"That is, you mean to give some one a good chance to get away with all these mussel shells, if so be they feel inclined, eh, Max."

Max nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Meaning this man and boy who seem to be hiding out up here, just like they were afraid to be seen, and employing their time in raking in all the scattered shells left by the muskrats and 'coons—how about that, Max?" Steve continued, as he gathered the opened shells in an extra bag, preparatory to removing them.

"You hit the nail on the head when you say that, Steve. They seem to know the mother-of-pearl inside lining of the shells will bring in some money. And I reckon they're piling the shells up in some cave or secret place, meaning to get them down the river in a dugout canoe sooner or later."

"Well, they're welcome to all the shells we gather," remarked Steve, with a shake of the head; "but they'd better not try to steal any more of our pearls, that's what"; and so saying he marched off with his load, leaving Max more sadly puzzled than ever.



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.



CHAPTER X.

AT DEAD OF NIGHT.

So the night found them.

Toby and Bandy-legs had managed to recover from their keen disappointment over the poor result of their afternoon's work.

"Reckon we must have struck a bad place," the latter remarked, as they all lounged around the cheery fire after supper had been finished.

"That's a f-f-fact," commented Toby, nodding his head in a wise fashion; "I've read that these p-p-pearls happen in a q-q-queer way. F-f-find 'em all in a h-h-heap, and then nothin' doin' for w-w-weeks."

"Then our chums must have struck the jolliest place on the whole river," Bandy-legs observed.

"H-h-hope they m-m-marked it, then," Toby went on.

"How about it, Max, Steve?" demanded the other pearl hunter of the afternoon.

"Sure we did," grunted Steve, who somehow seemed strangely quiet for him, a fact that gave Max considerable uneasiness, knowing what he did.

"And I remember telling you where we did most of our tramping in the water," he observed.

Toby grinned rather foolishly.

"G-g-guess that's so," he admitted.

"Yes," spoke up Bandy-legs, "but you see we expected that you'd cleaned out that place pretty well; and as we wanted to pick up a good load we went higher up."

"That's where you made the mistake, then," remarked Owen. "Perhaps Max and Steve located something like a pocket. If I take a turn in the morning I believe I'll go over all the ground they did and pick up a few shells."

"I'll go along to show you if you say so," Steve suggested.

"How about it, Max?" inquired Owen.

"Call it settled at that," came the ready response.

They talked and compared notes, and laid plans for the glorious future, as the cheery fire crackled and the hour grew later.

Max had shaped the little scheme he had in mind.

The pearls were supposed to be safely lodged in a tiny packet which he had placed in the haversack in the presence of all the others.

This, however, was all a delusion and a snare, for in pursuance of his plans Max had secretly managed to quietly slip the two really valuable gems into his pocket, where he afterwards made them secure.

All this was done with a definite object in view, for he more than half expected that before another dawn came the haversack would be visited again.

By degrees the boys fell away, since Max had plainly announced that he would take the first watch.

No one seemed disposed to dispute the honor with him, because they were all very sleepy.

First Toby crawled under the tent, and by his heavy breathing they knew he was dead to the world.

Next Steve followed suit, and then Bandy-legs.

"Wake me early, mother dear, because to-morrow will be the first of May," the latter sang out, as he vanished.

This left only Max and Owen.

Now, the weight of his secret was weighing so heavily upon Max that he had made up his mind to take Owen into his confidence should a good chance arise.

It seemed to be on hand.

Accordingly, after binding his cousin to secrecy, Max began to relate the strange thing he had seen on the preceding night.

Of course Owen was properly shocked.

He, too, had the utmost confidence in Steve Dowdy, and found great difficulty in believing that the other could ever descend to such a low state as making a thief out of himself.

"The plaguy pearls must have fairly turned his head, Max," he declared, with almost savage earnestness.

"Just what I was beginning to believe," the other admitted, with a shake of his head.

"But what can we do about it, Max?"

"I'm going to watch," replied the other.

"To-night, you mean?"

"Yes. The fever is still in Steve's veins. He doesn't seem to act like himself. And, Owen, d'ye know, I've read somewhere that some people are strangely affected by certain kinds of gems. They seem bewitched when looking at or handling the same."

"That's it, Max. Pearls must have some sort of terrible fascination for poor Steve."

"He admitted as much himself, and you all heard him say so," declared Max.

"All right. Count me in," Owen went on.

"What d'ye mean by saying that, cousin?" asked Max.

"Only that you won't have to watch alone, Max."

"Just as you say, my boy. Glad to have your company. But we'd better be making preparations to keep our eyes on that bag," Max went on.

"Why, I can see it from here, so long as the fire keeps blazing," Owen asserted.

"I purposely hung it in that place, and drew back the tent flap so I could keep an eye on the bag all the time. So Owen, let's settle down here, and make ourselves as comfy as we can."

"All we have to do is to drop a little wood on the fire once in a while, eh, Max?"

"That's right; and while we watch we can talk in whispers if we feel like it, Owen."

"Still, it would be better to keep quiet, I suppose," suggested the cousin of Max.

"Of course. He might hear us, and lie low," replied the one who was engineering things.

"But you've fixed it so that while we lie here on our blankets, no one would be apt to notice us from the tent. You had a purpose in doing that, I expect?" questioned Owen.

"I thought he might take a look around first to see where I was; and not discovering me in sight would believe I had gone to sleep on my post," Max went on.

"This is a nightmare of a time," grumbled Owen.

"That's right," echoed the other, promptly. "Seems to me I must be dreaming when I find myself suspecting Steve of such a nasty thing. But wait up and see, Owen. If nothing happens I'll be surprised, likewise mighty well pleased."

They accordingly lapsed into silence.

Minutes glided by. To both the boys they seemed to be shod with lead, so slowly did the time pass.

When the fire burned low, as it did on several occasions, Max would crawl out, manage to toss an armful of wood upon the red embers, and immediately seek his hiding place again.

One, two hours had gone, and so far nothing out of the common had come to pass.

Owen found himself getting somewhat sleepy, and in various ways he fought against the drowsy sensation.

"That's an owl, I reckon, ain't it, Max?" he whispered when certain queer sounds floated to their ears out of the depths of the forest.

"Of course," replied the other, in the same cautious tone, which could not have been heard ten feet away.

"And those are tree frogs croaking close by?" continued Owen, who knew all about these things from reading; while his cousin did the same through practical experience.

