CHAPTER VI.
THE FIRST CROP FROM THE RIVER.
After that strange declaration on the part of Steve, Max felt that his lips must be sealed more than ever.
He wanted a little time to think things over.
Besides, Max even began to wonder whether he could have just dreamed that he saw Steve fumbling at the haversack in the middle of the night, and mumbling to himself all the while.
So he concluded to hold his tongue, say nothing of what he believed he had seen, watch Steve closely, and wait for new developments to arise.
Boys are, as a rule, not much given to long spells of depression.
There is something in the natural buoyancy of a lad's nature that throws off the gloom, and invites the cheery sunlight to enter.
So the whole five were soon eagerly planning as to their work for the day. First of all the two old boats which had served to carry them up to the forks of the Evergreen River must be securely hidden. This was mainly on account of those prank-loving boys who, under the leadership of the town bully, Ted Shafter, they half expected to follow them to this region.
"If they ever came across our boats," declared Steve, wrathfully, "you all know what would happen."
"Easy enough to smash in the bottoms with a few big dornicks," declared
Bandy-legs.
"Huh! And m-m-make us peg it all the w-w-way b-back to town," grunted Toby, who was not known as a great admirer of leg exercise.
"All right, then," said Max, promptly; "you and Bandy-legs better get busy taking the boats to that big cove where the tall reeds grow so thick. Seems to me you ought to be able to hide our craft so well there, the chances of discovery would be next to nothing."
"We c'n do it all right," affirmed Bandy-legs, as he started up. "Come on,
Toby, get a move on you."
"Wait a minute, c-c-can't you? What's your h-h-hurry. R-r-rome wasn't built in a d-day, I g-g-guess."
"Well, go ahead and have it out, because I can see you've got something on your mind. Now, what's eating you, Toby?" the other complained.
"I only w-wanted to ask Max if it wouldn't be g-g-ood p-p-p-p"—whistle—"policy for us to mark the place where we leave the boats. There! do you get that, Bandy-legs?"
Toby asked this question triumphantly. Strange to say, that whenever he stumbled most in his speech, so that he was compelled to halt, and give that short whistle, Toby was able to finish what he was saying without a single hitch.
Steve often declared it reminded him of a country railroad crossing. There you beheld the warning sign: "Stop! Look! Listen!" and upon complying immediately heard the whistle, after which everything moved on smoothly.
"Toby, that's a sensible suggestion of yours," Max hastened to declare. "If so be you hide the boats away so well that we couldn't ever find the same again we'd sure be in a nice pickle, eh, Owen?"
"I should remark," the one addressed replied; "that tramp to Carson would be anything but a peach. And with all our camp stuff to tote along, too."
"Excuse me!" Bandy-legs exclaimed. "Make sure we'll mark the place, boys. Now, get a move on, Toby. Where will we find the rest of you when we get through our job?"
"Oh! somewhere around here," Max replied. "You see we've got a big job ourselves, taking down the tent, putting it up again some distance away from the water, removing every sign of our having camped here, and then disappearing. You'll be back long before we're done."
His prediction was fulfilled, for when half an hour later Toby and his companion showed up, the tent had vanished, Steve and Owen were carrying blankets, food, and cooking utensils deeper into the woods, while Max was working like a beaver close to the water's edge.
"What's going on now, Max?" asked Bandy-legs, as he watched the actions of his chum.
"I'm doing my best to wipe out all the 'sign' we've made around here," replied Max.
"And it looks to me like you're doing a good job of it, too, partner," declared the other, his eyes filled with admiration, as he saw how deftly Max smoothed out all traces of where the boats had been pulled up on the pebbly shore of the river.
"Oh, well, I'm only a greenhorn at this sort of thing," laughed the busy worker, patting a telltale footprint until it was merged with the surrounding soil; "I'd be reckoned a bungler by any experienced woodsman, you know. But in this case it's an easy job to pull the wool over the eyes of Ted and his crowd."
"Meaning that they're about as ignorant of all these things as I am?"
Bandy-legs went on.
"Perhaps. But that won't be for long, let me tell you. I'm bound to show you everything I know about these things, and pick up more myself in the bargain. Did you get the boats hidden away all right, Bandy-legs?"
"Gilt-edge, I give you my word. And we tied some of the reeds together near the spot. Only a feller who was lookin' for the tag'd notice where we did it. Toby or me, why we could go straight to the spot, with only one eye open."
"All right. Then suppose you get busy helping Steve and Owen. Nobody must step back here again to leave fresh tracks after I've rubbed these all out."
Max continued to work as steadily as a beaver. Step by step he retreated backward, removing all traces left by the campers.
It was an arduous task, especially when he came to where the tent and fire had stood. But really the boy proved to have a natural talent for this sort of thing. He utterly removed all the ashes, scattered some brush over the spot, and at the end of an hour Max stood on the border of the dense woods casting a last careful look over the field of his recent labors.
"I ought to pat myself on the back over that job," he chuckled; "and it wouldn't be throwing any bouquets either. Ten to one Ted Shafter and his gang could land here, cook a meal, and lie around, without ever once dreaming we'd spent a night on the same camp ground."
Then he withdrew from the scene of his recent operations.
Picking his way through the woods, after a time he heard voices, and then discovered the tent.
The new camp site had been selected by Owen, and it certainly did him credit. Max stood for a few minutes watching his chums work, and smiling with pleasure over the prospect of a full week or more in that delightful secluded spot.
Trees grew densely around the place, and until one drew very near, it was next to impossible to discover the dingy old waterproof tent that nestled in the midst of the thick undergrowth.
A clear little gurgling spring sang close by, affording all the water they would need for drinking and cooking purposes.
But, as Max stood and looked, the happy smile gradually left his face, to be succeeded by an expression of grave concern.
As he was watching the movements of Steve at the time, it could be easily understood what pressed upon his mind.
