"Say," broke out Steve, suddenly, "perhaps it's that little prowler Toby
sighted spying on the camp?"

"I wonder!" exclaimed Bandy-legs, his face lighting up with new interest.

"Perhaps the boy may have some connection with the gathering of the
shells," Owen went on, "but it was a man's big footprint we saw alongside
the pile of empties when we struck a match."

"What do you think about it, Max?" suddenly asked Steve, turning around to
stare at the one he addressed.

Max had apparently seemed quite content to let his cousin do the talking,
for he had remained quiet during this discussion.

Upon being directly appealed to, however, he was not at all backward about
replying.

"I've been doing a heap of thinking since Owen and myself examined that
pile of shells," he started in to say, "and if you care to hear the
conclusion I've come to, all right."

"You b-b-better b-b-believe we do, Max," was Toby's immediate explosion.

"Don't hold back a thing," observed Steve; "because we're all dyed-in-the-
wool chums; and what concerns one concerns all."

"Cough it up, Max. We're holding our breath, you understand, wanting to
know. And none of us come from Missouri, either," Bandy-legs observed,
eagerly.