"They're calling for more rain!" chuckled Max; "but I hope the old fellow up above, who turns on the sprinkler when he takes a notion, don't pay any attention, because rain in camp is generally a nasty time."

Once more the two boys lapsed into silence.

Perhaps another half hour had passed when Owen, whose eyes were getting very heavy, so that he found himself nodding, felt something touch his arm.

He started violently, possibly under the impression that some snake or wild animal from the woods had reached them unawares.

"H-s-sh!"

Why, to be sure, it was Max who hissed this warning in his ear. And, of course, it must be his cousin's hand that was laid on his own arm.

"Look!"

The one word proved sufficient to make Owen remember what they were lying there for. Accordingly he craned his neck so as to see the interior of the tent.

The fire was burning fairly well, and as Max had fastened the canvas flaps unusually far back, in order to admit plenty of air, as he had said at the time, it was easy to see.

Owen felt another thrill, immediately succeeded by a chilly sensation.

There was a movement within the tent, as if some person might be advancing toward the spot where the haversack hung in plain sight.

The firelight fell plainly upon a face, and Owen had no difficulty in recognizing—Steve!

Almost holding their breath the two boys watched to see what their strange chum did.

They saw him deliberately open the haversack and plunge his hand inside.

"Oh! look! he's got the little package, Max," whispered the horrified Owen.

Max pinched his arm.

"Keep still," he made out to say in the other's ear.

He feared that Owen's disturbed voice might have reached the ears of the prowler; but there was no sign to indicate such a thing.

Indeed, Steve went about his task with a deliberation that puzzled both the watchers.

"There! he's gone back to his blanket again," muttered Owen, unable longer to keep still; "and Max, did you see where he put that little packet which he believes holds all our prizes!"

"Yes," replied the other, "inside that old extra coffee pot we fetched along to use in case anything happened to the one we have on the fire three times a day."

"That's the funniest thing I ever heard of, sure," continued Owen. "He's crazy, that's what. Who'd ever think of looking in that bum old coffee pot for anything worth while, tell me that, will you?"

"I can't. I'm all up in the air myself," admitted Max.

"Still, we saw him do it, didn't we! It wasn't a dope dream, was it, Max!"

"I'm going to prove it pretty soon, Owen."

"As how?" demanded the other.

"By getting that old coffee pot out here, and looking it over, that's how," replied the other.

"Bully idea!" exclaimed Owen, quickly. "Say, looky here, perhaps now you really expect to find our other lost pearl in there?"

"Wouldn't surprise me one little bit," chuckled Max.

"Oh! can't you sneak in now and crib the coffee pot?" begged Owen.

"Give him ten minutes to settle down," came the reply.

At the end of what seemed the longest ten minutes he had ever known, Owen saw his agile cousin begin to move toward the opening of the tent.

On the way Max picked up a long, stout stick that had a slight turn at the end. "He's going to fish for the coffee pot," whispered Owen, in more or less delight; for he did so enjoy seeing Max undertake anything that required brains.

The fishing met with speedy reward, for once the crook at the end of the pole had been inserted into the handle of the coffee pot, and the rest was easy.

So Max came back to where he had left his comrade, bearing in his hands the old cooking utensil that thus far had not been needed, and might, if the other only held out, only prove a form of insurance against possible disaster.

Deliberately Max opened the coffee pot and thrust his hand inside.

"Here's a package," he said, drawing something out.

"No need to open that," observed Owen, quickly; "because we know it only holds the three poor pearls found in the catch brought in by the last squad. Feel deeper, Max. Strike anything?"

For reply the other drew his hand out, nor did it come into view empty.

"The little cardboard box you put the first prize in," gasped Owen. "Please hurry and open it up, Max."

His chum was no less eager to see what the contents of the box would prove to be.

No sooner had he removed the lid than the enraptured eyes of the two boys fell upon the lost pearl! Yes, there it rested on its pink cotton bed, looking even more beautiful in Owen's eyes than either of the two later prizes.

After staring at it for some time the boys allowed their eyes to exchange a look. Max was pale and distressed, while his cousin, on the other hand, seemed to be excited, as though indignation and even anger had surged up within him.



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."



CHAPTER XII

DANGER AHEAD ON THE TRAIL.

"Look at Steve!"

It was Owen who muttered these three words in the ear of his cousin.

"Yes, I've been keeping an eye on him," replied the other, uneasily.

It was to be expected that those who had gone off on the morning hunt for shellfish would show more or less eagerness to get at their catch, in order to learn just what sort of luck had attended their labors.

But long before either Toby or Owen had finished eating, Steve hurried over to the pile, and squatting down, tailor fashion, began opening mussels.

Just as the rest began to leave the vicinity of the fire they heard him give a shout.

"Say, looky there at Steve—he's dancing around like a wild Injun!" cried Bandy-legs.

"B-b-bet you he's f-f-found a jim-dandy p-p-pearl," spluttered Toby.

All of them hastened over to where their comrade was carrying on so extravagantly.

"What you got, Steve?" demanded Bandy-legs.

"The best one yet, sure as you're born," and with these thrilling words Steve opened his palm.

It was certainly a larger pearl than any they had yet found, and presented a more imposing appearance.

All of them crowded around to admire, and many were the pleased expressions which the young pearl hunters gave vent to.

"Couldn't hardly believe my eyes when I saw that beauty lying in the shell," remarked the excited Steve; "and the funniest part of it all is I picked up that shell myself."

"How d'ye know that?" asked Owen. "There were two others along, perhaps you remember."

"Sure," laughed Steve, as pleased as a child, his eyes beaming, and his face flushed. "I'll tell you how it is, fellows. Notice this queer mark like a five-pointed star on the shell? I remember stopping to look at it after washing the mud off the outside. Gee! little did I suspect what I was holding in my hand."

"G-g-guess not," wabbled Toby. "If you d-d-did I just reckon you'd g-g-gone ashore and b-b-b-b—"

Of course, when Toby floundered in the depths one of his chums as usual pounded him on the back vigorously; but that would not have wrought a cure only that the unfortunate stutterer managed to give his whistle, and then cry triumphantly:

"Busted it open—there!"

"You just bet I would," admitted Steve.

"Say, we forgot to notice something," declared Bandy-legs.

"As what?" asked Owen.

