Max nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Meaning this man and boy who seem to be hiding out up here, just like
they were afraid to be seen, and employing their time in raking in all the
scattered shells left by the muskrats and 'coons--how about that, Max?"
Steve continued, as he gathered the opened shells in an extra bag,
preparatory to removing them.

"You hit the nail on the head when you say that, Steve. They seem to know
the mother-of-pearl inside lining of the shells will bring in some money.
And I reckon they're piling the shells up in some cave or secret place,
meaning to get them down the river in a dugout canoe sooner or later."

"Well, they're welcome to all the shells we gather," remarked Steve, with a
shake of the head; "but they'd better not try to steal any more of our
pearls, that's what"; and so saying he marched off with his load, leaving
Max more sadly puzzled than ever.



CHAPTER IX.

MAX WONDERS STILL MORE.

The afternoon wore on.

Steve kept busy doing things until Owen turned up with a mess of perch, the
bass declining to take his worm bait.