"Oh, come, this won't do at all," Max presently muttered, pressing his teeth together resolutely. "It's all going to come out right, sooner or later. Of course it looks mighty queer just now, and I can't for the life of me understand it; but I've known Steve all my life, and he's never yet been called a thief! I'll just bottle up, and hold my horses, and watch what he does, because I'm bound to find out."
So he strode into the new camp, walking all around, and quite free with his hearty compliments concerning the fine way Owen and Steve had done their part of the business.
"But looky here," burst out the impatient Steve, after a while, "we're wasting time, you know. Some of us might as well be up the river gathering a few pecks of mussels."
"T-t-that's so," declared Toby. "And it's up to Max to s-s-say who goes out f-f-first."
"Suppose, then, Steve and myself lead off, and make the first try," Max suggested. He had a double object in nominating Steve as his working partner on this occasion. In the first place he knew the impatient nature of the fiery lad, and that his heart was more set upon the finding of other pearls like unto the lost one than any of the others.
This was not all.
Having Steve in his company for a couple of hours would give Max a good chance to study the other closely.
Perhaps, too, if Steve were really playing a practical joke on his comrades he might, without meaning to do so, let a hint drop that would serve to betray the object he had in view.
"Here, don't forget the bags we fetched along to carry the mussels in," said Bandy-legs.
"And I h-h-hope I g-g-get a chance to make a t-t-try this afternoon," remarked Toby, not a little disappointed because he had been passed over when Max selected the one to accompany him on the first hunting expedition.
So the two boys walked off, taking with them a couple of bags. Max also thought it wise to shoulder the reliable old shotgun.
"It isn't the game season, I know," he said, as the others looked their surprise, "and about the only thing we ought to shoot right now would be woodcock. I saw a marsh where I reckon I'll find some of the long-billed mud diggers. You know they get their food by sticking their bills deep down in the mud. That's why you always look for woodcock in a wet spot or marsh. Ready, Steve? All right, we'll make another start."
About twenty minutes later the two boys had reached the bank of the little river, half a mile or so above their first camp site.
They lost no time, but set to work at once, removing shoes and socks, and rolling the legs of their trowsers above their knees.
Then, with selected, sharp-pointed sticks, after wading into the shallow water, they began to poke carefully around in all such promising places as mussels would most likely be found.
Steve gave the first triumphant cry.
"I've got one, Max! And say, he's just a jim-dandy big fellow, too, believe me! Now, I wonder if he's going to present us with the mate of that little beauty of a pearl we lost so queerly."
Max was watching his chum closely.
"He says that just as naturally as if he meant every word of it," the boy muttered; puzzled more than ever; and then raising his voice he went on to say: "You'll just have to take it out in guessing, then, old chap, because we can't bother stopping to open every find we come across."
"I should say not," replied Steve, and immediately added: "Hey! what d'ye think, here's another of the blessed old shellfish, just poking his nose out of the sand like he wanted to invite me to gather him in."
"Good enough! I haven't picked up my first one yet; and here you're walking away from me double-quick. Guess I'd better get busy."
The truth was Max had been so wrapped up in watching his chum that as yet he had hardly tried to make a find.
But he now set industriously to work. There were times when the mussels came in fast; and again they seemed to fall off.
Gradually the boys worked up-stream, crossing and recrossing as they searched.
"We're covering the ground all right," asserted Steve, as his laugh announced another prize; "and believe me, we clean 'em out as we go. How many have you got in your bag, Max?"
"About nine or ten, I reckon, Steve."
"I've got fourteen, and some busters among 'em. I'll be pretty badly disappointed if one out of the lot don't turn out a good milk-white pearl," the other called out.
"Perhaps it'd be better not to mention that word so loud again, Steve," cautioned the other.
"Are you saying that just on general principles like, Max, or is there a reason?" and Steve, as he made this demand, splashed closer to his chum.
"Oh, well!" Max went on, "you know they say that sometimes even the trees and rocks have ears. And we don't know who might be hiding around, watching us right now."
"Did you see or hear anything to make you think that way?" asked the nervous Steve.
"Can't say I did," replied Max; "but I thought it good policy to sling my gun over my back by the strap, and not leave it ashore. Sorry now I brought it along; but we don't want it stolen like our pearl was."
"That's right, we don't," asserted Steve, without the slightest hesitation. "If these shell gatherers have got the nerve to sneak into our tent and make way with our first pearl, I reckon they wouldn't hold back at taking a good old scatter-gun that chanced to be lying around loose."
"Let's get busy again, Steve."
"Right-o! I'd like to make my score an even two dozen before we meander back to camp for lunch. And I s'pose the other feller's 'll want to have a try next time. Anyhow, you and me can be amusing ourselves opening these mossbacks, and finding out what's inside."
Half an hour later Max called a halt. As Steve had only twenty-three mussels in his bag he did hate to give up the work the worst kind; but the demands of his appetite made him willing to return to the camp.
"They're heavy enough to tote along," Steve admitted when almost there.
"And, after all, you had no use for your gun, Max."
"I'll slip over to the marsh this P. M., and see what luck I can have," returned the other.
"There's the camp, with Owen cooking dinner. But look at Bandy-legs, would you, Max? He sure acts as if he'd run up against some hard nut to crack!"
CHAPTER VII.
BANDY-LEGS WANTS TO KNOW.
"Say, I wonder what next is going to disappear around this old camp?" Bandy-legs was saying in a disgusted tone, as the two who had been over to the river drew near.
"Why, what do you miss now?" asked Max.
"You remember that old cap we found last night?" the other went on.
"Why of course I do," Max replied. "Do you mean to say you kept it?"
"Well, I had an idea I'd give it back to the poor feller if ever we ran across him," Bandy-legs continued, for he was really a warm-hearted boy, as his chums well knew; "and when we came here to this new camp I remember as plain as anything sticking that same old cap on the end of this bush that grows to a point. Then just now I noticed it was gone."
"That's as sure as the nose on your face, Bandy-legs," remarked Steve.
"Now don't you go to making fun of my nose," the other retorted. "It's a good, honest nose, if it is big. And it never yet made a habit of sticking itself in other people's business. That's the way with all Griffin noses; they mind their own affairs every time."