"Whether the shells of those other oysters that held prizes were also marked with a star," Bandy-legs went on; at which the balance of the crowd laughed uproariously.

"What d'ye think of that?" cried Steve. "He expects that when a mussel starts in to grow a nice healthy pearl he scratches a star on his shell to let the hard-working hunter know when he's struck a bonanza!"

"Oh! my, how k-k-kind," chuckled Toby.

"Anyhow," asserted Bandy-legs, stoutly, as he held the shell in question in his hand, "me to keep tabs when I'm doing the grabbing act this afternoon. And I give you all fair warning that if I do run across a shell with the star, I'm going ashore to open the same."

"Good luck to you, then," laughed Steve. "Here, Max, take charge of this, won't you, and put it with the rest of our prizes? I want to keep on opening shells, and see if my luck holds out."

Max and Owen exchanged a quick look.

Apparently Steve was perfectly sincere when he gave utterance to this natural remark. Their bewilderment grew more and more, and both boys, as well as Bandy-legs found it impossible to understand what it could mean.

Max walked back to the tent as if meaning to deposit the pearl in the haversack along with the others. Of course he would really slip it into his little leather coin purse where the three valuable pearls already reposed in safety.

"What d'ye make of him, Max?"

Owen asked this question as he bent over his chum, while the other was making a great pretense of handling the haversack.

"Ask me something easy, please," the other replied, shaking his head from side to side.

"What bothers me is to understand why he called out, and let us all know he'd struck a find," Owen continued.

"Same here," Max added.

"You'd think that if Steve was the thief he seemed to be, his first act would have been to quietly pocket this big pearl, and just keep mum. Ain't it so, Max?"

"Seems that way," came the ready answer. "To do that would save a heap of trouble in taking it out of the bag while the rest of us slept."

"But perhaps Steve really enjoys that exciting part of the business," suggested Owen.

"Do you know, a thought struck me, though I can't take much stock in it," Max went on.

"Let's hear it, anyhow," remarked his chum.

"Well, in order to make sure of the valuable pearls here, I'm putting them away in my private purse. Well, what if some notion like that has struck our comrade, and he's hiding 'em unbeknown to us, either for a trick, or to make doubly sure they don't get lost."

Owen sneered plainly, as if to express his disbelief in this far-fetched theory.

"It's just like you to try and screen a chum, old fellow," he observed; "but the idea seems too thin for me to take any stock in it. To tell the truth, I'd call it fishy. It won't wash, and you know it."

Max sighed as he closed the bag that really held only the three next to worthless pearls.

"Own up," persisted Owen; "say that you just can't believe such a thing yourself, much as you'd like to."

"Yes, it is so; there must be some other explanation that we haven't struck yet. But I believe I'm on the right trail. Don't ask me any more, Owen. To-night will see the answer, I reckon."

"Hope so," grunted the other, and from his manner it was plain to be seen that Owen did not share the sanguine spirit of his chum.

"Now let's go back and see if there's anything doing with the rest of the fresh-water clams," suggested Max.

But, although every shell was opened and carefully examined, only a couple of seed pearls were found, not worth mentioning alongside the four fine ones.

"Anyhow," said Toby, as the last mussel was passed, "it wasn't a s-s-skunk. We g-g-got one b-b-bully old p-p-prize, didn't we, Steve?"

"Me to look for the star brand of mussels!" declared Bandy-legs; "they're the only kind worth toting to camp over that long trail."

It was Max and Bandy-legs who started out shortly after, bent upon new conquests.

"Look out for him, Max," said Owen; "don't let him throw away all he finds, just because they don't happen to bear the star brand."

"Oh! I'm not that big a silly," chuckled Bandy-legs, starting off; "come on, Max."

Max saw a chance to remark in a low voice to his cousin:

"He knows all about it, and has promised to keep a close tongue."

"Then you told him when you were alone here this morning?" remarked Owen, and his tone announced that he doubted the propriety of confiding in Bandy-legs.

"That's where you're away off," chuckled Max. "Fact is, he began to tell me about Steve going to the bag in the middle of the night, and hiding something in the old coffee pot."

"You don't say?" exclaimed Owen. "How the dickens would Bandy-legs know about that?"

"Happened to be awake and saw it all. So I thought I'd tell him what we knew, so as to make him keep a close mouth. I guess he won't leak, Owen."

"Then Toby is really the only one out of the secret?" Owen went on to say.

"Yes. And there's no use telling him—yet. Time enough to-night when we spring the trap. But I'm off now, after Bandy-legs. So long, Owen."

"Be mighty careful about that coin purse," warned the one who was to stay in camp during the afternoon. "It would give me a big pain if you let it drop out of your pocket while you were wading in the river."

"Can't. I've fastened the pocket up snug with a big safety pin," chuckled Max.

He soon caught up with Bandy-legs, who was following the now plainly marked trail that stretched through the forest between the river and the camp.

Arriving at the water's edge Max soon decided that it might pay them to work a little lower downstream.

So both removed most of their clothes and started to tread for the mussels that lay concealed in the mud or sand of the river's bed.

Max was very careful to make sure that the little coin purse was safely pinned inside his shirt. He would not have risked leaving that ashore for a good deal.

An hour passed.

"I see you've picked up quite a little load," remarked Max, as the two pearl hunters happened to come close together while continuing their work.

"All of two dozen, I reckon," grunted Bandy-legs.

"Many marked with the star brand?" asked Max.

"Shucks! never a single one, the more the pity," replied the other, grinning. "Still, I live in hopes. Found one that's got a cross on the shell. Might be that's another mark to tell how the old hermit inside has taken to hatching out a pearl."

"Well, let's make one more try of, say half an hour," proposed Max.

"All right," agreed the other. "It's getting a little tiresome, I tell you. And I cut my toe on a sharp shell. Sing out when the time's up, Max. Here goes to try along that point. Looks promising there."

"Yes, because some sort of a bar sets out from the shore. I'll head that way, too, only covering different ground."

Max kept up the good work until the time limit had been reached. By then the two boys had about all the load they cared to carry over the trail to the camp.

"Hope nobody holds us up on the way, and makes us hand over all we've got," suggested Bandy-legs. "Not that he'd get much out of me, because thirty-seven cents is about the limit of my fortune now; but I'm thinking of them pearls you carry, Max."

"I've still left the coin purse pinned on the inside of my shirt," remarked Max; "so the chances are he wouldn't be apt to find it on me."

