Part 11 (1/2)

Really Max had begun to suspect that their camp-mate must be writing a story, founded on that strange cabin, with its lichen-covered walls, and the roof that seemed to be sprouting green gra.s.s with the moss.

One glance he took at the brave heading that began the page. The t.i.tle was quite enough for Max. With a broad grin he quietly laid it down, gave the industrious writer one amused look, and walked away again, without Bandy-legs knowing of the visit.

And no wonder Max felt amused, for what he had seen spread across that page, in letters that were heavily underscored, was this wonderful t.i.tle:

”Programme for meals during six more days to be spent on Catamount Island!”

Bandy-legs was trying to forget all his troubles by laying out the _menu_ for the balance of their week.

It was about an hour before sundown that Steve came hurriedly into camp.

he carried a pretty good mess of fish, which attested to the fact that, impatient as he was in nearly everything else, at the same time he seemed to be a pretty fair waiter when holding a rod and reel in his hand. Perhaps the constant expectation of a bite kept him in decent humor.

But now Max saw that he was considerably excited.

”What ails you, Steve?” asked Owen, who also detected some unusual signs of disgust about the returned fisherman; ”did the biggest get away, like it always does? Well, we'll believe you, never fear; especially if he yanked your hook off, and broke your line in the bargain. How big do you think he was, Steve?”

”That old gag don't work this time, Owen,” remarked the other, as he deposited his catch on the ground, to be admired by Bandy-legs immediately. ”I'm. wanting to kick myself for being silly, that's all”

”Oh, well, I wouldn't bother about that,” Max put in, kindly. ”There are four of us here, and we ought to be able to do the business to suit you.

When shall we begin operations, Steve?”

But even then Steve did not lose his look of disappointment.

”To think that I sat there all that time,” he remarked, ”and never once remembered that bully field gla.s.s we've got along.”

At this remark Max realized that the distress of their chum could not be based on anything connected with his fis.h.i.+ng experience.

”h.e.l.lo!” he exclaimed; ”now you've got us guessing, all right, Steve.

You must have seen something or other, I reckon. Out with it, please.”

”Well, I did,” replied the other, quickly. ”You see, I was sitting there, waiting for an old buster of a ba.s.s I'd got a glimpse of several times to come up and get hold of my hook, when I happened to look across to the sh.o.r.e at just the widest part, where it's far away. And right off I discovered that it had been something moving that caught my eye as it were.”

”A panther!” gasped Bandy-legs, involuntarily letting his hand creep down to his left ankle, where those scratches still proved the truth of his story that something, the nature of which was unknown, had grabbed him on the preceding night.

”Rats!” scoffed Steve, loftily. ”Panthers don't prowl around in the daytime--that is, not very much. It was a human being I saw; and then a second appeared right at his elbow. They seemed to be mighty much interested in this here island, too; for the first one pointed across, and up and down, like he was trying to explain how a swimmer might get over.”

”Goodness gracious! Steve, were they men or boys!” demanded Bandy-legs.

”Now I know you're thinking about Herb Benson; or it might be that tricky Ted Shafter,” remarked Steve.

”Well, didn't we kinder half 'spect we'd have a visit from one or t'other of them crowds, p'r'aps both?” demanded Bandy-legs, with an injured air.

”All right; but these fellows didn't look like either lot. Then again, I'm right sure I saw the sun, away down in the west you see, s.h.i.+ning from something bright. Couldn't make it out first, and then all of a sudden it broke in on me that they had a pair of field gla.s.ses, and must be examining this island. That made me remember our own pair, and I hurried to get back off that log I was straddling; but before I'd been able to make the sh.o.r.e, hang the luck, they'd gone.”

”Perhaps they saw you, and wanted to keep out of sight?” suggested Max.

”That's just what they must 'a' done,” admitted Steve. ”But where's the bally old gla.s.ses, fellows? I might lie around, and keep tabs on that sh.o.r.e for a spell. Who knows but what they might show up again; and I'm curious to learn just who they can be.”

Max quickly vanished inside the tent, and came out with the desired object in his hand.