Max knew there was danger of an argument, because Steve was likely to take this as a challenge. Therefore, to promote peace, Max thrust himself between the other two.
"Have you asked Owen and Toby about it?" he inquired of Bandy-legs.
"Sure I did, right away," came the answer.
"And they denied touching it?" Max went on, determined to sift the matter down, trifling though it might appear to be at first sight.
"Both of 'em declared they'd never even been near this same old bush," the other replied.
"That looks queer," Steve broke in.
"Owen did say he saw the old cap just where I stuck it," Bandy-legs continued.
"How long ago, Owen?" demanded Max.
"Oh, I should say half an hour or so. I happened to look that way and got quite a start, because at first I thought it was somebody watching us. Then when I saw how Bandy-legs had fixed it on the bush I had to laugh."
"Mebbe the wind carried it away," suggested Steve.
"That's so; I never once thought of that," ejaculated the puzzled one, eagerly clutching at a straw that promised to explain the mystery.
"How about it, Max?" asked Steve.
"Well, your idea sounds all right, Steve, but unfortunately it has one weak place."
"As what, now?" asked Bandy-legs. "Why, there hasn't been a breath of wind all the morning," Max went on, with a chuckle. "I remember wishing it would come up, for the sun was sure something fierce when we were wading about, looking for clams."
"You're right, Max," called out Owen, who could easily hear all that was said, "no breeze ever carried that cap away, and I know it."
"What did, then?" demanded Bandy-legs, bent on getting some sort of solution to the puzzle.
"This old country must be hoaxed or bewitched, I guess," grumbled Steve. "Things just seem able to disappear without anybody taking 'em. First we had to lose our bully little pearl that just took my eye; and now even a ragged old cap has to walk off by itself."
"Oh, not quite so bad as that, I think, Steve." Max laughed as he said this. "When that cap went away it was through the agency of legs, according to my notion."
"Oh, I see now what Max means!" cried Bandy-legs; "he believes some gay old mother squirrel just took a notion to line her nest with that ragged cap, and made off with it."
"Rats!" exclaimed Steve; "Max don't think anything of the kind. See him examining the ground right now, will you? I reckon he thinks that same runt of a boy came back after his cap, and got it, too, in the bargain."
At that Max laughed aloud.
"Good guess, Steve, old chap. That's just what happened, and if you look where I point, all of you can see the same small footprint we found last night where the old cap lay."
"He's right, fellows, for here it is!" cried Steve.
They all had to crowd around for a look, although Max warned them to be careful, so that the impression of the boy's ragged shoe might not be trodden upon.
"Well, just to t-t-think what b-b-bright fellers we are," said Toby, in apparent disgust; "when even a r-r-runt of a boy c'n steal up and s-s-spy on us without a b-b-blessed one knowing it."
"Huh!" grunted Bandy-legs, who seemed in a peculiar frame of mind for one who was usually so good natured, "who's got a better right to that cap, I'd like to know, than the boy that owns it. Put yourself in his place, Toby, and tell me if you wouldn't just grab your own cap if you saw it? Course you would—we all would, and I don't blame the kid a little bit."
"Too bad he didn't like the looks of our crowd," Steve remarked.
"What makes you think he didn't?" Owen asked, smiling.
"Well, he acted like he was afraid of us," replied Steve.
"T-t-tell you what, boys, I reckon it wasn't our looks, after all, that s-s-scared him, though Bandy-legs does resemble a terrible p-p-pirate when he wears that old zebra s-s-sweater of his."
"Then what did?" demanded the one who had been thus picked out as a special mark, while he ran a hand fondly up and down the sleeve of the white-and-black striped garment, worn in spite of the heat of the day.
"Our g-g-guns!" broke out Toby triumphantly.
"That's a good guess, Toby," remarked Max. "Perhaps the boy believes we're some sort of deputy sheriffs, and up here to give the man he's with trouble. Anyhow, I have a pretty good idea myself that it was our guns that made him so shy."
"All right," remarked Steve, "the pitcher may go to the well once too often. You mark my words, if he keeps on sniffing around our camp much longer he'll get caught."
"Sure he will," echoed Bandy-legs, grimly. "We want that pearl back, don't we, boys?"
"And we're going to have it, too," observed another of the group, in a positive way.
Max had that queer feeling pass over him again; for it was Steve who made this half-angry remark.
What could it mean?
He had always believed Steve to be as honest as the day was long, his only faults being a hasty temper, and a desire to do things without sufficient preparation.
But that the boy would deliberately steal, simply because he happened to be fascinated by the beauty of the pearl, seemed beyond belief.
No wonder, then, that the bewildered Max sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as though hardly knowing whether he were awake or asleep.
As nothing more could be done, the five boys adjourned to the camp, where Owen quickly completed his preparations for lunch. They had decided to have the heavy meal, called dinner, in the evening, so that the work of the day might not be interfered with.
When those who had been off hunting shellfish had returned, tired with their labors, it would be nice to gather around, and take their time in enjoying the bountiful meal that had been prepared by the cook appointed for that day.
Each of them expected to take a hand at this necessary job. In anticipation of the opportunity to shine as a talented chef Bandy-legs had in secret been coaxing the hired girl at home to teach him a lot of things.
As his turn would come on the second day, he could hardly restrain his impatience. He surely calculated that when his chums saw what wonderful things real talent could accomplish, they would easily vote him a prize.
But Bandy-legs had much to learn.
His ambition was all right, but he would soon discover the vast difference between cooking at a gas range or the family coal stove and trying to accomplish the same result out in the wilds over an open wood fire.
Then, again, he had stuffed his head so very full of different recipes that the chances were poor Bandy-legs must get the formulas mixed, which would result in some mighty queer messes to be tried upon his patient campmates.
After the meal was finished those who were to do the grand wading act of the afternoon got ready to go forth.
They took the bags, and received minute directions from Max concerning the best way for finding the mussels, half buried as they were in mud or sand.
