Part 11 (2/2)

”Before you go, Steve, tell us whether they looked like men or boys?” he asked, handing the field gla.s.ses over.

”Well, I couldn't see as good as I wanted,” was the hesitating reply; ”but 'peared to me they were men, all right. And they seemed to be dressed in gray homespun, too, like some of the farmers around here wear.”

”Oh, perhaps after all it may have been a couple of young farmers taking a day off, hunting woodc.o.c.k along the river. This is the time of year for the first brood to be big enough for shooting. The law opens for a short spell, and then it's on again till fall,” Owen remarked, with his knowledge of such things, gleaned from much reading.

”They didn't seem to have any guns that I saw,” observed Steve, doggedly, as he hurried away.

This gave the others something to talk about until the shades of evening began to gather around them. Who these two men could be, and just _why_ they seemed to take such an interest in Catamount Island, were questions that the boys debated from all sides. Even Bandy-legs seemed to be stirred up, and made all sorts of ridiculous suggestions.

Steve came in finally. It only required one look at his disappointed face to tell that he had not met with any success in his latest mission.

Even the delightful odor of his freshly caught ba.s.s, cooking in the frying pan over the fire, failed to make Steve look happier. He did hate to be beaten in anything he undertook.

”Nothing doing, Steve?” questioned Bandy-legs; for there is a saying to the effect that ”babes and fools rush in where brave men hesitate to tread”; which, however, must not be taken to mean that Bandy-legs belonged to either cla.s.s, although he failed to approach a subject with tact.

”Naw!” snapped Steve, as he hung the case containing the gla.s.ses up in its accustomed place inside the tent.

A few minutes later, finding that no one bothered him for information, Steve, who was really br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with a desire to argue the matter with his comrades, opened the subject himself.

”Say, now, Max, you don't suppose that it could have been any of them fellows, do you?” he asked.

Max, who was adjusting the coffee pot nicely on the slender iron bars that formed what he was accustomed to call his ”cooking stove,” these four resting on solid foundation of stones on either side of the hot little fire, turned his head when Steve addressed him particularly.

”Which way did they seem to go when they left?” he asked, slowly, as though the answer might have a good deal to do with his opinion.

”Up the river,” replied Steve, promptly.

”Well, then, I don't believe it could have been any of the boys,” was what Max went on to state; ”and I'll tell you several reasons for saying that. In the first place there would have been three if it was the Ted Shafter crowd; and perhaps more if Herb had come up here to see whether we were really camping on Catamount Island.”

”Right you are, Max,” remarked Owen, who was listening carefully.

”Then again, what would they be doing away up here so late in the day?”

the other continued. ”Why, it's miles and miles by road back to town.

Even by the river in a boat they couldn't make it short of two hours; and traveling at night along the rapid Big Sunflower would be a ticklish job that I wouldn't like to tackle. Last of all, why go on _up_ the river? If they came in a boat, it would have to be down below us, you know, boys.”

There was no dissenting voice raised against this line of argument on the part of Max. And when they sat down to eat their supper the talk was wholly confined to the subject of the two mysterious men. Who were they, and why did they seem to be so greatly interested in Catamount Island?

And when Steve made a move that must have attracted their attention, why had they bolted so hastily?

Again did all manner of surmises float to the surface. Bandy-legs was beginning to show signs of nervousness once more. Possibly the coming of darkness had much to do with his condition, for he shuddered every time he felt that scratched ankle give him a twinge. For Bandy-legs feared that he was a marked person; and that if the dreaded occupant of the strange cabin chose to pay them another visit before dawn, he would be the one picked out for trouble.

He seemed uneasy about supper, and wandered down to where the four canoes lay upon the sandy strip, as though the desire to again examine that plugged hole in the bottom of his cedar craft had seized upon him.

Those near the fire were paying little attention to Bandy-legs, for they happened just then to have started an argument along some line, and Steve was warmly defending his radical views.

And when they heard Bandy-legs give utterance to a shrill whoop they scrambled to their feet, half expecting to find that some fearful shape had darted out from the surrounding forest, and was carrying their chum away.

<script>