THE FIRST CROP FROM THE RIVER.
After that strange declaration on the part of Steve, Max felt that his lips
must be sealed more than ever.
He wanted a little time to think things over.
Besides, Max even began to wonder whether he could have just dreamed that
he saw Steve fumbling at the haversack in the middle of the night, and
mumbling to himself all the while.
So he concluded to hold his tongue, say nothing of what he _believed_
he had seen, watch Steve closely, and wait for new developments to arise.
Boys are, as a rule, not much given to long spells of depression.
There is something in the natural buoyancy of a lad's nature that throws
off the gloom, and invites the cheery sunlight to enter.
So the whole five were soon eagerly planning as to their work for the day.
First of all the two old boats which had served to carry them up to the
forks of the Evergreen River must be securely hidden. This was mainly on
account of those prank-loving boys who, under the leadership of the town
bully, Ted Shafter, they half expected to follow them to this region.
"If they ever came across our boats," declared Steve, wrathfully, "you all
know what would happen."
"Easy enough to smash in the bottoms with a few big dornicks," declared
Bandy-legs.
"Huh! And m-m-make us peg it all the w-w-way b-back to town," grunted Toby,
who was not known as a great admirer of leg exercise.
"All right, then," said Max, promptly; "you and Bandy-legs better get busy
taking the boats to that big cove where the tall reeds grow so thick. Seems
to me you ought to be able to hide our craft so well there, the chances of
discovery would be next to nothing."
"We c'n do it all right," affirmed Bandy-legs, as he started up. "Come on,
Toby, get a move on you."
"Wait a minute, c-c-can't you? What's your h-h-hurry. R-r-rome wasn't built
in a d-day, I g-g-guess."
"Well, go ahead and have it out, because I can see you've got something on
your mind. Now, what's eating you, Toby?" the other complained.
"I only w-wanted to ask Max if it wouldn't be g-g-ood
p-p-p-p"--whistle--"policy for us to mark the place where we leave the
boats. There! do you get that, Bandy-legs?"
Toby asked this question triumphantly. Strange to say, that whenever he
stumbled most in his speech, so that he was compelled to halt, and give
that short whistle, Toby was able to finish what he was saying without a
single hitch.
Steve often declared it reminded him of a country railroad crossing. There
you beheld the warning sign: "Stop! Look! Listen!" and upon complying
immediately heard the whistle, after which everything moved on smoothly.
"Toby, that's a sensible suggestion of yours," Max hastened to declare. "If
so be you hide the boats away so well that we couldn't ever find the same
again we'd sure be in a nice pickle, eh, Owen?"
"I should remark," the one addressed replied; "that tramp to Carson would
be anything but a peach. And with all our camp stuff to tote along, too."
"Excuse me!" Bandy-legs exclaimed. "Make sure we'll mark the place, boys.
Now, get a move on, Toby. Where will we find the rest of you when we get
through our job?"
"Oh! somewhere around here," Max replied. "You see we've got a big job
ourselves, taking down the tent, putting it up again some distance away
from the water, removing every sign of our having camped here, and then
disappearing. You'll be back long before we're done."
His prediction was fulfilled, for when half an hour later Toby and his
companion showed up, the tent had vanished, Steve and Owen were carrying
blankets, food, and cooking utensils deeper into the woods, while Max was
working like a beaver close to the water's edge.
"What's going on now, Max?" asked Bandy-legs, as he watched the actions of
his chum.
"I'm doing my best to wipe out all the 'sign' we've made around here,"
replied Max.
"And it looks to me like you're doing a good job of it, too, partner,"
declared the other, his eyes filled with admiration, as he saw how deftly
Max smoothed out all traces of where the boats had been pulled up on the
pebbly shore of the river.
"Oh, well, I'm only a greenhorn at this sort of thing," laughed the busy
worker, patting a telltale footprint until it was merged with the
surrounding soil; "I'd be reckoned a bungler by any experienced woodsman,
you know. But in this case it's an easy job to pull the wool over the eyes
of Ted and his crowd."
"Meaning that they're about as ignorant of all these things as I am?"
Bandy-legs went on.
"Perhaps. But that won't be for long, let me tell you. I'm bound to show
you everything I know about these things, and pick up more myself in the
bargain. Did you get the boats hidden away all right, Bandy-legs?"
"Gilt-edge, I give you my word. And we tied some of the reeds together near
the spot. Only a feller who was lookin' for the tag'd notice where we did
it. Toby or me, why we could go straight to the spot, with only one eye
open."
"All right. Then suppose you get busy helping Steve and Owen. Nobody must
step back here again to leave fresh tracks after I've rubbed these all
out."
Max continued to work as steadily as a beaver. Step by step he retreated
backward, removing all traces left by the campers.
It was an arduous task, especially when he came to where the tent and fire
had stood. But really the boy proved to have a natural talent for this sort
of thing. He utterly removed all the ashes, scattered some brush over the
spot, and at the end of an hour Max stood on the border of the dense woods
casting a last careful look over the field of his recent labors.
"I ought to pat myself on the back over that job," he chuckled; "and it
wouldn't be throwing any bouquets either. Ten to one Ted Shafter and his
gang could land here, cook a meal, and lie around, without ever once
dreaming we'd spent a night on the same camp ground."
Then he withdrew from the scene of his recent operations.