Max also made a rude map on paper, taking in the supposed course of the winding river, as well as the country that came between.
"Here you can see the trail I've marked as the shortest cut to camp," he finished, pointing to a dotted line that seemed to be almost straight. "It runs exactly southwest, you notice, boys."
"But how are we going to always know what is southwest?" asked
Bandy-legs, receiving the chart.
At that Toby gave a snort of disdain.
"W-w-what d'ye s'pose this is for, s-s-silly?" he demanded, dangling a little nickel-plated object before the eyes of his companion.
"That's right, we're going to have the bully little compass along with us," declared the doubting one, looking considerably relieved; for truth to tell, if Bandy-legs feared any one thing more than another, it was the haunting idea of being lost in a great big wilderness, and meeting a slow and dreadful death through starvation.
"And even if we should l-l-lose this useful t-t-trinket," continued Toby, exultantly, "I'd know how to t-t-tell which was north, all right."
"Huh! why, of course, by the moss on the sides of the trees," observed Bandy-legs. "Guess I heard Max tell that, all right. Never forget it, either. But how the dickens is a feller to ever remember which side of the big trees this moss always grows on?"
"Stop and think," said Max, who had an idea that some day this information might be useful to his chum; "the hard storms of winter generally come out of the northwest, don't they?"
"Reckon you're right; though to tell the truth I'd never noticed it much,"
Bandy-legs replied.
"Well, you want to wake up and notice everything that happens," advised Max, seriously. "It's the fellow who keeps awake, and sees and hears it all, that gets on in this world, Bandy-legs. And you know it, too."
"Sure. I know my weak points, Max; and the best thing about me is the fact that I want to wake up and do better. But about that moss—does it always grow exactly on the sides of the trees pointing toward the northwest?"
"In the majority of cases," replied the other; "here and there it may vary some, but anybody with half an eye can decide the right direction. Then in the night you have the north star, which you know can always be found by drawing an imaginary straight line along the two stars forming the end of the bowl of the Dipper, generally called the Great Bear."
"Oh! that's easy. But once I heard you say a common ordinary watch could be made to serve as a compass; how about that, Max?" added Bandy-legs, showing considerable interest in the subject.
"So it can, but I'll explain that at another time. You fellows had better be moving now," and Max turned his back on the other as the best way to shut him off; for Bandy-legs was a great questioner.
"So-long!" called out Toby, cheerfully, as he started to follow the trail left by Max and Steve on their way from the river, half a mile away.
"If we meet up with this mysterious shell gatherer, what ought we to do?" asked the second boy, halting.
"Act friendly, and pay attention to your own business, that's all. Nobody will hurt you," Max called out, as he turned into the camp.
CHAPTER VIII.
A GREAT FIND.
"When do we begin, Max?"
Steve asked this question a short time after the three left in the camp had cleaned up the tin pans used in preparing and eating the warm meal, and Owen had gone off to try and secure a mess of bass for supper.
Steve had been usually fast in his share of the work, even for him. Max had noticed this fact, and could give a good guess as to what was spurring the other on to such exertions.
"Begin what?" he asked, as if in dense ignorance.
"Why, in opening our catch, you know," Steve replied, jerking his thumb to where the little pile of mussels lay, close by the camp fire.
Steve had himself emptied the two bags, upon their arrival in camp. Evidently he did not mean to take any chances of having the precious bivalves stolen by the prowling half-grown wild boy. And in order to provide against such a catastrophe he had been very careful to deposit their morning's "catch" in an open spot so destitute of shrubbery that no one could approach within ten feet unseen.
Max smiled.
Truth to tell he was a little eager himself to set to work investigating the insides of these shells.
The remarkable luck attending their first attempt gave him more or less hope that other prizes might crop up to reward their continued efforts.
And the Outing Boys had outlined such a glorious programme for the long vacation, if only they could raise the large amount of money needed to carry out their ardent plans, that naturally Max was heart and soul interested in the result.
Besides, Max had a half-formed resolution that if luck favored them, so that they found another pearl, he would set a trap that very evening. He was burning with eager curiosity to discover whether Steve might repeat his strange action of the preceding night. And in case this happened, Max was grimly resolved to settle the matter once and for all by clutching hold of the other while in the act.
"Oh! you're wondering whether we're going to find anything in that lot; is that it!" Max remarked, as he picked up an old oyster knife he had carried along for the purpose of prying open the mussels, no easy task for greenhorns at the business, as the boys' cut fingers already testified.
"You just bet I am," returned Steve, possessing himself of the heavy kitchen knife. "Come along and let's see if we had our wading and toting the find all the way to camp for nothing."
"Just as you say," Max continued.
"What d'ye take that kettle for!" asked Steve.
"To hold the mussels as we get 'em out. Let the meat and juice drop in here. Then we'll examine the whole thing several times for results. And don't forget, both Toby and Bandy-legs made us promise to have a mess of these same fresh-water clams cooked for supper."
So, taking the vessel and the much-used oyster knife, Max squatted on the ground tailor fashion alongside the pile of shellfish.
Both of them set to work, Max calmly, as was his wont, but Steve showing the greatest nervousness.
Finding that his method of trying to open the stubborn bivalves was awkward, as they could not be handled like oysters, Max took a second knife. Placing the mussel in an upright position he would drive the blade down between the two shells by giving it several sharp taps with a piece of wood. When the stubborn mussel finally yielded to this treatment Max was able to turn back one shell, and then scrape out the entire contents of the other.
A dozen had been opened presently, and so far as they could see, there was not a sign of a pearl, large or small.
Steve's disappointment made itself manifest in the look that gradually crept over his face.
"Guess we've drawn a blank this time, Max," he remarked, when the seventeenth bivalve failed to yield up any gleaming little milk-white prize.
"Oh! that isn't a dead sure thing," replied the other, never ready to yield his hopeful spirit, "this is a lottery, you know. The pearls are to be found. We know that, Steve, by our first success. If not in this lot, perhaps in what our chums bring later. There are other days to follow; and we're bound to put in a week trying our luck."