They finished dressing, and, throwing the partly filled gunny sacks over their shoulders, started back along the trail for camp, Max in the lead. "Huh!" remarked Bandy-legs, as he trotted along at the heels of his companion, "the fun about all this thing is the uncertainty of it. Ain't that so, Max?"

"It sure is," replied the other, without turning his head. "Here we are, toting over five dozen mussels on our backs up and down, in and out, and we're just in a state of blissful eagerness and suspense. Perhaps we carry a prize worth a whole vacation of sport; and then, again, chances are we draw a blooming blank."

"All right," remarked the cheerful Max, "no matter how things turn out from now on, I don't see that any of us ought to kick. We've got four pearls that are bound to give us many times as much as we really hoped to earn. And that's enough to make us happy."

"It sure is, because now we'll be able to carry out all of those bully plans we made. Wow! I c'n hardly believe it ain't all a dream, Max," and Bandy-legs drew a long sigh, as if trying to assure himself that he was really awake.

"You'll begin to believe it when we send off for our motorcycles, and map out the summer campaign," laughed Max.

"Glory be! that makes me thrill all over. If it does come to pass, won't we be the luckiest crowd that ever came down the pike?" assented Bandy-legs.

"Oh! I'd hardly say that," remarked the other. "We've worked for all we've got so far. The idea was, after all, the main thing, and we owe most of that to my cousin Owen reading so much about how these pearls are found in Indiana and Missouri streams."

"Oh! take care, Max!" suddenly cried Bandy-legs.

"What is it?" demanded the other, instantly.

"Danger ahead; because I saw somebody poking a head out of the bushes there," Bandy-legs went on, breathlessly.



CHAPTER XIII.

MAX PLAYS THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

Max instantly dropped his sack of shellfish.

He had picked up a good stout stick, which he used as a cane while walking, poking ahead in every clump of bushes where it was possible a snake might lie coiled up in waiting.

Bandy-legs had followed suit, and he, too, flourished a substantial hickory staff, which looked capable of doing good work in a pinch.

"Now where did you see all this?" asked Max.

"Over yonder where that thick vine crawls all over things," came the quivering answer.

"All right; let's investigate then," suggested Max, as he took a bold forward step.

At this demonstration Bandy-legs gasped.

"Say, are you really going to tackle him, Max?"

"Oh! I don't know," replied the other, carelessly, yet with a firm ring to his voice, and a determined look on his face. "If he's lying in wait to ambush us, we might as well turn the tables around, and start the ball rolling ourselves."

"But—gosh! he might have a gun!" suggested Bandy-legs.

"Let's hope not," Max went on, cheerfully; "because that would be unfair, as we've left all our shooting-irons in camp. Anyhow, it might pay us to put a bold face on the matter. So come along, Bandy-legs."

"W-w-who's afraid?" gurgled the other, trying to look and act like his chum, though the effort was not wholly a success.

Accordingly the two boys advanced straight toward the clump of bushes bordering on the camp trail, and which were overrun by the luxuriant vine.

"There he is again, Max!" hissed Bandy-legs.

"Yes, I see him; and I reckon now that it's only that half-grown boy again, after all, Bandy-legs."

The other gave a sigh, perhaps of relief.

"Guess you hit the nail on the head that time, when you said what you did; because it's sure enough no big-bearded man waiting to hold us up. Wonder what he wants with us, Max?"

"Don't you see he's beckoning right now?" asked the other, in a puzzled tone.

"That's right; but please go slow, Max."

"Why do you say that?" demanded the other, keeping his eyes on the eagerly beckoning boy who was emerging from the thicket.

"Might be a trap, you know," Bandy-legs went on. "Heard about such things. The little critter may be just toling us on like they train a dog to do down in the duck regions along Chesapeake Bay."

"Oh, rats!" Max remarked. "That look of terror on his face ain't put on. You mark my words, Bandy-legs, he's in a hole of some kind, and wants us to lend him a hand, see?"

"But where's the hole?" asked the other.

"Oh! come off, won't you? I mean he's in trouble. But here we are, and we'll soon know."

As Max said these last words he allowed a reassuring smile to creep over his face. He realized that the ragged boy was in some condition of genuine distress; and Max had too kind a heart to even dream of adding to the poor lad's mental agony.

"Hello! who are you, and what's the matter?" he asked, as they drew up alongside the smaller boy.

"I'm Jim, mister, an' I'm in a heap o' trouble," the boy said, with an effort.

"Well, Jim, we want to be friends," Max went on. "Suppose you tell us what it's all about, won't you?"

Something in his cheery tone, as well as the kind expression upon his face, seemed to give renewed confidence to the poor little chap.

This may have been the first time a stranger had ever spoken to him after such a fashion. Perhaps he had had a cruel experience with the world, and was accustomed to looking upon all strangers as enemies.

But, now, the look of fear left his face, though there still remained that expression of agony.

"Reckon as how he's goin' tuh cash in, stranger," he said; and Max grasped the meaning of his words, although they were next door to Greek to Bandy-legs.

"Who do you mean by saying he?" asked Max.

"Dad," answered the forlorn specimen, drawing down the corners of his mouth.

"Is he sick?" continued Max.

"Nope. Got hurted bad. Falled down a big drop. Reckon like he's a sure goner," the boy whimpered.

"Where is he now?" the other asked, briskly.

"In our shack. He done crawled part way, an' wen I diskivered him I helped drag him home."

The lad said this latter a little proudly, as though he wanted these boys to understand that while he might look thin and puny, still he was not lacking in pure grit, and the ability to "do things."

"What do you want us to do, Jim?" asked Max.

"I seed yuh goin' along hyah, an' I thort as how p'r'aps yuh wont come over an' see dad. He's got a leg broke, that's flat; but yuh see he feels so pow'ful bad inside he's 'feared he's hurt thar. Cain't yuh come 'long with me, mistah?"

Not for a moment did warm-hearted Max hesitate.

"Sure we will. Lead the way, Jim. I suppose you can bring us back here again to get our bags of mussels," he said, promptly.

"I sartin kin, an' I will, mistah," replied the boy, a faint look as of hope appearing on his brown face.

"But, Max—" whispered Bandy-legs, plucking at his companion's coat sleeve.

"What ails you?" asked Max, impatiently.

