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.