That was the sort of talk to buoy up Steve's spirits. He was always an impulsive chap, and had often been called "Touch-and-Go Steve," because of his quick temper. It had many times carried him into serious trouble, though, as is usually the case with these impetuous fellows, Steve always quickly repented of his wrath, and was apt to apologize.
"Here goes for the eighteenth," he remarked, picking up another mussel, and setting to work industriously.
"This is a scrawny looking one, and I just reckon it'll be time wasted," he added.
"You never can tell," laughed Max, himself busily engaged.
"That's so," Steve went on; "because they do say these precious little pearls are manufactured by the oyster or mussel to cover up some gritty object that has managed to work into the shell, and which they just can't eject."
"Yes, that's the accepted theory," Max asserted.
"When I read that, I remember figuring out how a smart genius might make a few millions," remarked Steve.
"You mean by introducing the same kind of grit in some hundreds of shellfish, and making the things work up a lot of fine pearls, eh, Steve?"
"That's what. Don't you think it could be done, Max?"
"Well, I've heard it's been tried, but since the price of pearls has advanced all the while, I guess the success of the experiment wasn't so much," the other went on to say, as he bent his head down quickly to scrutinize the contents of his opened shell.
"Oh!" gasped Steve, catching his breath.
"What's the matter?" asked Max, his own voice as steady and calm as ever.
"Looky here, will you, Max—ain't that a beaut, though?"
The excited Steve managed to pluck some small object out of the opened shell he held, though his fingers trembled like the quivering leaves of an aspen.
When he placed this in the palm of his hand it was seen to be a lovely little milk-white pearl, nearly half the size of a buckshot.
"That looks good to me," remarked Max. "Just as fine as the one we lost, eh, Steve?"
"You bet it is; and we'll make sure no thief lays hands on this beauty,
Max," replied the delighted finder of the new treasure.
"Now, suppose, just for luck, I took a notion to go you one better," chuckled Max.
"Hey! what d'ye mean?" exclaimed his chum. "Have you been shaking hands with Good Luck as well as me? Open up, and show what you've got." "Shut your eyes, and count five," laughed Max; "now look, and see what I found."
"My goodness gracious; why, it's half again as big as my find; a regular jim-dandy pearl, Max," cried Steve, trembling all over with, eager delight, as his enraptured eyes fell upon the object Max exposed.
"Yes, much larger, I admit," the other went on to say with due deliberation; "but not quite so perfect in form. Your pearl might prove to be the more valuable one when it came to selling them."
"Oh! just to think of it, Max, we've got two already," Steve remarked as he took both the prizes in his hand, and surveyed them with that wistful look in his eyes; for, as he had more than once admitted, pearls always had a peculiar fascination for him.
Max was watching his companion's face closely, trying to read the emotions that chased each other across Steve's features.
"Yes, and the chance is still open," he said, slowly.
"Meaning that we may find a lot more; is that it, Max?" Steve demanded.
"Who can say? It's a lottery all around. The next mussel might give us another prize. Then, again, perhaps we'll clean out the stream and never get any reward."
Max had a way of looking things squarely in the face. He seldom allowed his enthusiasm to get the better of his calm, deliberate judgment. And consequently he did not suffer the grievous disappointment that came so frequently to excitable Steve.
"Anyway, we ought to get quite a bunch of money for these two dandy gems," Steve remarked.
"I wouldn't be surprised at all," Max assented.
"What d'ye think they're worth, Max?"
"Well, now, that's where you get me. I'm as green as the next one when it comes to putting a value on pearls. Only an expert can tell that," the other quickly replied.
"Shucks! but you can give a guess, can't you?" persisted Steve, not to be wholly disappointed.
"It would have to be a wide one, then, Steve."
"All right; let's have it!" observed the other.
"Well, I don't doubt but what we'll be able to sell each of these pearls for a hundred apiece," Max asserted.
"Dollars, you mean, Max?"
"Sure thing. And perhaps they may bring us five or ten times as much. I'll have my father take them to the city, and consult an expert," Max went on.
"Wow! that's going some, now, I tell you!" cried the other, with delight pictured on his glowing face.
"Two hundred sure, first pop, and mebbe a thousand! Say, Max, it begins to look like our wildest dreams might come true, and we'll be able to carry out all those bully old plans we made."
"Yes," said Max, deliberately, "if we can only guard our new find better than we did the other."
"We must make sure to have one chum doing sentry duty all the time," remarked Steve, solemnly. "That's only good sound sense, I take it, Max."
"Guess you're right about that, my boy," asserted the other, with a peculiar little smile that, however, Steve failed to notice. "And, now, suppose we finish up the lot we've still got to open." "Right you are," declared Steve.
"But, first, please let me have those pearls. I'd hate to have them lost in this grass here. And I believe I can keep them safe in this red handkerchief of mine till we find a chance to stow 'em away in the haversack, after the boys examine our find."
"In the haversack!" echoed Steve. "Why, that's where we had the one that disappeared, box and all."
"Sure thing," Max asserted.
"But think of the risk—" Steve began.
"Oh, we've got to hide 'em somewhere, you know," laughed Max; "and they say lightning never strikes in the same place twice. Besides, you forget that we expect to post a sentry, so that your eyes, or mine, or those of Owen, Toby or Bandy-legs, will be on the bag all through the night. I'll take the pearls now, please."
Steve somehow seemed a little loth about letting the lovely little gems pass out of his possession.
As he handed them over, his chum plainly heard him give a sigh; and he caught him repeating the words:
"In the haversack, and we've got to look out."
Then both of the boys set to work.
The remaining shellfish were soon opened, and although the young pearl seekers searched eagerly, with hope tugging at their hearts, no new prize rewarded their efforts.
"The queerest thing of all," remarked Steve, after he had mastered his disappointment, "was in our finding the pair of beauties at the same time."
"Yes, and I believe my mussel was as thin and scrawny looking a fellow as the one you complained of," laughed Max.
"Forget that, please," remarked his chum, with a grimace. "And just to think, I came near throwing that consumptive looking one away as worthless. It's taught me a lesson, sure, Max."
