"I don't believe any of those mussels had been opened by human hands," Max went on to boldly declare. "Whoever is up here must be collecting them just for the sake of the mother of pearl. You know, I suppose, that these shells are used for making pearl buttons and such things?"
"Yes, they are worth so much a hundred pounds," remarked Owen. "The price is high enough to pay some men for collecting them when they can be found in any decent quantities."
"Then, Max, you don't think these parties are onto the pearl racket—is that it?" asked Steve.
"Honest Injun, boys, that's the conclusion I've reached after studying it out. They are just collecting the empty shells, and never dreaming how one little pearl like this would be worth perhaps a full ton of shells." And Max took the prize from Steve, who seemed a bit reluctant to let it go.
Max had apparently made up his mind as to what would be a safe hiding place for the little beauty.
All of them watched him wrap the pearl in a wad of pink cotton, deposit this in a small cardboard box about two inches long by one wide, and half as thick; which, in turn, was carefully thrust into a haversack hanging from the center pole of the tent.
That same haversack was used as a "ditty" bag. All sorts of small articles, likely to prove useful in camp, were deposited in its capacious depths. And when anything was wanted, the boys usually searched in this leather pocket before proceeding to any trouble.
"A snug nest for our first prize, eh?" Bandy-legs took occasion to remark, as he watched how carefully Max pushed the little packet down into the depths of this depository.
"It sure ought to be safe there," Steve declared, with a sigh as of genuine relief.
"Nothing could happen to it, with five fellows sleeping around. And Max is so ready to wake up that he'd even hear a cat moving," Owen remarked, with a laugh.