The belts of woodland that traverse the lower prairies and border the
rivers are peopled by innumerable swarms of wild bees, which make their
hives in hollow trees and fill them with honey tolled from the rich
flowers of the prairies. The bees, according to popular assertion,
are migrating like the settlers, to the west. An Indian trader, well
experienced in the country, informs us that within ten years that he has
passed in the Far West, the bee has advanced westward above a hundred
miles. It is said on the Missouri, that the wild turkey and the wild bee
go up the river together: neither is found in the upper regions. It is
but recently that the wild turkey has been killed on the Nebraska, or
Platte; and his travelling competitor, the wild bee, appeared there
about the same time.
Be all this as it may: the course of our party of bee hunters is to
make a wide circuit through the woody river bottoms, and the patches
of forest on the prairies, marking, as they go out, every tree in which
they have detected a hive. These marks are generally respected by any
other bee hunter that should come upon their track. When they have
marked sufficient to fill all their casks, they turn their faces
homeward, cut down the trees as they proceed, and having loaded their
wagon with honey and wax, return well pleased to the settlements.
Now it so happens that the Indians relish wild honey as highly as do the
white men, and are the more delighted with this natural luxury from its
having, in many instances, but recently made its appearance in their
lands.
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