Part 7 (2/2)

Whether it was that the sound of a human voice had stirred them up, or the fact of Toby saying that one expressive word without stumbling, as usual, something aroused the others, and Steve broke loose.

”Well, of all the tough-looking places I've ever struck, I think this takes the cake!” he exclaimed.

No one ventured to disagree with him on that score, because he expressed just what was in the mind of every one of the others.

”Now whoever could have lived here, do you think?” demanded Bandy-legs, who, now that his alarm was of the past, could appear as curious as the next one.

Max was using his eyes to look about. He was always quick to discover things that would escape the observation of his companions. It had become a settled habit with Max to always be on the alert in cases like this, so as to pick up valuable information, even from small things. The secrets of the trail he dearly loved to examine, so as to read a story there that was hidden from common eyes.

And so the first thing he discovered was the fact that some animal, or human being, had been eating here not many days back, at least. There were a number of small bones lying scattered about, which in time would naturally be carried away by a prowling fox or wild-cat, or perhaps a racc.o.o.n.

He picked a couple of these up, while the other boys watched his actions with interest, expecting that Max would read the signs rightly, and being content to leave that task to his ingenuity.

”A partridge, I should say, though I may be wrong,” he remarked, after looking closely at the bone, apparently from the wing of a fairly large bird.

Then he smelled of it, as though that might give him a clew.

”It was cooked before being eaten,” he went on, ”and that tells the story, fellows. No wild-cat ever ate that partridge, because so far as known they never bother with cooking their food.”

”Course not,” added Bandy-legs, seriously, not understanding the humor of the remark Max had made; ”how d'ye suppose they'd ever be able to build a fire? Tell me that, now, Max. It was hard enough for me to learn how to do it, and I'm human.”

”Oh! are you?” snapped Steve, always ready to give the other a sly dig when he saw the chance; ”well, now, we're glad to know that, because sometimes we've wondered if it was so, haven't we, fellows?”

Max did not pay any attention to these side remarks. He was still looking about him, as though under the belief that if he hunted closer he might discover other things that would help explain about the strange cabin and its equally mysterious late occupant.

”I think you're right about the partridge part of it, Max,” said Owen just then.

”What makes you say that?” asked the other.

”Why, because, while we were on the way here, you remember, I stepped out of the path we were following. That was so I could examine something that had attracted my attention close by, down in the matted bushes.”

”What was that something, Owen?” asked the other.

”I've never seen one made of twisted vines before, always cords; but I believe it must have been a partridge snare,” replied Owen, confidently.

”That might be,” Max went on, in a reflective way. ”Suppose, now, some man was on this island, and either couldn't get away, or else for some reason didn't want to go over to the mainland. He'd have to live, some way or other, and if he didn't have a gun and ammunition, why, the only way he could keep alive would be by getting fish from the river, mussels perhaps, for I've seen quite a few sh.e.l.ls on the sh.o.r.e, though they looked like they'd been opened by muskrats, or by snaring some of the game birds out of season.”

”That sounds pretty good to me, Max,” admitted Steve, always ready to express an opinion, one way or the other.

”T-t-to m-m-me same way!” Toby followed.

”A man!” echoed Bandy-legs; and then as a sudden idea struck him, he went on: ”Say, Max, looky here, you don't mean that it was a human being grabbed me by the leg last night, and tried to haul me out from under my blanket?”

”I hope not,” replied the other; ”for any man who would leave the marks of his nails on your ankle like we saw, must be a pretty savage sort, to my way of thinking.”

”Wonder when he could have been here last?” remarked Owen, also beginning to look around, as though hoping to discover an answer to his own question.

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