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.