"Is it safe, d'ye think?" demanded the other; "wouldn't it be better for us to go on to camp, pick up a gun, and then join Jim here?"

"You can, if you want to," said Max; "as for me, I'm going to believe in the story he tells."

But he did not throw away the stout stick which at the time he chanced to be carrying.

The boy had turned around. He wanted to see what they meant to do, and a new dread seemed to be gripping him.

But when Max once again started forward, Bandy-legs, as if a little ashamed of his suspicion, kept him company.

Thus, following the uncouth little fellow closely, they began to pass through a very dense section of forest.

Max considered that since they were going to all this trouble in order to do a good deed, it might be as well to learn a few things.

Accordingly he quickened his pace, so that he drew up alongside Jim.

"What's your dad's name, Jim?" he asked.

The boy seemed to hesitate, as though even in his young mind he doubted the propriety of giving away family secrets.

"Calls hisself Tom Jones, mistah," he finally replied; but Max readily understood that the chances were the man had another name, which he did not like to own, as possibly it was connected with a prison sentence, or some crime.

However, Max did not allow himself to feel any sort of curiosity in this direction. It was enough for him to know that the unfortunate man had fallen upon evil days, and was lying there with a broken leg, perhaps even dying, and far removed from all doctors.

"We've seen signs around that made us think you were collecting these mussel shells," he went on.

The boy nodded his head in the affirmative.

"No use denyin' it, mistah, 'case yuh'd see our shack wen yuh git thar, anyways," he muttered.

"And you've been thinking we'd come up here to beat you out in the game—is that it?" Max continued.

Another vigorous nod, and a gloomy look answered him.

"Well, that's where you're away off, Jim," Max went on. "We don't care for the shells, and you're welcome to all we happen to gather, after we've taken out and eaten the meat. I suppose your dad means to get a load down the river, and sell the same to some factory that manufactures pearl buttons?"

"Yep. An' we was a gettin' heaps o' 'em; but if dad he draps off, it's all busted," Jim replied.

His manner told Max that at least he must cherish a certain amount of affection for his father.

"Ain't we nearly there?" grunted Bandy-legs, who had proven clumsy, so that several times, catching a foot in some concealed creeper, he had almost fallen flat.

"Jest a leetle bit furder, mistah," replied Jim, eagerly, as though he feared that these new-found friends might grow suspicious or weary, and desert him in his time of great need.

Five minutes later and they stepped into a little open space. The hill rose abruptly before them. Max realized that they must be close to the camp of the shell gatherers, even before he saw this opening, for he could detect an odor in the air far from delightful, and which he knew must come from a collection of hundreds and hundreds of shells, many of them possibly recently opened.

Jim's father had found a natural cave under a great shelf of rock that jutted out from the base of the hill.

Here the two were safe from the violent summer storms; and with a couple of worn blankets, a few cooking utensils, and a scant allowance of food, they were able to carry on the business of gathering the fine shells, with their mother-of-pearl lining, so necessary in the button trade.

Several piles of shells caught the eyes of the two boys as they approached the strange camp.

Max, however, looking farther, discovered a form upon the ground, partly covered by a blanket.

A dreadful suspicion came over him that the man might have died while Jim was seeking help. This, however, was speedily dissipated, for he saw "Tom Jones" raise himself on one arm and stare hard at them.

Fear was in those burning dark eyes, such fear as might be shown by a fugitive from justice, one who believed every honest man's hand was raised against him.

But Max would not allow himself to even think of this. The poor fellow was in trouble; he needed help the worst kind, and it was no business of theirs to ask questions.

"We've come to see if we can help you, Mr. Jones," he remarked, in his customary cheery tone, as he bent over the injured man.

"Jim got yuh, did he?" muttered the other. "Knowed 'twar the on'y thing tuh be did, no matter wat follered."

"Make your mind easy, because there's nothing going to follow. Now, it happens that even if I am only a boy, I've always had an itching to be a surgeon some day. So I know a little about setting broken bones. I'm going to play doctor, if you'll let me, Mr. Jones."

As Max said this he stripped off his coat. The boy watched him in awe, while the man showed signs of newly awakened hope.

For quite some time Max examined his patient, even turning the man over so that he could test his ribs thoroughly.

"Now I'm going to set that leg the best I can, with splints to hold it. After all it's a simple fracture a little way above the ankle. Those black and blue marks don't count for anything, Mr. Jones. Make up your mind you're going to pull through nicely. You were lucky, for it might have been much worse."

"But I'm sore up in the body," said the man.

"Yes, you're bruised some, and I expect a rib or two may be broken. But they'll mend all right. Don't worry for a minute. I'll come and see you again once or twice before we go back to town. And I'm going to send you up some things from the store."

The man could hardly express his gratitude, but Max saw tears in his eyes. He was ragged and wore a rough beard, but his face was not unkind. And Jim seemed to set considerable store by his father, which would indicate that the boy was not abused.

"Gettin' shells, too, I reckon?" the man remarked, as Max shook hands with him preparatory to leaving.

"Well, no," replied Max, and then, obeying a sudden inspiration, he went on; "it might pay you after this to carefully examine the inside of every fresh-water clam you gather, because we've found some good pearls that are worth ten times as much as all your shells. Good-by, Tom Jones. I'm coming again to-morrow to see you, and bring some coffee and bacon. Now, Jim, show us the way back to where we left our sacks."



CHAPTER XIV.

SETTING THE MAN TRAP AGAIN.

Jim was only too delighted to act once more as guide.

The look of fear had quite left his face, and both Max and Bandy-legs saw that after all the poor little chap was rather a decent-looking boy.

"Say, is he agoin' tuh git well, mistah?" he asked, turning when they were once more fairly on the way back to the trail leading to the camp.

"Sure he is, Jim," answered Max.

"But he'd 'a' gone dead on'y for you uns comin' tuh help. Reckon as how we orter be kinder 'bleeged fur doin' this away," went on the boy, awkwardly trying to prove that he knew what gratitude meant.

"That's all right, Jim," Max smilingly said. "Perhaps he wouldn't have died on account of his broken leg, but he'd never walked again without a limp. But look here, don't you say another word about it, Jim."

"But—"

"Because," Max went on, quickly, "it's been a pleasure to me to attend your dad. I'm wanting to be a surgeon some day, and every little bit of practice helps. Now, if you don't mind, we'd like to know something about you, Jim. Where'd you come from? I never saw you or your father around Carson, which is the name of the town where my chum here and myself live."

