"It was cooked before being eaten," he went on, "and that tells the
story, fellows. No wild-cat ever ate that partridge, because so far as
known they never bother with cooking their food."

"Course not," added Bandy-legs, seriously, not understanding the humor
of the remark Max had made; "how d'ye suppose they'd ever be able to
build a fire? Tell me that, now, Max. It was hard enough for me to learn
how to do it, and I'm human."

"Oh! are you?" snapped Steve, always ready to give the other a sly dig
when he saw the chance; "well, now, we're glad to know that, because
sometimes we've wondered if it was so, haven't we, fellows?"

Max did not pay any attention to these side remarks. He was still
looking about him, as though under the belief that if he hunted closer
he might discover other things that would help explain about the strange
cabin and its equally mysterious late occupant.

"I think you're right about the partridge part of it, Max," said Owen
just then.

"What makes you say that?" asked the other.

"Why, because, while we were on the way here, you remember, I stepped
out of the path we were following. That was so I could examine something
that had attracted my attention close by, down in the matted bushes."

"What was that something, Owen?" asked the other.