Sile relapsed into silence, save for an occasional bitter groan, and the others took into consideration the problem of getting rid of the hornets.

“We’ll have to destroy the nest somehow,” said Rod, “for as long as that remains where it is those pests will give us trouble.”

“We’ll find a way to fix them after breakfast,” said Stone. “As long as we don’t go near them and fail to attract their attention by our movements, there’s little probability that they will give us much annoyance.”

“This cuc-camping expedition is certainly proving rather sus-strenuous and exciting,” observed Springer.

For some reason Piper seemed to find it difficult to suppress a show of satisfaction, but this he tried to do, even though he could not forget with what glee his companions had joshed him about his unpleasant experience with the sleeping bag. Had Sleuth known that the victim of Carl Duckelstein’s “gougers” was responsible for that first night adventure, he must surely have regarded Crane’s misfortune as a piece of retributive justice. Unsuspecting, however, he refrained from gloating and pretended to commiserate with the wretched chap.

With the fire replenished, Stone put on a kettle of water, and, while that was rising to the boiling point, he peeled and sliced some potatoes from the small supply they had brought. Bacon, fried out, provided fat in which to fry the sliced potatoes, and the salmon Crane had caught was put into the kettle to boil. There was a supply of bread left over from the loaves baked upon the previous day; and, for variety, Stone made hot chocolate instead of coffee.

Now at home chocolate, although occasionally enjoyable, is liable to seem rather flat, insipid and tame; but for breakfast in camp, made with milk, either fresh or condensed, and served piping hot, there is nothing better or more satisfying.

And so, when the fish was properly boiled, the potatoes fried and the chocolate ready, their appetites being by that time keen and demanding, they sat down to a meal which seemed to all, with the exception of Crane, the best they had yet tasted. Even in spite of his still burning wounds, Sile ate with apparent relish. Once they all ducked as a passing hornet whizzed overhead with a humming sound like that of a tiny gas motor turning up at full speed. Crane was the only one who did not laugh; he growled.

Breakfast over and everything cleared away, they resumed consideration of their new and unwelcome neighbors, a few of which, apparently on guard, hovered around the nest.

“With a long pole we might smash the sus-stuffing out of that nest,” declared Springer.

“And probably get ourselves well stung while we were about it,” said Stone. “A smudge is the thing to cook them. A good, heavy smudge, started as close as possible to the nest opening, would smother them as they came out.”

“How close is as close as possible?” questioned Crane.

“Right up against the nest if we can put it there; not over six or eight inches away, at most.”

“Well,” drawled Sile, with a returning touch of whimsicality, “I’d sartainly like to see some of yeou fellers make that smudge and start it goin’.”

“Misery loves company,” laughed Rod. “I don’t judge there’s enough wealth in this outfit to tempt me to try that.”

“Perhaps we can work it without getting near enough to be stung,” said Ben.

“How? how?” they cried.

“If we can find a pole long enough to enable me to reach the nest and remain hidden behind the end of the tent, I’ll show you.”

Some time was spent in securing the pole, but eventually, some rods from the camp, a tall, straight, slender sapling was selected, cut and trimmed. Then Stone searched about for the material to make his smudge, stripping the bark, both wet and dry, from cedar tree trunks. He also secured a huge dry toadstool as large as his two fists.

With these things the boys returned to the smoldering campfire, where, placing the toadstool in the center, Ben wound and twisted and tied the strips of cedar bark about it, with plenty of the dry bark on the outside and numerous strips running through the elongated ball. The end of the pole, whittled sharp, was then carefully thrust into this ball, after which Ben set it afire and fanned it until it was sending forth a surprisingly heavy, rank cloud of smoke.

“Now,” he said, “to see what can be done with our friends, the enemy.”

His movements were watched by the others as, with the butt of the pole in his hands, he slipped swiftly round behind the tent. From his place of concealment he thrust the reeking smudge forth toward the hornets’ nest, where a few of the creatures, seemingly on guard, still circled with much angry grumbling. Up against the end of the nest that contained the opening, the smudge was pushed, and the nest itself was practically enveloped in smoke.

“Naow come aout, consarn ye, come aout!” cried Crane revengefully. “Mebbe that will cure yeour asthmy and stop yeou from wheezin’.”

It was impossible to see whether or not the hornets came forth, but certain it was that, did they attempt to do so, they were promptly overcome by the smoke, for the few that darted and circled in the vicinity were not augmented in number. Some of these, even, apparently making a desperate and reckless charge toward their threatened home, were seen to drop, overcome by the rank smoke.

Lowering the butt of the pole to the ground, Stone left the smudge burning against the hornets’ nest and rejoined his watching friends.

“We’d better keep watch to see that it doesn’t set fire to the woods,” he said. “By the time it burns out there will not be many hornets left to bother us.”

“You’ve got a great head on your shoulders, Stoney, old scout,” complimented Piper.

“I wish,” said Crane revengefully, “that I could hold that Dutchman’s nose in that smoke for abaout one minute. I guess he’d cough some.”

It was a long time before the smoke of the smudge died down to a tiny, wavering spindle of blueish gray; but when this took place the nest lay there, burned a bit and blackened at one end, a deserted looking thing indeed. If any of the hornets had survived, it seemed that they had departed in desperation or despair.

“Who is going to see if there are any left?” asked Sleuth.

“I think Sile would be a good one to do that.”

“What?” shouted Crane, glaring at the speaker with his unbandaged eye. “What d’yeou mean?”

“Why,” said Sleuth innocently, “if there should be any, and you happen to get stung two or three times more, it wouldn’t make much difference. You couldn’t feel a great deal worse.”

“Bah!” snarled Sile. “That’s sense, ain’t it? If you get me monkeyin’ round that thing yeou’ll know it, by jinks!”

It was Stone who picked up the pole and poked the nest around with it. Although he mutilated that nest, no hornets appeared, and, thrusting the charred, pointed end of the pole into the thing, he carried it away into the woods and left it.

“There,” he said, returning triumphantly, “we’re at peace once more.”