"For the last half mile, when we were pushing up toward the forks of the
river," Owen went on, "we noticed that the empty shells along under the
banks seemed to grow more numerous."

"Yes, and all of us felt tickled to see it," broke in Steve, "because it
was a good sign. It told us the mussels were here, all right."

"And it also told us," Owen continued, "that there were a lot of little
fur-bearing animals living along the stream, with a mighty strong taste
for fresh-water clams."

"As what?" asked Bandy-legs.

"Oh! mink, otter, muskrats, raccoons, and perhaps fisher. All these used
to be plentiful through these parts in years gone by. I've heard of men
trapping them, but of late it's been lost sight of, so I reckon they've
increased at a great rate."

"Well, I don't see anything about that to bother us much," argued Steve.
"I reckon there'll be plenty for all of us. What the minks and musquash
get won't keep us from making our try, will it?"

"No," said Owen. "But it wasn't that I was speaking about. The fact is, we
made a disagreeable discovery a little while ago, when we went out to
investigate--ran across a heap of mussel shells piled up by human agency,
and not through that of fur-bearing animals in search of a meal."

The three others who heard this startling fact for the first time stared at
Owen, as if hardly able to grasp the full dimensions of the calamity that