The seven Arkansans had their spades and shovels and picks, and they got together in a bunch, and when Jim gave the word they started across the weedy field with a rush, and straight for the old signal pine, too. Jibby watched them until they were halfway across the field, and then he came wandering toward where we boys and Bill Catlin were collecting money from the late comers. We had our pockets full of silver dollars and bills and small change. “That’s pretty good,” Jibby said, “but we made one mistake.” “What do you mean?” I said. “Do you mean we should have brought a gunnysack to carry the money in?” “No,” he said; “we ought to have advertised in the Riverbank ‘Eagle’--the weekly edition of it that goes to the farmers. Everybody in town knows about the hidden treasure by now, but the farmers don’t. We ought to have put an advertisement in the paper so the farmers could have paid us a dollar apiece, too. But I suppose no one can think of everything.” We all turned just then, because one of the Arkansas men had let out a yell. A bumblebee had just stung him. The next moment another one let out a yell; he had got his sting, too. The Arkansas men had gone at the old pine tree slam bang, because they knew they had to work fast. They knew that, as soon as the men and boys by the farmhouse saw them digging at the tree, there would be a rush for the tree, so they all piled into the work at once and as hard as they could, and there is nothing bumblebees hate so much as they hate just that. They hate hurry. In a moment the whole seven Arkansans were hopping and swearing and slashing at their necks and beating at the air, but they kept right on digging and picking and whacking at the tree. They made more than chips fly. Whang would go a pick into the dead wood and out would come a big slice of tree, and all the while the whole seven were jumping and yelling and cussing like crazy men. Then some of the crowd began to run from the old farmhouse toward the old pine, and then others began to run, but, when the first man came near the tree, he yelled like fury and slapped the back of his neck and began to dance, and then he ran. He ran zigzag, but he ran away from the tree. The rest of the Riverbankers stopped, and when he reached them they asked what was the matter and he must have said “Bees!” for they all crowded back. They made me think of the mob in a movie. They went back a step at a time as if a director was saying, “Now! Mob--back one step; show fear; back another step!” Only it was bees doing the directing this time.