er. It was at just such dangerous places that we seemed
most often to find the Yellow-Jackets at home. Roused by the noise and
trampling, they would assail the horses in swarms, and then there would
be a stampede of bucking, squealing, tortured animals. Some would be
forced off the trail, and, as has often happened elsewhere, dashed to
their death below. This was the daily danger.

[Illustration]

One morning late in September we left camp about eight, and set off in
the usual line, the chief guide leading and the rest of us distributed
at intervals among the pack-horses, as a control. Near the rear was the
cook, after him a pack-horse with tins and dishes, and last of all
myself.

At first we saw no wasps, as the morning was frosty, but about ten the
sun had become strong, the air was quite mild, and the wasps became
lively. For all at once I heard the dreaded cry, "_Yellow-Jackets_!"
Then in a moment it was taken up by the cook just ahead of me.
"Yellow-Jackets! look out!" with a note almost of terror in his voice.

At once his horse began to plunge and buck. I saw the man of pots
clinging to the saddle and protecting his face as best he could, while
his mount charged into the bushes and disappeared.

Then "_bzz-z-z-z_" they went at the pot-horse and again the bucking and
squealing, with pots going clank, clink, rattle and away.

"_Bzz-z-z-z-z_" and in a moment the dark and raging little terrors came
at me in a cloud. I had no time to stop, or get off, or seek another
way. So I jerked up a coat collar to save my face, held my head low, and
tried to hold on, while the little pony went insane with the fiery
baptism now upon him. Plunging, kicking, and squealing he went, and I
stuck, to him for one--two--three jumps, but at number four, as I
remember it, I went flying over his head, fortunately up hill, and
landed in the bushes unhurt, but ready for peace at any price.

It is good old wisdom to "lay low in case of doubt," and very low I lay
there, waiting for the war to cease. It was over in a few seconds, for
my horse dashed after his fellows and passed through the bushes, so that
the winged scorpions were left behind. Presently I lifted my head and
looked cautiously toward the wasp's-nest. It was in a bank twenty feet
away, and the angry swarm was hovering over it, like smoke from a vent
hole. They were too angry, and I was too near, to run any risks, so I
sank down again and waited. In one or two minutes I peer