"Huh!" grunted Bandy-legs, who seemed in a peculiar frame of mind for one who was usually so good natured, "who's got a better right to that cap, I'd like to know, than the boy that owns it. Put yourself in his place, Toby, and tell me if you wouldn't just grab your own cap if you saw it? Course you would--we all would, and I don't blame the kid a little bit."

"Too bad he didn't like the looks of our crowd," Steve remarked.

"What makes you think he didn't?" Owen asked, smiling.

"Well, he acted like he was afraid of us," replied Steve.

"T-t-tell you what, boys, I reckon it wasn't our looks, after all, that s-s-scared him, though Bandy-legs does resemble a terrible p-p-pirate when he wears that old zebra s-s-sweater of his."

"Then what did?" demanded the one who had been thus picked out as a special mark, while he ran a hand fondly up and down the sleeve of the white-and-black striped garment, worn in spite of the heat of the day.

"Our g-g-guns!" broke out Toby triumphantly.

"That's a good guess, Toby," remarked Max. "Perhaps the boy believes we're some sort of deputy sheriffs, and up here to give the man he's with trouble. Anyhow, I have a pretty good idea myself that it was our guns that made him so shy."

"All right," remarked Steve, "the pitcher may go to the well once too often. You mark my words, if he keeps on sniffing around our camp much longer he'll get caught."

"Sure he will," echoed Bandy-legs, grimly. "We want that pearl back, don't we, boys?"

"And we're going to have it, too," observed another of the group, in a positive way.

Max had that queer feeling pass over him again; for it was Steve who made this half-angry remark.

What could it mean?

He had always believed Steve to be as honest as the day was long, his only faults being a hasty temper, and a desire to do things without sufficient preparation.

But that the boy would deliberately _steal_, simply because he happened to be fascinated by the beauty of the pearl, seemed beyond belief.

No wonder, then, that the bewildered Max sighed, and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, as though hardly knowing whether he were awake or asleep.

As nothing more could be done, the five boys adjourned to the camp, where Owen quickly completed his preparations for lunch. They had decided to have the heavy meal, called dinner, in the evening, so that the work of the day might not be interfered with.

When those who had been off hunting shellfish had returned, tired with their labors, it would be nice to gather around, and take their time in enjoying the bountiful meal that had been prepared by the cook appointed for that day.

Each of them expected to take a hand at this necessary job. In anticipation of the opportunity to shine as a talented _chef_ Bandy-legs had in secret been coaxing the hired girl at home to teach him a lot of things.

As his turn would come on the second day, he could hardly restrain his impatience. He surely calculated that when his chums saw what wonderful things _real talent_ could accomplish, they would easily vote him a prize.

But Bandy-legs had much to learn.

His ambition was all right, but he would soon discover the vast difference between cooking at a gas range or the family coal stove and trying to accomplish the same result out in the wilds over an open wood fire.

Then, again, he had stuffed his head so very full of different recipes that the chances were poor Bandy-legs must get the formulas mixed, which would result in some mighty queer messes to be tried upon his patient campmates.

After the meal was finished those who were to do the grand wading act of the afternoon got ready to go forth.

They took the bags, and received minute directions from Max concerning the best way for finding the mussels, half buried as they were in mud or sand.

Max also made a rude map on paper, taking in the supposed course of the winding river, as well as the country that came between.

"Here you can see the trail I've marked as the shortest cut to camp," he finished, pointing to a dotted line that seemed to be almost straight. "It runs exactly southwest, you notice, boys."

"But how are we going to always know what _is_ southwest?" asked Bandy-legs, receiving the chart.

At that Toby gave a snort of disdain.

"W-w-what d'ye s'pose this is for, s-s-silly?" he demanded, dangling a little nickel-plated object before the eyes of his companion.

"That's right, we're going to have the bully little compass along with us," declared the doubting one, looking considerably relieved; for truth to tell, if Bandy-legs feared any one thing more than another, it was the haunting idea of being lost in a great big wilderness, and meeting a slow and dreadful death through starvation.

"And even if we should l-l-lose this useful t-t-trinket," continued Toby, exultantly, "I'd know how to t-t-tell which was north, all right."

"Huh! why, of course, by the moss on the sides of the trees," observed Bandy-legs. "Guess I heard Max tell that, all right. Never forget it, either. But how the dickens is a feller to ever remember _which_ side of the big trees this moss always grows on?"

"Stop and think," said Max, who had an idea that some day this information might be useful to his chum; "the hard storms of winter generally come out of the northwest, don't they?"

"Reckon you're right; though to tell the truth I'd never noticed it much," Bandy-legs replied.

"Well, you want to wake up and notice everything that happens," advised Max, seriously. "It's the fellow who keeps awake, and sees and hears it all, that gets on in this world, Bandy-legs. And you know it, too."

"Sure. I know my weak points, Max; and the best thing about me is the fact that I want to wake up and do better. But about that moss--does it always grow exactly on the sides of the trees pointing toward the northwest?"

"In the majority of cases," replied the other; "here and there it may vary some, but anybody with half an eye can decide the right direction. Then in the night you have the north star, which you know can always be found by drawing an imaginary straight line along the two stars forming the end of the bowl of the Dipper, generally called the Great Bear."

"Oh! that's easy. But once I heard you say a common ordinary watch could be made to serve as a compass; how about that, Max?" added Bandy-legs, showing considerable interest in the subject.

"So it can, but I'll explain that at another time. You fellows had better be moving now," and Max turned his back on the other as the best way to shut him off; for Bandy-legs was a great questioner.

"So-long!" called out Toby, cheerfully, as he started to follow the trail left by Max and Steve on their way from the river, half a mile away.

"If we meet up with this mysterious shell gatherer, what ought we to do?" asked the second boy, halting.

"Act friendly, and pay attention to your own business, that's all. Nobody will hurt you," Max called out, as he turned into the camp.

CHAPTER VIII.

A GREAT FIND.

"When do we begin, Max?"

Steve asked this question a short time after the three left in the camp had cleaned up the tin pans used in preparing and eating the warm meal, and Owen had gone off to try and secure a mess of bass for supper.

Steve had been usually fast in his share of the work, even for him. Max had noticed this fact, and could give a good guess as to what was spurring the other on to such exertions.

"Begin what?" he asked, as if in dense ignorance.

"Why, in opening our catch, you know," Steve replied, jerking his thumb to where the little pile of mussels lay, close by the camp fire.

Steve had himself emptied the two bags, upon their arrival in camp. Evidently he did not mean to take any chances of having the precious bivalves stolen by the prowling half-grown wild boy. And in order to provide against such a catastrophe he had been very careful to deposit their morning's "catch" in an open spot so destitute of shrubbery that no one could approach within ten feet unseen.

Max smiled.

Truth to tell he was a little eager himself to set to work investigating the insides of these shells.

The remarkable luck attending their first attempt gave him more or less hope that other prizes might crop up to reward their continued efforts.

And the Outing Boys had outlined such a glorious programme for the long vacation, if only they could raise the large amount of money needed to carry out their ardent plans, that naturally Max was heart and soul interested in the result.

Besides, Max had a half-formed resolution that if luck favored them, so that they found another pearl, he would set a trap that very evening. He was burning with eager curiosity to discover whether Steve might repeat his