This Max and his chums had done. Their success had created quite an
excitement around Carson.

When it was learned what was going on, farm hands deserted their daily
tasks; boys quit loafing away the vacation days, and even some of those
who toiled in the factories were missing from their looms.

Everybody hunted for pearls. The little Big Sunflower never saw such
goings on. They combed its waters over every rod of the whole mile where
the fresh-water clams seemed to exist.

When the furor was over, and there were hardly half a hundred wretched
mussels left in the waters that had once upon a time fairly teemed with
them, the results were very disappointing.

Two or three small pearls had been found, it is true, but the majority of
the seekers had to be satisfied with steamed mussels, or fresh-water clam
chowder, as a reward for their hard work.

The wide-awake boys who first conceived the idea had taken the cream of
the pickings. And from a portion of the money secured through the sale of
these beautiful pearls they had purchased everything needed to fill the
heart of a camper with delight.

Here, as the afternoon sun headed down toward the western horizon, the
boys, having arrived by way of a buckboard wagon at noon, were looking
into the flames of Trapper Jim's big fire in the log cabin, and mentally
shaking hands with each other in mutual congratulation over their good
fortune.