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."