"Yes, and one you'll never forget, eh, Steve?"
"I never will," declared the other, vehemently. "Whenever I think of this lucky strike I'm going to understand that you never can judge things, people also, by outside looks."
"Sometimes the finest gems come in the meanest of coverings, you mean, eh,
Steve?"
"Right-o. And now what'll we do?" asked the other.
"Carry the shells away, because in a few days we'd object to the rank odor so near our tent. Listen, Steve. Make a heap of the things, under some tree you can remember well. We can call that our shell pile, you know."
"See here, you've got a meaning back of all that, you know it," complained Steve.
Max laughed aloud.
"How smart we're getting, old chap," he remarked. "But between us I don't mind saying that I'm curious to see what will happen."
"That is, you mean to give some one a good chance to get away with all these mussel shells, if so be they feel inclined, eh, Max."
Max nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Meaning this man and boy who seem to be hiding out up here, just like they were afraid to be seen, and employing their time in raking in all the scattered shells left by the muskrats and 'coons—how about that, Max?" Steve continued, as he gathered the opened shells in an extra bag, preparatory to removing them.
"You hit the nail on the head when you say that, Steve. They seem to know the mother-of-pearl inside lining of the shells will bring in some money. And I reckon they're piling the shells up in some cave or secret place, meaning to get them down the river in a dugout canoe sooner or later."
"Well, they're welcome to all the shells we gather," remarked Steve, with a shake of the head; "but they'd better not try to steal any more of our pearls, that's what"; and so saying he marched off with his load, leaving Max more sadly puzzled than ever.
CHAPTER IX.
MAX WONDERS STILL MORE.
The afternoon wore on.
Steve kept busy doing things until Owen turned up with a mess of perch, the bass declining to take his worm bait.
Then the story of the find had to be gone over again, and the prizes exhibited. Owen was just as much pleased as the others, and declared that it began to look as though the best of their dreams had a chance of coming true.
"I think I saw that boy, come to mention it," Owen remarked, after they had talked over the splendid good luck that had fallen to their lot, until the subject was pretty well exhausted.
"How did that happen?" asked Max.
"Did you get a chance to talk with him, and ask him why he grabbed our pearl?" demanded Steve.
"Oh! not much," chuckled Owen. "Fact is, he seemed pretty much like a scared rabbit. First thing I knew he was staring at me over a bunch of brush. Then he turned and scooted off like fun."
"But you called out to him, didn't you?" asked Steve.
"Of course, but it only seemed to make him fly the faster. Say, he's a sprinter, all right. That fellow could get down to second base before the ball seven times out of seven, I don't care who the catcher was," Owen went on to say, positively.
"Then you couldn't catch him?" asked Max, in a disappointed tone.
"Huh! guess I didn't even start, after I saw what he could put up in the running line. Besides," Owen went on to say, "you must remember that I was tired, and carrying my fishing rod, as well as a bully old string of perch, which I calculated to clean for supper. Then, I hadn't lost any boy, you see. So I just hollered after him, and tried to let the silly goose know we didn't mean to hurt him."
"But it was no go?" remarked Steve.
"Oh! he turned to look back a few times, but all the same he disappeared from sight. Perhaps next time he won't be quite so frightened," Owen observed.
"There may be some reason for it we don't know about," suggested Max.
"You mean that they don't want people to know about their collecting these shells, for fear that their little business might be broken up?" Steve asked.
"That's one reason why they'd try to hide things," Max admitted, "but there might be another. I spoke of it before, you may remember, boys?"
"Sure you did, Max," declared Steve, quickly; "and mebbe you hit the bullseye when you said this man might be hiding out up here—that p'r'aps he'd gone and done something to break the law; and when he saw our guns he expected we might be sent by the sheriff to arrest him."
"I still stick to that idea," Max declared; "but we may know the truth sooner or later. One thing we must do if ever we get the chance, and that is let these shell gatherers know we don't mean to harm 'em even a little bit."
"But they've just got to let our pearls be, or else they're going to get into trouble, that's what," remarked the pugnacious Steve, with a determined shake of his head and a gritting of his teeth.
Max saw and heard, and was more deeply bewildered than ever. He could not for the life of him understand such contrary actions on the part of Steve.
Max could positively declare that he had seen Steve taking something from the haversack on the preceding night, when their first prize pearl vanished so mysteriously; and yet here he was apparently aroused over their loss, and denouncing the thief with greater vim than any of the rest.
"But I'm bound to find out what it all means," Max consoled himself by saying over and over. "If it takes all summer I'll fight it out on this line, like Grant did in the Battles of the Wilderness. Steve acts like he was innocent; but I guess I've got a pair of good eyes, and it was him I saw fumbling at the haversack, all right."
It had been the intention of Max to try and find a few woodcock in the wet ground of the marsh.
Other things coming up caused him to put this project off until another day. It was really no time for hunting, with a hot sun beaming down. Perhaps later on he might find plenty of chances to indulge in his favorite sport.
Owen had cleaned his catch, and supper was being started when voices were heard approaching.
"Here comes Toby and Bandy-legs," sang out Steve, who had at the first sound made as if to reach for the guns that rested against the tree close to the opening of the tent.
"Well," remarked Owen, looking up, "it's good to know they didn't go and get lost, anyhow. Perhaps that compass kept 'em from straying out of the trail you said you made, Max?"
"Huh! we made it so plain," remarked Steve, "that a baby ought to be able to follow our tracks. But then Toby and Bandy-legs always seem to tumble into trouble if there's just half a chance to get mixed up. Say, they've got the bags pretty well filled up with mussels, anyhow."
"You bet we have," panted Bandy-legs, as he set his burden down.
"G-g-great s-s-sport," remarked Toby, following.
"Glad you like it," laughed Max, "because we expect to do a heap of wading while we're up here."
"D-d-did you open the others?"
"We sure did," chuckled Steve.
"F-f-find anything in 'em?"