Picking his way through the woods, after a time he heard voices, and then
discovered the tent.
The new camp site had been selected by Owen, and it certainly did him
credit. Max stood for a few minutes watching his chums work, and smiling
with pleasure over the prospect of a full week or more in that delightful
secluded spot.
Trees grew densely around the place, and until one drew very near, it was
next to impossible to discover the dingy old waterproof tent that nestled
in the midst of the thick undergrowth.
A clear little gurgling spring sang close by, affording all the water they
would need for drinking and cooking purposes.
But, as Max stood and looked, the happy smile gradually left his face, to
be succeeded by an expression of grave concern.
As he was watching the movements of Steve at the time, it could be easily
understood what pressed upon his mind.
"Oh, come, this won't do at all," Max presently muttered, pressing his
teeth together resolutely. "It's all going to come out right, sooner or
later. Of course it looks mighty queer just now, and I can't for the life
of me understand it; but I've known Steve all my life, and he's never yet
been called a _thief!_ I'll just bottle up, and hold my horses, and
watch what he does, because I'm bound to find out."
So he strode into the new camp, walking all around, and quite free with his
hearty compliments concerning the fine way Owen and Steve had done their
part of the business.
"But looky here," burst out the impatient Steve, after a while, "we're
wasting time, you know. Some of us might as well be up the river gathering
a few pecks of mussels."
"T-t-that's so," declared Toby. "And it's up to Max to s-s-say who goes out
f-f-first."
"Suppose, then, Steve and myself lead off, and make the first try," Max
suggested. He had a double object in nominating Steve as his working
partner on this occasion. In the first place he knew the impatient nature
of the fiery lad, and that his heart was more set upon the finding of other
pearls like unto the lost one than any of the others.
This was not all.
Having Steve in his company for a couple of hours would give Max a good
chance to study the other closely.
Perhaps, too, if Steve were really playing a practical joke on his comrades
he might, without meaning to do so, let a hint drop that would serve to
betray the object he had in view.
"Here, don't forget the bags we fetched along to carry the mussels in,"
said Bandy-legs.
"And I h-h-hope I g-g-get a chance to make a t-t-try this afternoon,"
remarked Toby, not a little disappointed because he had been passed over
when Max selected the one to accompany him on the first hunting expedition.
So the two boys walked off, taking with them a couple of bags. Max also
thought it wise to shoulder the reliable old shotgun.
"It isn't the game season, I know," he said, as the others looked their
surprise, "and about the only thing we ought to shoot right now would be
woodcock. I saw a marsh where I reckon I'll find some of the long-billed
mud diggers. You know they get their food by sticking their bills deep down
in the mud. That's why you always look for woodcock in a wet spot or marsh.
Ready, Steve? All right, we'll make another start."
About twenty minutes later the two boys had reached the bank of the little
river, half a mile or so above their first camp site.
They lost no time, but set to work at once, removing shoes and socks, and
rolling the legs of their trowsers above their knees.
Then, with selected, sharp-pointed sticks, after wading into the shallow
water, they began to poke carefully around in all such promising places as
mussels would most likely be found.
Steve gave the first triumphant cry.
"I've got one, Max! And say, he's just a jim-dandy big fellow, too, believe
me! Now, I wonder if he's going to present us with the mate of that little
beauty of a pearl we lost so queerly."
Max was watching his chum closely.
"He says that just as naturally as if he meant every word of it," the boy
muttered; puzzled more than ever; and then raising his voice he went on to
say: "You'll just have to take it out in guessing, then, old chap, because
we can't bother stopping to open every find we come across."
"I should say not," replied Steve, and immediately added: "Hey! what d'ye
think, here's another of the blessed old shellfish, just poking his nose
out of the sand like he wanted to invite me to gather him in."
"Good enough! I haven't picked up my first one yet; and here you're walking
away from me double-quick. Guess I'd better get busy."
The truth was Max had been so wrapped up in watching his chum that as yet
he had hardly tried to make a find.
But he now set industriously to work. There were times when the mussels
came in fast; and again they seemed to fall off.
Gradually the boys worked up-stream, crossing and recrossing as they
searched.
"We're covering the ground all right," asserted Steve, as his laugh
announced another prize; "and believe me, we clean 'em out as we go. How
many have you got in your bag, Max?"
"About nine or ten, I reckon, Steve."
"I've got fourteen, and some busters among 'em. I'll be pretty badly
disappointed if one out of the lot don't turn out a good milk-white pearl,"
the other called out.
"Perhaps it'd be better not to mention that word so loud again, Steve,"
cautioned the other.
"Are you saying that just on general principles like, Max, or is there a
reason?" and Steve, as he made this demand, splashed closer to his chum.
"Oh, well!" Max went on, "you know they say that sometimes even the trees
and rocks have ears. And we don't know who might be hiding around, watching
us right now."
"Did you see or hear anything to make you think that way?" asked the
nervous Steve.
"Can't say I did," replied Max; "but I thought it good policy to sling my
gun over my back by the strap, and not leave it ashore. Sorry now I brought
it along; but we don't want it stolen like our pearl was."
"That's right, we don't," asserted Steve, without the slightest hesitation.
"If these shell gatherers have got the nerve to sneak into our tent and
make way with our first pearl, I reckon they wouldn't hold back at taking
a good old scatter-gun that chanced to be lying around loose."
"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!"