The boy actually turned red in the face. His confusion told the sharp-eyed Max that there must be some sort of unpleasant story connected with the past.

"Hold on, Jim, I take that back," he hastened to say. "It's none of my business, and you needn't tell me anything about what you've been through."

"But I jest has tuh, 'case it's been a-burnin' in here ever so long, an' never anybody tuh tell," and Jim slapped his hand on his breast as he spoke.

"Oh! well, please yourself, Jim," Max observed, seeing that the confidence would really satisfy the boy, who had evidently never known a friend in all his life, save his wandering father.

"And, Jim," put in Bandy-legs, seriously, "just you make up your mind that we'll never whisper a word of what you tell us to a living soul, eh, Max?"

"That's a sure thing," replied the other.

Jim fell back a little, so that he might be closer to these two splendid friends, who were already assuming the rle of heroes in his eyes.

"'Tain't so bad, I reckons," he started in to say. "Yuh see, dad, he never done as they sez. Lots o' times he tells me as how sum other man he tries tuh rob that ole farmer. But they ketched him in our camp, an' totes him tuh the farmhouse. I heerd 'em say as how they means tuh kerry dad tuh town an' hev him shut up, when mawnin' kims along."

The boy drew a long breath. His eyes flashed with the memory of the wrongs that had been heaped upon his father; and Max chuckled with glee to see that after all he had more or less "spunk" in his small body.

"I take it from what you say, Jim, that you weren't made a prisoner at the same time they nabbed your father?" he remarked.

"Naw," replied the boy, "I chanct tuh be away from camp jest then, yuh see. Wen I kim back I seed three big men a-hustlin' dad along, an' him a-saying all' ther time he never done nawthin'."

"Of course you followed them?" said Max.

"Yep. They wasn't nawthin' else tuh be done," came the answer, as the boy grinned a little.

"Bet you he helped his dad skip out, Max," was the suggestion Bandy-legs put up.

"Did you, Jim?" demanded the other.

"I sartin did that same, mistah," came the prompt reply, a little proudly. "Seen whar they done locked dad in the smokehouse. Tried the door, but it wa'n't no go. Then I started tuh tunnel under the wall."

"Well, I declare! What d'ye think of that, now?" exclaimed the wondering Bandy-legs. "Ain't he just the little boss schemer, though?"

"And did you succeed—did you get your dad out all right?" asked Max.

"I sartin did. Took a heap o' time, I tell yuh. Reckon 'twas nigh mawnin' wen he crawled through the hole, an' we lit out foh the woods."

"And since that time you've been in hiding, afraid to show yourselves in any town?" Max continued, bent on knowing all the particulars, for he had taken a decided interest in little Jim.

"Yep, we jest stuck tuh the woods," the other went on to say. "Dad, he 'membered hearin' some feller say as how these yer shells was wuth money, if so be they cud be gathered in heaps. An' so yuh see we ben gatherin' 'em right along."

"How'd you ever get feed?" asked Bandy-legs, whose mind always traveled to this very important question.

"Dad had jest a leetle money, left over from his last job," Jim replied. "Then we set traps an' ketched a few rabbits. I fished some, too. Reckon we managed tuh get along. Lots o' times, though, I was that hungry I cud 'a' et a raw turnip."

"You say your father worked—was he a farm hand?" Max asked.

"Naw. Dad he's a travelin' printer, an' a good un, too, mistah. But he jest cain't stay ennywhere long. He's got gypsy blood, yuh see, and the travel bug he sez is in his body. So arter a little we gets out on the road again tuh see the sights."

"A traveling printer, eh?" remarked Bandy-legs; "say, that's kind of queer now. Reckon he'd strike a job if he dropped in on Mr. Robbins, the editor of the Carson Weekly Town Topics."

"What makes you say that?" demanded Max.

"Because I chanced to hear him say his typesetter was bound to leave him in the lurch, and he didn't know where he'd get a man by the first of the month," Bandy-legs replied promptly.

"There, do you hear that, Jim?" remarked Max.

"Yep. But reckons as how it ain't a-goin' tuh do we uns any good," answered the boy, dejectedly.

"Why not? By that time your dad's leg ought to be fairly well. And a couple of us boys could take him down to Carson soon in one of our boats."

Jim looked into the face of his kind friend while Max was speaking. There were tears in the little chap's eyes.

"Reckon yuh done forget, mistah!" he sighed.

"Now you mean about the trouble your dad fell into on account of that old farmer; is that it, Jim?" demanded Max.

The boy nodded his head in a forlorn fashion.

"How long ago was this, Jim—about a month?" Max asked.

"Reckon she be all o' that, mistah."

"And did you hear the name of the old farmer whose house had been robbed, Jim?"

"I never done forgot that. I seems tuh heah it whispered by every leetle wind thet blows. Wenever I waked up in the night it kim a-stealin' along past the ledge o' rock, an' makin' me shiver, I tell yuh. He was a orful hard-lookin' ole man, mistah."

"But perhaps not quite so hard as he seemed, Jim. Was that name Griffin, Jim?" asked Max.

"Yep," piped the boy, shivering; "an heah's them two bag o' mussels, jest whar yuh left 'em."

"All right, Jim. I didn't expect they'd be stolen. Now listen to what I say, Jim."

"Yas, suh."

"When you go back to your dad tell him I said he needn't be afraid to show himself in Carson, or any other town around these diggings; because the tramp who robbed old Griffin's place was caught, and all the stuff found on him!"

"That's right," interrupted Bandy-legs, anxious to have a part in the developments; "and I saw the Chief of Police bring him into town, too. He was sure a tough-looking case. Your dad looks like a gentleman beside that hobo thief."

"Old Griffin is a just man," Max went on. "I'm sure he's felt sorry for treating your father as roughly as he did, without having any evidence against him. And if you two showed up at his place to-day chances are he'd take you both in and give you jobs."

"But," said Bandy-legs, "there ain't no need of that. I'm bent on seeing Tom Jones get that vacancy on the local paper."

"Is Tom Jones your father's real name?" asked Max. "You needn't be afraid to say, Jim, because nobody is going to harm him now."

"It's Thomas Archer. He kin talk jest as good as you kin, wen he wants tuh to do it. But the fellers we tramps with done lawf at him, so he larns tuh talk like they does. But yuh done makes me happy, tell yuh, mistah. Glad now I waited on the trail foh yuh."