"Did we? Say, show up, Max; give these poor tired fellows a peek, that'll make 'em forget all their troubles," and Steve grinned happily as he watched the other deliberately take out his bandana, unroll its folds, and then disclose to the wondering eyes of Toby and Bandy-legs the two lovely white pearls that snuggled against the red background.
"Whoop!" gurgled Bandy-legs, excitedly, his eyes round with wonder and delight.
Toby on his part became so excited that for the time being he could not say a word. His breath came in gasps, and his lips moved vainly as he tried to express his feelings. Finally, after Steve had pounded him on the back a few times, poor Toby managed to pucker up his lips and emit the customary sharp whistle which seemed to act like magic upon his overwrought feelings, just as the safety brake does with a runaway car.
Then he drew in a long breath, and enunciated, as plainly and clearly as
Max himself could have done, the one significant word:
"Bully!"
"Gee whiz! I guess I'll get busy right away," remarked Bandy-legs, eagerly.
"No need," spoke up Owen. "Your turn will come to-morrow. I'm serving as cook this afternoon. Don't you smell fish frying? I've been over to the river myself and hooked a bunch of nice perch."
"F-f-fine. G-g-good for you, Owen," said Toby, slapping the other on the back.
"Oh, shucks! I didn't have any idea of wanting to knock you out of a job, old fellow. Where's that oyster knife, Max?" asked the returned pearl hunter.
"Say, he wants to begin opening his catch right away," remarked Steve.
"And I'll have to show him how we did it, Max."
This he proceeded to do with alacrity, and the three were soon busily engaged. Bandy-legs proved more or less clumsy, and not only cut himself several times on the sharp edges of the shells, but banged his fingers with the heavy stick with which he pounded.
But one way or another by degrees every one of the mussels were opened.
Disappointment followed, for while three pearls were discovered two were so small as to give but little promise of returns; while the third proved to be irregular in shape.
"Never mind," said Max, when he learned the result of the hunt. "Better luck to-morrow. We've fared splendidly already. And we know our scheme is going to be a success. Cheer up. There's Owen calling us to supper. And we can eat our catch as long as it tastes good to us. Draw around, fellows, and sample our new cook's stuff."
The five boys were soon engaged in satisfying the cravings of hunger. And through the nearby woods crept the appetizing odors of coffee and fried fish that must have been very tantalizing to any prowler less fortunate than themselves.
CHAPTER X.
AT DEAD OF NIGHT.
So the night found them.
Toby and Bandy-legs had managed to recover from their keen disappointment over the poor result of their afternoon's work.
"Reckon we must have struck a bad place," the latter remarked, as they all lounged around the cheery fire after supper had been finished.
"That's a f-f-fact," commented Toby, nodding his head in a wise fashion; "I've read that these p-p-pearls happen in a q-q-queer way. F-f-find 'em all in a h-h-heap, and then nothin' doin' for w-w-weeks."
"Then our chums must have struck the jolliest place on the whole river,"
Bandy-legs observed.
"H-h-hope they m-m-marked it, then," Toby went on.
"How about it, Max, Steve?" demanded the other pearl hunter of the afternoon.
"Sure we did," grunted Steve, who somehow seemed strangely quiet for him, a fact that gave Max considerable uneasiness, knowing what he did.
"And I remember telling you where we did most of our tramping in the water," he observed.
Toby grinned rather foolishly.
"G-g-guess that's so," he admitted.
"Yes," spoke up Bandy-legs, "but you see we expected that you'd cleaned out that place pretty well; and as we wanted to pick up a good load we went higher up."
"That's where you made the mistake, then," remarked Owen. "Perhaps Max and Steve located something like a pocket. If I take a turn in the morning I believe I'll go over all the ground they did and pick up a few shells."
"I'll go along to show you if you say so," Steve suggested.
"How about it, Max?" inquired Owen.
"Call it settled at that," came the ready response.
They talked and compared notes, and laid plans for the glorious future, as the cheery fire crackled and the hour grew later.
Max had shaped the little scheme he had in mind.
The pearls were supposed to be safely lodged in a tiny packet which he had placed in the haversack in the presence of all the others.
This, however, was all a delusion and a snare, for in pursuance of his plans Max had secretly managed to quietly slip the two really valuable gems into his pocket, where he afterwards made them secure.
All this was done with a definite object in view, for he more than half expected that before another dawn came the haversack would be visited again.
By degrees the boys fell away, since Max had plainly announced that he would take the first watch.
No one seemed disposed to dispute the honor with him, because they were all very sleepy.
First Toby crawled under the tent, and by his heavy breathing they knew he was dead to the world.
Next Steve followed suit, and then Bandy-legs.
"Wake me early, mother dear, because to-morrow will be the first of May," the latter sang out, as he vanished.
This left only Max and Owen.
Now, the weight of his secret was weighing so heavily upon Max that he had made up his mind to take Owen into his confidence should a good chance arise.
It seemed to be on hand.
Accordingly, after binding his cousin to secrecy, Max began to relate the strange thing he had seen on the preceding night.
Of course Owen was properly shocked.
He, too, had the utmost confidence in Steve Dowdy, and found great difficulty in believing that the other could ever descend to such a low state as making a thief out of himself.
"The plaguy pearls must have fairly turned his head, Max," he declared, with almost savage earnestness.
"Just what I was beginning to believe," the other admitted, with a shake of his head.
"But what can we do about it, Max?"
"I'm going to watch," replied the other.
"To-night, you mean?"
"Yes. The fever is still in Steve's veins. He doesn't seem to act like himself. And, Owen, d'ye know, I've read somewhere that some people are strangely affected by certain kinds of gems. They seem bewitched when looking at or handling the same."
"That's it, Max. Pearls must have some sort of terrible fascination for poor Steve."
"He admitted as much himself, and you all heard him say so," declared Max.
"All right. Count me in," Owen went on.
"What d'ye mean by saying that, cousin?" asked Max.
"Only that you won't have to watch alone, Max."
"Just as you say, my boy. Glad to have your company. But we'd better be making preparations to keep our eyes on that bag," Max went on.
