CHAPTER III.
WHAT OWEN KNEW.
"Well, I declare, is that the kind of mussel they've been finding pearls in?" demanded Steve Dowdy, as he took one of the long-shaped bivalves in his eager hands, the better to examine it.
"They agree with the description to a dot," Owen replied, confidently; "and, to my mind, these seem particularly fat and promising."
"T-t-tell me about that, now, will you?" gasped Toby, who was also examining a prize. "S-s-say, Max, why looky here, I've picked up these s-sort of c-c-clams many a t-time when d-diving."
"I reckon we all have, and opened them, too, to eat," replied Max, with a good-natured laugh; "but not being wise to the pearl racket at the time, it never struck us that we ought to examine the shellfish closely before swallowing."
"Bet you more'n one pearl has gone down my red lane then," grinned Bandy-legs; "because, you see, I always used to be mighty fond of fresh or pickled mussels. Say, perhaps I'm a walking jewelry shop right now, fellers. Mebbe I'm carrying around a whole pearl outfit. Wow! it makes me feel uneasy-like."
"D-d-don't you worry any, my b-b-boy," broke in Toby; "no danger of anybody t-t-trying to k-k-kidnap you, even if your pouch was lined with p-p-pearls."
"That's wise of you to say such kind things, Toby! I'll remember it, too," said the other, reproachfully.
"But, see here," remarked Steve, "what's to hinder us from breaking open these mussels right now, and finding out if they've got anything worth saving sewed up inside?"
"Be sure and keep the meat, then, fellows," broke out the boy with the crooked legs. "Two apiece all around means ten, and that ought to make a nice little dish of stewed mussels."
"Yes, j-j-just so, for t-two," asserted Toby.
Each boy thereupon set eagerly to work opening the pair of shellfish that had fallen to his share. Being unfamiliar with the methods employed they were doubtless all more or less clumsy. One by one they succeeded in accomplishing the task, and immediately set to work examining the contents for any sign of a prize.
Silence reigned for several minutes. Then Max addressed his four chums, inquiring:
"Are you all through?"
An affirmative answer came from each one of the others in turn.
"What luck, Owen?" asked the master of ceremonies, turning upon his cousin.
"Nothing doing here," came the response.
"How about you, Bandy-legs?" Max went on.
"All a bluff; nary a show of color," was the way the disappointed one made answer.
"Steve?"
"Nixy, nothing from me. I've searched every particle of the blooming old things, but pearls seem to be as scarce as hens' teeth. Perhaps these ain't the right kind of fresh-water clams, after all."
"Yes, they are," replied Max; "and how is it with you, Toby?" and there seemed to be something like confidence in the way he turned to the last member of the Ranger Boys' Club, for he had not been secretly watching Toby for nothing.
"I found only a r-r-rotten little p-p-pebble," replied Toby.
"Let me see it, then?" asked Max.
"Oh! c-c-come now, Max, you're j-just trying to string me. S-sure that ugly little crooked thing could never be a valuable pearl?" remonstrated Toby.
"Perhaps not, Toby, but all the same I'd like to take a look at it," answered Max.
"Fork over, Toby," commanded Bandy-legs, with almost too great a vein of authority in his voice.
The stutterer looked halfway belligerent; then, as if thinking better of his first desire for a wordy conflict, he passed the tiny object across the table to Max.
Both he and Owen examined it by the aid of a strong magnifying glass.
"It's a pearl, all right," announced Max, finally.
"Oh! joy! joy!" exclaimed Toby, ready to leap to his feet and begin a jig.
"But without any particular commercial value," Owen said, once again freezing the enthusiasm of the stammering, excited Toby.
"All the same, it ought to encourage us to begin work dredging the Big Sunflower," remarked Steve, as he started in to examine the first find of the expedition.
"It certainly will," Owen declared. "But, see here, Max, what are you grinning about?"
"He's found something in his old oyster, bet you a cooky!" ejaculated
Bandy-legs, excitedly.
"Is that so, Max? Did you see our friend Toby, here, and go him one better?" asked Steve.
Max was still smiling broadly.
"You've got me up against the fence, fellows," he admitted. "Caught me with the goods on, as they say. Yes, it's a fact, I did find something in that second tough old mussel shell I opened."
"Was it really a decent pearl, Max?" pleaded Steve.
"Look for yourselves, boys, and tell me what you think."
As he spoke, Max opened his left hand.
The action allowed a small, milk-white object, much smaller than a pea, to escape. It rolled upon the board which composed the table; and as the fire burned brightly, all of the boys could easily examine it.
One by one they picked the tiny white object up and held it at several angles, to see how the glow of the fire seemed to reflect in faint prismatic colors from its surface.
"Say, this is a pearl, all right, and a jim-dandy one, too," declared Steve, after he had had his turn at handling the discovery, "I ought to know, because my mother's got a string of the same—left to her by an old aunt over in England."
"Owen, what d'ye suppose it's worth!" demanded Max, turning on his cousin.