"You belong down South, don't you, Jim?" asked Max.

"Reckon Nawth Car'liny was the place I was borned into this world, suh, but I don't jest see how yuh guessed that," the boy answered.

"Never mind. Suppose you trot along with us to our camp now. I'd like to send back a few things, like coffee and bacon, for your dad and you."

Jim could only clutch the hand of Max when he said this and squeeze it. But the other felt something moist drop on the back of his hand, and was sure it must be a tear.

The boys were once more taken in charge, and their interrupted march along the trail resumed.

When they entered the camp various were the exclamations of surprise from the three who had been left in charge.

Of course a perfect rain of questions followed, and for some time both Max and his fellow laborers in the shellfish industry were kept busily employed answering these interrogations.

Finally, as the sun was sinking low, Jim was allowed to depart, fairly laden with the various good things which the campers insisted on sending to the unfortunate tramp printer.

"We can spare them easy enough," Max had remarked.

"Sure we can, and more, too," echoed Owen.

"B-b-besides, we've b-b-been so lucky, you k-k-know, in our hunt for p-p-pearls, we ought to be g-g-g-g—"

Again came the usual pounding on the back, which produced no results; but as soon as Toby could pucker up his lips, so as to whistle, he immediately calmed down enough to shout at the top of his voice:

"Generous—there!"

"Well, I should say we could," observed Steve, rubbing his hands together exultantly. "Even if we did lose that first beaut of a gem, haven't we still got three elegant ones? And perhaps you fellows may have fetched the mate of the lost one along in this last batch. You never can tell."

Max could not help looking toward Owen, who raised his eyebrows after a peculiar fashion that could only stand for bewilderment.

Steve certainly had these three loyal chums guessing. But Max was fully determined that the mystery must not remain such over another night, if he could arrange matters so that the solution might be hastened.

To this end he presently started to assist Bandy-legs open their catch of the afternoon, Steve and Toby being engaged in getting supper.

Another prize rewarded their search, a pearl not so fine as the one Steve had discovered, but so perfect in shape, and so milk-white in color, that they agreed it ranked with any of the rest in value.

So Max was very careful to wrap this last prize up in some paper, and thrust it into the haversack, with all his comrades looking on, especially Steve. The latter stared as usual, as though fascinated by the sight of the beautiful gem.

"He'll try again, my word on it," whispered Bandy-legs in the ear of Max; whereupon the other put a finger on his lips to enjoin silence.

The five boys spent the evening as usual in merry conversation and song. All seemed to be in high spirits, even Steve joining with a vim in the school songs so dear to their hearts.

Then, as the hour grew later, they began to yawn; and first Toby crawled inside the tent, then Owen, and finally Steve, Bandy-legs, and Max.

Apparently the idea of keeping guard over the camp had been abandoned, now that they knew Jim and his father were honest.

A long time passed, with only the heavy breathing of the boys to disturb the silence. The fire, prepared by Max ere he turned in, continued to burn briskly.

It must have been midnight again when Owen felt the hand of his cousin shake him, and, raising his head a little, he saw that there was something doing.



CHAPTER XV.

THE MYSTERY SOLVED—CONCLUSION.

Steve was on his hands and knees, and apparently in the act of getting to his feet.

Strangely enough he did not seem to show any sign of nervousness or caution; and Owen looked in vain to see the suspected thief glance suspiciously around, as though to observe whether his comrades were all sound asleep at the time.

Bandy-legs did not stir, and, judging from his heavy regular breathing, he must have dropped asleep, despite his intention of staying awake.

The exertions and excitement attending that afternoon tramp had proven too much for Bandy-legs, and neither of the others thought it worth while to awaken him.

Truth to tell, both Max and Owen were staring at Steve, holding their very breath with surprise.

The other had by now reached the pole of the tent to which the strap of the haversack was attached. They could plainly hear him grumbling to himself as he thrust his hand inside.

Drawing out the little wad of paper in the midst of which Max had secured the latest find, Steve could be seen carefully closing the bag again.

He did not look around once to see if he was observed, a fact that puzzled Owen greatly; but passing over to where the cooking outfit lay he calmly picked up the extra coffee pot, raised the lid, pushed the packet in with the other stuff that seemed to lie hidden there, and once more placing the strange pearl bank down, Steve made his way back to his blanket.

He stepped over the forms of Toby and Bandy-legs while so doing, and never once touched them with his feet. Max believed he could hardly have duplicated the act, and his astonishment increased accordingly.

Steve seemed to give a satisfied grunt as he settled down again under his blanket. It was about what one would emit after having felt that he had done his duty.

Owen heard Max laughing softly to himself.

"What does it all mean, Max?" he whispered, as he heard Steve begin to breathe regularly once more.

"Tell you in the morning," replied the other. "Too long a story for now. Besides, I want Steve to be around at the time, you see."

"That's mean of you," grumbled the disappointed one.

"Can't help it; go to sleep and don't worry, Owen."

"But, say, hadn't we better make sure of that last pearl? It goes against my grain to have such valuables kicking around in old coffee pots," Owen protested.

"Shucks! then you didn't see me palm the pearl. I put a pebble in place of it. Right now that pearl is in my coin purse, keeping company with the rest," and Max chuckled again as he snuggled down under his blanket.

"Gee! you're a wizard, all right," said Owen, in a whisper, as he reluctantly followed suit.

No doubt he lay awake for a long time, puzzling his head for a solution of the mystery. But the balance of the night passed, and morning found the boys wide awake, hungry, and ready for another day at the delightful task they had set for themselves.

It was when breakfast was about over that Max chose to spring his little surprise.

Steve had just announced his intention of being in the party that would follow the trail to the river that morning.

"Hope I duplicate my luck of yesterday, fellows," he was saying, with a big sigh, when Max, leaning forward so as to catch his eye, remarked:

"By the way, Steve, do you happen to remember having any odd little tricks as a kid—anything that'd be apt to give your mother and father cause for anxiety in the night?"

Bandy-legs, who had been secretly told concerning the happenings of the night, held his breath; Owen, too, immediately assumed an eager look, and Toby, not knowing what it was all about, stopped eating, and listened.

"In the night—we have tricks, you say? Now, whatever in the wide world can you mean?" asked the apparently astonished Steve.

