The Strange Cabin on Catamount Island Part 11

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.

"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.