"Let's get busy again, Steve."
"Right-o! I'd like to make my score an even two dozen before we meander back to camp for lunch. And I s'pose the other feller's 'll want to have a try next time. Anyhow, you and me can be amusing ourselves opening these mossbacks, and finding out what's inside."
Half an hour later Max called a halt. As Steve had only twenty-three mussels in his bag he did hate to give up the work the worst kind; but the demands of his appetite made him willing to return to the camp.
"They're heavy enough to tote along," Steve admitted when almost there.
"And, after all, you had no use for your gun, Max."
"I'll slip over to the marsh this P. M., and see what luck I can have," returned the other.
"There's the camp, with Owen cooking dinner. But look at Bandy-legs, would you, Max? He sure acts as if he'd run up against some hard nut to crack!"
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.