Chums of the Camp Fire | Page 2

words the late marksman started to make his way along the edge of the pond where their hunt was taking place, and which lay not more than a mile from the town of Carson, in which all of them had their homes.
While Steve is doing this, and Bandy-legs is making the rifle ready for further use by inserting a fresh cartridge in place of the empty shell, a few words of explanation with regard to these four boys may seem appropriate.
They were boon companions, and together had been having some great times during the past two years, many of these happenings having been described at length in the preceding books of this series.
One of their earlier achievements is worthy of mention, because it supplied the sinews of war, in the shape of money, through the possession of which they were enabled to carry out many of their plans, which might otherwise never have materialized through sheer lack of means to pay expenses.
Knowing that there were plenty of fresh-water clams called mussels in some of the waters adjacent to Carson, these boys, together with Owen Hastings, a cousin of Max, now visiting an old aunt abroad, who wanted to adopt him, had made a secret investigation.
Max had been reading about the wonderful find of pearls in mussels picked up in the streams in Missouri, Indiana and other places, and he conceived the idea that possibly those in the smaller tributaries of the Evergreen River, flowing past the home town, might yield something worth while.
Accordingly he and his four chums, without saying a word to anybody, had gone into camp on the Big Sunflower River, and commenced their pearl hunting operations.
The result made a tremendous flurry around that whole vicinity, for the wideawake lads found quite a lot of valuable, pearls in the heaps of mussels which they gathered along the little stream.
Of course once the news leaked out everybody hastened to glean a fortune in the pearl line; but the boys laughed in their sleeves, knowing full well that they had "skimmed the cream off the pan." True, a few gems were found, but nothing to compare with their rake-off. And as the supply of mussels soon became exhausted the flurry had long since died a natural death.
But the boys had a nice little nest-egg in the bank as the result of their thrift, and knowledge of things. This had been added to in various ways, such as combing the woods far and near in search of wild ginseng, and golden seal, the roots of which, when properly dried, brought them many good dollars, after being shipped to a responsible house that dealt in furs, and such things that the woods produce.
On the preceding fall the boys had enjoyed their Thanksgiving holidays up in the North Woods in company with an old friend who spent all his time there, trapping wild animals in season for their pelts, and getting close to Nature's heart; for Trapper Jim, although well-to-do after a fashion, despised the artificial life of the town.
Here they had experienced a succession of adventures that would forever keep the memory of that trip fresh in their minds. Toby Jucklin had brought home a 'coon he had captured; while Bandy-legs was the proud owner of a fast growing black bear cub, which was making life miserable for the cook at his house, because of its mischievous ways, and enormous appetite.
Toby had apparently gone head-over-heels into the "pet" business. That lively and prankish 'coon seemed to have started him along the line of owning pets, and his comrades many times declared that he would soon have a regular menagerie in the back yard of his place; for already there were half a dozen home-made cages there, and Toby spent much of his spare time feeding his pets.
Besides that same 'coon, which was often at large, yet never seemed desirous of heading back to his old haunts where dinners were hard to secure, Toby had some weird-looking lop-eared rabbits; a bunch of quail from which he hoped to raise a family later on; a red fox that had a limp on account of the broken leg set by Toby after he had found the little animal apparently dying from hunger in the bitter wintry storm; and last but not least a small edition of a wildcat that never would make up with the hand that fed it, but continued to snarl and spit and look ferocious week after week, until even patient Toby was beginning to despair of ever calling it a "pet."
Some of the others had even begun to call Toby the "menagerie man," because of this inordinate love for pets. They said he dreamed every night of going out to Africa or India, and collecting wild animals for the various zoological