CHAPTER XI.
THE NEW COOK SPRINGS HIS SURPRISE.
"Well, what d'ye think of that, eh?" Owen exclaimed.
"It's hard to believe," replied the other.
"But all the same, we saw him with our own eyes, Max," declared the other.
"Yes, that's so," answered Max, reluctantly.
"He took the first pearl; and meant to hide the other pair of beauties!"
Owen went on.
"Looks like it," Max admitted.
"Then that ends it. Steve Dowdy can't train in our camp, or go along the same trail as we do, after this," and Owen shook his head in a very determined way as he made this assertion.
"Oh! hold your horses a little while, can't you, Owen?"
"What! do you mean to give him another trial—is that it, Max?"
"Just one more, if we're lucky enough to find a prize," replied the other. "Perhaps after all we'll have to use this jolly little milk-white chap over again."
"Huh! I hope not," grumbled Owen. "Say, you mean to put it with the others in your pocketbook, don't you, and let the little box go empty?"
"Of course. But try and forget all about this for a while, Owen. Give me another day to figure it out, please."
"Say, I bet you've got an idea right now, Max; you're always so quick to see through things."
"If I have I must think it over," replied the other.
"Well, let me say this just once, and then I'll ring off for good," Owen went on. "If he tries this same measly old game to-morrow night, you just ought to jump on Steve, and demand to know what he means by treating his chums in this way."
Max laughed a little.
"Maybe I will, Owen," he remarked. "The idea struck me before you mentioned it. Just wait and see how things are going to turn out."
"But you'll bait the trap again, Max, so Steve'll know, or believe the game is worth the candle?"
"Well, I guess yes," replied the other.
"How about telling Toby or Bandy-legs?" asked Owen.
"Better not," came the quick reply. "Neither of them are worth shucks about keeping a secret, and chances are they'd give it away."
"Just as you say, Max. I depend on you to run this game down. But it makes me feel awful sore. I never would have believed it of good old Steve."
"Well, just hold your judgment in the air for a little while longer, Owen,"
Max said, calmly.
His cousin looked hard at him. Then he shook his head as if completely puzzled.
"Gee! but you do beat the Dutch, Max," he muttered. "I honestly reckon you're hoping to make me doubt what my own eyes saw. But, anyhow, I'm game to stand it out to the end."
"Well, let's crawl in now with our blankets," suggested Max.
"What! don't we keep watch any more, or wake up one of the others to take our place?" Owen demanded.
"Stop and think; what's the use?" chuckled Max.
"Glory! that's so. The performance is over for this night, anyhow. Guess you're about right, Max; and I do sure feel mighty sleepy."
So both boys managed to find the places reserved for them under the canvas, and slipped in without disturbing their comrades.
Steve was rolled up in his blanket very much after the manner of a mummy. Max cast a sharp look that way, and even bent over Steve as he arranged himself in his rather cramped quarters.
"Seems to be sleeping as sound as a bug in a rug," was his mental comment, as he caught the even and natural breathing of the suspected chum.
The balance of the night passed away without any further alarm.
When morning came Toby and Bandy-legs took Max to task because he had not called on them to serve as sentinels over the camp.
"Owen and I looked to that all right," Max laughed back.
"Then you are sure nobody made a sneak on us and got away with the second batch of prizes?"
It was Bandy-legs who put this question. Both Toby and Steve seemed intensely interested in the answer.
"Sure, why, of course, we are," replied Max, confidently. "Nobody who didn't belong here had a chance to poke his nose into our tent last night."
Toby and Bandy-legs declared themselves satisfied with this assurance. As for Steve, though he made no remark on the subject, his face seemed to indicate contentment.
"Is it because he thinks he wasn't seen?" Max kept asking himself, uneasily; but found no answer.
The plans for the morning were soon arranged.
Steve was to pilot Owen to the river over the trail he and Max had made. And at the last moment Toby begged for a chance to accompany the expedition.
"I w-w-want to show that I w-w-wasn't the Jonah yesterday," he remarked, after Max had said he could be spared.
"Oh! rats!" spluttered Bandy-legs, whose turn it was to attempt the cooking; but Max thought he did not seem quite as cheerful as ordinarily.
Max himself really meant to have a try in the marsh for woodcock, as they were known to frequent the low ground when feeding.
So the three boys went off, each with his empty bag, which he hoped to bring back partly filled with mussels, some of which might develop prizes when finally opened up.
Bandy-legs pottered around the fire for a while, but Max could see how unnaturally he acted.
"That boy's got something on his mind, it is dollars to doughnuts," he kept saying to himself, as he watched the nervous movements of the new cook.
This uncertainty caused him to postpone his departure in search of the only game available at that time of year. He thought he would hasten developments, and bring Bandy-legs to the point.
"Something bothering you a bit, old fellow?" he remarked, presently.
The other looked around uneasily.
"Sure they won't come back on us yet a while, eh, Max?" he asked, eagerly.
"No danger of that," assured Max. "You can say what you want, and nobody will hear you."
"Oh! Max, it's dreadful," began Bandy-legs.