"Well, now, you've got me there, fellows," declared the bookworm. "You see everything depends on how pure and perfect it happens to be."
"That's a fact," said Steve, thoughtfully, as he feasted his eyes on the little beauty. "D'ye know, fellows, I've always been fond of pearls. Why, when I was only a little kid my mother says I used to notice a ring my aunt wore, and would hang around her all the time, wanting to touch the pretty little gem. I reckon the old admiration still holds good."
Steve even sighed as he reluctantly passed the new-found pearl along. Max smiled to notice how his eyes seemed to follow it.
"Well, we've proved one thing, sure," remarked Bandy-legs, as he scraped the skillet carefully for the third time, evidently believing it was a sin to waste a single scrap of good food.
"Yes," spoke up Toby, who was watching this action with signs of disapproval, for he believed he would be compelled to complete his meal with crackers and cheese; "we k-k-know now there are p-pearls in some of these b-b-blessed old m-m-m"—whistle—"mussels, there!"
"But don't let's get too big notions, fellows," Owen thought fit to put in just then.
Owen was what his teacher at school always described as "conservative." He lacked the impulsive sanguine disposition of Steve. At the same time he was no "croaker," and far from being a "doubting Thomas."
Owen often acted as a safety brake in connection with his chums. When some of them showed signs of rushing pellmell along the road, regardless of difficulties and unseen pitfalls, it was Owen who would gently draw them in, and counsel caution.
They looked to him as a mentor, nor were any of them in the least offended when he restrained their headlong rush.
"In what way, Owen?" asked Steve.
"You see, it's like this," the other went on. "From what Max and I learned, we don't fancy there can be any great quantity of these mussels up here. Perhaps we won't find a single one along the other little stream, which they call the Elder River."
"How about that, Max?" asked Bandy-legs.
"It's the simple truth. I was told we might get a few of the shellfish up along the Big Sunflower, but none in the water of the other creek," replied the one addressed.
"H-h-how do they account f-for that?" asked Toby, always eager to learn.
"Must be something in the water that prevents mussels from breeding in the Elder," Owen replied; and so great was the confidence those fellows placed in the knowledge of their bookworm chum that not one of them dreamed of disputing his theory.
"Go on, please," Steve remarked. "You had it on your tongue to say something more, didn't you, Owen?"
"Only this. We might scrape in a hundred, five hundred or a thousand shellfish, and not be able to duplicate this lovely little gem once."
"T-t-that's so," observed Toby. "They s-s-say pearl hunting's the b-b-biggest lottery in the whole w-w-world."
Steve was sitting there with his elbows on the table, both hands holding his head, and his eyes glued on the pearl that lay between them.
"That would be a tough deal," he muttered. "I'd give a heap to have a handful of those pretty little things. My! just to think what luck to strike one the first pop."
"Besides," Owen went on, lowering his voice, as he seemed to cast a quick suspicious glance to the right and to the left, "that isn't all, fellows."
His manner somehow thrilled Toby and Bandy-legs. Even Steve raised his head to stare at Owen, though it required an effort for him to break the strange spell the milk-white pearl seemed to have cast about him.
"Tell us what you mean, Owen," begged the broad-shouldered young Samson, with the bowed legs.
"Yes, p-p-please do, b-because you s-s-see, we're all worked up now."
"Then listen, fellows," said Owen, impressively. "It's only fair, as Max and myself have decided, that you should know all we've found out."
"That's right," muttered Steve. "As well as what we suspect," Owen continued, in the same mysterious way.
Steve was so deeply impressed with the seriousness of Owen's manner, that, perhaps unconsciously, he allowed his hand to steal over to where the double-barreled shotgun leaned against the trees, and rest confidingly upon the same.
Max had occasion to remember afterwards just how much Steve was worked up.
"Well, what was it?" asked Bandy-legs, after Owen had allowed some seconds to elapse.
"For the last half mile, when we were pushing up toward the forks of the river," Owen went on, "we noticed that the empty shells along under the banks seemed to grow more numerous."
"Yes, and all of us felt tickled to see it," broke in Steve, "because it was a good sign. It told us the mussels were here, all right."
"And it also told us," Owen continued, "that there were a lot of little fur-bearing animals living along the stream, with a mighty strong taste for fresh-water clams."
"As what?" asked Bandy-legs.
"Oh! mink, otter, muskrats, raccoons, and perhaps fisher. All these used to be plentiful through these parts in years gone by. I've heard of men trapping them, but of late it's been lost sight of, so I reckon they've increased at a great rate."
"Well, I don't see anything about that to bother us much," argued Steve. "I reckon there'll be plenty for all of us. What the minks and musquash get won't keep us from making our try, will it?"
"No," said Owen. "But it wasn't that I was speaking about. The fact is, we made a disagreeable discovery a little while ago, when we went out to investigate—ran across a heap of mussel shells piled up by human agency, and not through that of fur-bearing animals in search of a meal."
The three others who heard this startling fact for the first time stared at Owen, as if hardly able to grasp the full dimensions of the calamity that threatened their pet project.