"Then you remembered something about it, did you?" asked Owen.

"That's what I did," came the ready response. "But it was a long time
ago, and I must 'a' been only a little kid then, because I don't seem to
just recollect the whole story."

"Tell us what you do remember, Steve?" suggested Max.

"Yes," continued Bandy-legs, "I'd give a lot to know whoever was silly
enough to want to live on this wild-looking old island, where in the
spring they say the flood sometimes nearly covers everything. You c'n
see the drift hanging to the butts of some of the trees right now, and
all pointin' downstream."

"Good for you, Bandy-legs!" exclaimed the pleased Max; "I never thought
you'd notice such things. Owen and myself were talking about it; but
when you get to paying attention to such small matters it shows that
you're just bound to make a good woodsman some fine day."

"You bet I am," confided the other, cheerfully, his eyes glistening with
pleasure at hearing one he respected so highly as Max Hastings hand out
praise in this manner.

"Go on, Steve, tell us what you know," Owen observed, encouragingly.

"Well, I just happened to hear my dad talkin' with another gentleman
once, and it was about this same island up here. They called it
Catamount then, like they do right now. He said that a long time before,
a man by the name of Wesley Coombs had bought the place for a song from