"Why, I can see it from here, so long as the fire keeps blazing," Owen asserted.
"I purposely hung it in that place, and drew back the tent flap so I could keep an eye on the bag all the time. So Owen, let's settle down here, and make ourselves as comfy as we can."
"All we have to do is to drop a little wood on the fire once in a while, eh, Max?"
"That's right; and while we watch we can talk in whispers if we feel like it, Owen."
"Still, it would be better to keep quiet, I suppose," suggested the cousin of Max.
"Of course. He might hear us, and lie low," replied the one who was engineering things.
"But you've fixed it so that while we lie here on our blankets, no one would be apt to notice us from the tent. You had a purpose in doing that, I expect?" questioned Owen.
"I thought he might take a look around first to see where I was; and not discovering me in sight would believe I had gone to sleep on my post," Max went on.
"This is a nightmare of a time," grumbled Owen.
"That's right," echoed the other, promptly. "Seems to me I must be dreaming when I find myself suspecting Steve of such a nasty thing. But wait up and see, Owen. If nothing happens I'll be surprised, likewise mighty well pleased."
They accordingly lapsed into silence.
Minutes glided by. To both the boys they seemed to be shod with lead, so slowly did the time pass.
When the fire burned low, as it did on several occasions, Max would crawl out, manage to toss an armful of wood upon the red embers, and immediately seek his hiding place again.
One, two hours had gone, and so far nothing out of the common had come to pass.
Owen found himself getting somewhat sleepy, and in various ways he fought against the drowsy sensation.
"That's an owl, I reckon, ain't it, Max?" he whispered when certain queer sounds floated to their ears out of the depths of the forest.
"Of course," replied the other, in the same cautious tone, which could not have been heard ten feet away.
"And those are tree frogs croaking close by?" continued Owen, who knew all about these things from reading; while his cousin did the same through practical experience.
"They're calling for more rain!" chuckled Max; "but I hope the old fellow up above, who turns on the sprinkler when he takes a notion, don't pay any attention, because rain in camp is generally a nasty time."
Once more the two boys lapsed into silence.
Perhaps another half hour had passed when Owen, whose eyes were getting very heavy, so that he found himself nodding, felt something touch his arm.
He started violently, possibly under the impression that some snake or wild animal from the woods had reached them unawares.
"H-s-sh!"
Why, to be sure, it was Max who hissed this warning in his ear. And, of course, it must be his cousin's hand that was laid on his own arm.
"Look!"
The one word proved sufficient to make Owen remember what they were lying there for. Accordingly he craned his neck so as to see the interior of the tent.
The fire was burning fairly well, and as Max had fastened the canvas flaps unusually far back, in order to admit plenty of air, as he had said at the time, it was easy to see.
Owen felt another thrill, immediately succeeded by a chilly sensation.
There was a movement within the tent, as if some person might be advancing toward the spot where the haversack hung in plain sight.
The firelight fell plainly upon a face, and Owen had no difficulty in recognizing—Steve!
Almost holding their breath the two boys watched to see what their strange chum did.
They saw him deliberately open the haversack and plunge his hand inside.
"Oh! look! he's got the little package, Max," whispered the horrified Owen.
Max pinched his arm.
"Keep still," he made out to say in the other's ear.
He feared that Owen's disturbed voice might have reached the ears of the prowler; but there was no sign to indicate such a thing.
Indeed, Steve went about his task with a deliberation that puzzled both the watchers.
"There! he's gone back to his blanket again," muttered Owen, unable longer to keep still; "and Max, did you see where he put that little packet which he believes holds all our prizes!"
"Yes," replied the other, "inside that old extra coffee pot we fetched along to use in case anything happened to the one we have on the fire three times a day."
"That's the funniest thing I ever heard of, sure," continued Owen. "He's crazy, that's what. Who'd ever think of looking in that bum old coffee pot for anything worth while, tell me that, will you?"
"I can't. I'm all up in the air myself," admitted Max.
"Still, we saw him do it, didn't we! It wasn't a dope dream, was it, Max!"
"I'm going to prove it pretty soon, Owen."
"As how?" demanded the other.
"By getting that old coffee pot out here, and looking it over, that's how," replied the other.
"Bully idea!" exclaimed Owen, quickly. "Say, looky here, perhaps now you really expect to find our other lost pearl in there?"
"Wouldn't surprise me one little bit," chuckled Max.
"Oh! can't you sneak in now and crib the coffee pot?" begged Owen.
"Give him ten minutes to settle down," came the reply.
At the end of what seemed the longest ten minutes he had ever known, Owen saw his agile cousin begin to move toward the opening of the tent.
On the way Max picked up a long, stout stick that had a slight turn at the end. "He's going to fish for the coffee pot," whispered Owen, in more or less delight; for he did so enjoy seeing Max undertake anything that required brains.
The fishing met with speedy reward, for once the crook at the end of the pole had been inserted into the handle of the coffee pot, and the rest was easy.
So Max came back to where he had left his comrade, bearing in his hands the old cooking utensil that thus far had not been needed, and might, if the other only held out, only prove a form of insurance against possible disaster.
Deliberately Max opened the coffee pot and thrust his hand inside.
"Here's a package," he said, drawing something out.
"No need to open that," observed Owen, quickly; "because we know it only holds the three poor pearls found in the catch brought in by the last squad. Feel deeper, Max. Strike anything?"
For reply the other drew his hand out, nor did it come into view empty.
"The little cardboard box you put the first prize in," gasped Owen.
"Please hurry and open it up, Max."
His chum was no less eager to see what the contents of the box would prove to be.
No sooner had he removed the lid than the enraptured eyes of the two boys fell upon the lost pearl! Yes, there it rested on its pink cotton bed, looking even more beautiful in Owen's eyes than either of the two later prizes.
After staring at it for some time the boys allowed their eyes to exchange a look. Max was pale and distressed, while his cousin, on the other hand, seemed to be excited, as though indignation and even anger had surged up within him.