"Well, like walking in your sleep let's say," continued Max. "Did you ever do such a thing, Steve?"

The other grinned and looked a little foolish.

"I sure did, when I was a kid, and it's a fact, fellows," he admitted. "But, say, I've been cured of that a long time."

"You think you have, you mean?" Max persisted, while Owen and Bandy-legs exchanged a look of intense relief, now beginning to grasp the theory that Max was working along.

"Haven't done any stunts that way for nearly five years, give you my word, boys!" declared Steve, looking a little worried at the same time.

"Oh! yes, you have, Steve," laughed Max. "You've fallen back into your old bad ways again, it seems. For the last few nights you've been prowling around our camp here, and giving me the biggest shock ever."

"You don't say?" exclaimed the other. "What did I do, Max. Tell me right away, please."

"Well, you seemed to have our precious pearls on your mind all the while."

"Good gracious! I hope now I didn't try—say? did I go anywhere near that old haversack?" demanded Steve, plainly embarrassed.

"Every time, straight for it," replied Max.

"And took something out?" pursued Steve.

"Your one object," said Max, "seemed to be a terrible fear that some thief might rob us. And so as to block this little game you set out to hide the pearls in a new place."

"As where?" demanded the astounded Steve.

"Remember the second coffee pot we fetched along? Well, you hit on that as the new hiding place"; and even as Max spoke, the other, scrambling to his feet, hastened over to where the spare cooking utensils lay. Coming back with the extra coffee pot he proceeded to drag out its contents.

When the papers and the little cardboard box that contained pink cotton had all been opened, with the result that only the pebble and the few less valuable pearls were found, Steve stared in dismay.

"Oh! they're all gone!" he cried, hoarsely. "I've lost the whole bunch, just because I kept thinking about them so much, and worrying about their being stolen. Whatever will we do, Max?"

"We don't have to do anything," replied the other, with a laugh, as he drew out his coin purse; "because I've got every one of the little beauties safe right here."

"Even the one that was lost first of all," spoke up Bandy-legs, as though proud to show that he had been in the secret right along.

Steve's hand trembled when Max emptied the little white objects into his palm. And perhaps there were tears in his eyes, even as there was certainly a suspicious quiver to his voice as he went on to say:

"That's a low-down trick of mine, boys, and this time it came mighty near blocking all our fine plans by losing the pearls that are going to get us the money we need. Don't ever leave anything valuable lying around while I'm in camp. It works on my mind, I guess. Ugh! ain't I glad you saw me do it? How tough we'd feel if none of us could give a guess where the blessed little things had gone. Here, put 'em away again, Max. It sure ain't safe for a feller with my failing to be handling such pretty things."

Max, of course, did put them away securely. But his heart as well as those of Owen and Bandy-legs felt much lighter.

Now that suspicion had given way to a knowledge of Steve's sleep-walking weakness, they could look out in the future, and guard against such a thing.

And all of them were happy in the conviction that their comrade's fair name had been entirely cleared, for Steve would have been sorely missed had he been dropped from the list of members in the club.

Although those who went out returned with a fair bag, no reward followed the opening of the bivalves.

"P'r'aps we've cleaned up the old river, and there ain't another pearl to be found," suggested Bandy-legs.

The others were loth to accept this view of the case; and for several days they searched industriously for the now elusive fresh-water clams.

"Guess we'll have to call it off," remarked Max, when on the third day the hunters came back with a scant dozen mussels, none of which yielded a profitable harvest.

"But seems to me we've got all we need, and several times over," Owen declared, positively.

"All in favor of returning to Carson to-morrow hold up a hand," suggested Max.

He saw four hands instantly raised.

"That makes it unanimous," he laughed; "and I guess I can see what ails you all. It's how much are we going to get for our catch; and will the money buy the five motorcycles we're aiming to get."

"Likewise supply us with a fund to purchase grub while on our trip," remarked Bandy-legs.

"Hear! hear!" sang out Toby, who always agreed with his rival whenever the question of eating arose.

"I've an idea we don't need to worry about that," declared Owen, confidently.

"What about Jim and his daddy?" asked Steve.

"We'll have to make a stretcher, and carry the man down to our boats," replied Max.

"His leg is knitting bang-up," asserted Owen, as he cast a proud look toward his cousin and chum.

"Well, let's get busy here, so we can leave early in the morning," Max remarked, hastily, for he was modest, and did not like praise.

They set to work with a vim, and the packing was speedily accomplished.

Then in the morning all the stuff connected with the camp was carried down to the river and carefully loaded in the two boats, which, of course, were found safely just where they had been left.

After that, Tom Archer was carried on a rude litter, and made comfortable in one of the boats.

It was about the middle of the afternoon when the little expedition reached Carson.

One of the Ted Shafter gang saw them come in and managed to get word to his leader, as well as Shack Beggs. The three gaped to see a lame man carried to a wagon, and asked many questions; but had to restrain their curiosity until the story became known through the community.

When it was learned that the mussels along the Big Sunflower had yielded up a number of fine pearls, said to be quite valuable, everybody in town, and not a few eager men in the bargain, set to work searching the adjacent waters.

But, apparently, Max and his chums must have about exhausted the mine of good luck, for when every mussel within twenty miles of Carson had been caught, the result was so meagre that the searchers gave up the new "get-rich-quick" game in disgust.

True to their promise the boys saw the editor of the weekly paper, and just as soon as he was able to limp, with the aid of a crutch, to the print shop, Tom Archer began work at the case.

He vowed he would try and curb his roving spirit so that little Jim might have a chance to get some schooling in the Fall.

And both Jim and his father declared they owed more than words could express to Max, who had brought light when the darkness was greatest.

What about the pearls?

Well, two of them were taken into the city and pronounced as fine as any discovered through the famous fresh-water pearl industries located along the rivers of Indiana and other States.

When Max told the amount that was deposited in bank to their credit, his four chums were fairly wild with delight.

"Let's send off right away for our motorcycles and get started on our trip!" cried Steve, impatiently.

"And be sure to get mine with a short tread, because, you know, I haven't got the reach the rest have," observed Bandy-legs, cautiously.

In due time the five motorcycles were ordered, and then a period of anxious waiting followed.

What wonderful plans these five chums had in view when the machines finally arrived, and had been fairly mastered, will be given in detail in the pages of the next volume of this series to be entitled: "The Rivals of the Trail."

THE END.