"What is?" asked the other, though a sudden suspicion of the truth flashed through his mind.
"About Steve. How could he be so mean?" Bandy-legs went on.
"Hello! what do you know about it?" demanded Max.
"I saw him!" answered the cook, shaking his head in a dolorous fashion. "Say, I've been thinking it over all the time. I was awake when you and Owen came in. And somehow, Max, I just feel awful about it. He must be half crazy to do such a thing."
"Perhaps he is," admitted Max, cautiously. "But look here, do you mean you were awake last night, and saw what Steve did? Is that it, Bandy-legs?"
"Yes. And, Max, he put the pearls in our old coffee pot, would you believe it?" the other went on, excitedly.
Max took out the stout little pocketbook which was intended for silver. As he opened this he remarked:
"Hold your hand, Bandy-legs."
"Good gracious! two, three beautiful pearls! Say, are they ours, the first one as well as the other two? And how did you get hold of them, Max?" cried the other when he could catch his breath.
So, of course, Max had to tell him the whole story.
"And we must keep mum about it till you play your hand; is that it?" asked the wondering and awestruck Bandy-legs, at the conclusion of the recital.
"Try and forget all about it, and act just the same as usual toward Steve," said Max.
The other agreed to do his best.
"But, Max," he added, "I'm awful sore over it. Steve Dowdy was never known as having light fingers all the time I went to school with him. Fact is, only that I saw him do it with my own eyes, nothing could make me believe Steve a thief. Oh! it's just rank!"
Max sauntered off, gun in hand, while the cook busied himself about the fire. Bandy-legs had brought his wonderful cookbook along. This contained dozens of recipes given him by the black "mammy" at home. These Bandy-legs had written out after his own idea as to what should be used. But, perhaps, he may have misunderstood the directions in some cases; and the most astonishing results were apt to follow his attempt to surprise his campmates with some new dish calculated to tickle their healthy appetites.
He heard Max fire frequently.
"Run across game, all right," chuckled Bandy-legs as he worked on industriously.
Eating in all its phases appealed to Bandy-legs; and the very thought of game for supper tickled his fancy.
When Max did show up later on he was carrying a very nice little bundle of the long-billed woodcock with their attractive breasts.
"How many?" demanded Bandy-legs, turning away from the fire where he had something boiling furiously.
"Count and see," laughed Max, placing his shotgun against a tree, and sitting down to rest.
"Just five," remarked Bandy-legs, presently; "say, that was mighty kind of you not to skip me, Max. One apiece all around, eh? Wow! I hope now my book tells just how woodcock are to be done, for blessed if I know a thing about it. To tell the honest truth, I don't recollect ever having seen the gamy-looking bird before."
"We'll manage that part of the programme all right, never fear, Bandy-legs. Pretty near time for the boys to be showing up, ain't it? Hey! something's boiling over and trying to put out the fire."
With a whoop Bandy-legs made a wild dash for his station, and apparently managed to "save his bacon," as Max called out, laughingly.
Presently the sound of voices told that the rest of the camping party had arrived.
Each of them seemed to be carrying something of a load on his back.
The catch was heaped in a pile, and Bandy-legs left his fire long enough to admire the product of the morning "wading act."
"Get ready for dinner, you fellows," he remarked, with a trace of anxiety in his voice.
The rude table was set with the usual tin cups, pie pans for plates, knives, forks, and spoons. In addition there was a pile of bread, some cheese and crackers, part of a boiled ham, a mess of cold rice left over from the previous day, and a dish of hot Boston baked beans.
"Bring on the coffee," sang out Steve, sitting down.
"S-s-say, what you got in the p-p-pot?" demanded Toby, suspiciously.
"A surprise," grinned Bandy-legs.
He filled four bowls with something from the pot and set them before his chums. It had a queer odor, and the boys sniffed at it first, looking toward each other.
Toby was the first one bold enough to put a spoonful into his mouth.
"Yum-yum!" he seemed to gurgle, and the others took this as an indication of approval, for immediately the three followed the example set by the "taster."
At once shouts and laughter went up, as every boy, even including the artful Toby, made haste to get rid of his mouthful as fast as possible.
"Ugh! what a horrible mess!" cried Owen.
"What did you fool us for, Toby?" demanded Steve.
"Huh! t-t-think I w-w-wanted all the t-t-taste to m-m-myself?" demanded
Toby.
"But whatever did you put in this stew to make it taste so funny?" demanded Max.
"H-h-hope he didn't p-p-poison us?" broke out Toby.
"Why, I only put some salt in it," explained the cook, greatly broken up over his first attempt at "surprising" his chums.
"What did you take that salt out of?" asked Owen.
"This little glass jar here; but what're you grinning at? Ain't it salt at all?" demanded Bandy-legs.
"Taste it and see," Owen fired back.
The cook did so, and made a wry face.
"Baking soda!" he gasped; "and I spoiled my stew."
"And burnt it in the bargain," laughed Max, remembering the boiling-over episode; "but there's plenty to eat besides. So pitch in, boys, and after we get through we'll see what sort of luck you had this morning."