"I've never seen one made of twisted vines before, always cords; but I
believe it must have been a partridge snare," replied Owen, confidently.

"That might be," Max went on, in a reflective way. "Suppose, now, some
man was on this island, and either couldn't get away, or else for some
reason didn't want to go over to the mainland. He'd have to live, some
way or other, and if he didn't have a gun and ammunition, why, the only
way he could keep alive would be by getting fish from the river, mussels
perhaps, for I've seen quite a few shells on the shore, though they
looked like they'd been opened by muskrats, or by snaring some of the
game birds out of season."

"That sounds pretty good to me, Max," admitted Steve, always ready to
express an opinion, one way or the other.

"T-t-to m-m-me same way!" Toby followed.

"A man!" echoed Bandy-legs; and then as a sudden idea struck him, he
went on: "Say, Max, looky here, you don't mean that it was a human being
grabbed me by the leg last night, and tried to haul me out from under my
blanket?"

"I hope not," replied the other; "for any man who would leave the marks
of his nails on your ankle like we saw, must be a pretty savage sort, to
my way of thinking."

"Wonder when he could have been here last?" remarked Owen, also
beginning to look around, as though hoping to discover an answer to his
own question.