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An' so yuh see we ben gatherin' 'em right along." "How'd you ever get feed?" asked Bandy-legs, whose mind always traveled to this very important question. "Dad had jest a leetle money, left over from his last job," Jim replied. "Then we set traps an' ketched a few rabbits. I fished some, too. Reckon we managed tuh get along. Lots o' times, though, I was that hungry I cud 'a' et a raw turnip."
"How does it go?" asked Max, who was in a sixteen-foot canvas canoe like the one Steve handled so dexterously; while Bandy-legs, fearing to trust to anything so frail, had insisted on getting one of the older type lapstreak cedar boats, that were so marvelously beautiful in his eyes. "Fine as silk!" announced Steve, from up ahead. "Ditto here!" echoed Toby, and Owen added his words of praise.
But the boys enjoyed having a good rest undisturbed by any sudden clamor. This time only Max and Steve accompanied the trapper. Owen found that he had wrenched his ankle, and had better take a day off, and Toby had arranged to try the pickerel with Bandy-legs, who had caught a few on the previous day.
Obed proved to be a pretty good cook, despite the humility with which he had remarked that of course he could not expect to compete on even terms with fellows who had had so many better opportunities to acquire the "knack" of things, than had come his way. The bread was as fine as any Bandy-legs had ever eaten in his own home, where a high-priced cook held sway over the kitchen.
"Whew! they look hungry enough to eat us out of house and home," Bandy-legs was muttering, as he saw the pair pushing forward; and seemingly sniffing the air after the manner of those who have not broken their fast for many hours.
"Shucks, the chances are Bandy-legs might have kicked in the night, and that was enough to set the loop free!" Steve declared. "He couldn't do that," answered Max; "I fixed that string in such a way there was no danger of it happening. But I rather think some fox in hunting around set the thing off, but didn't get caught in the spread loop. It was set for bigger game, you remember, boys."
"Now, wait till I say the word, and then press the trigger. Aim just back of the foreleg, because you're more apt to reach his heart there." "What if I don't kill him?" asked Bandy-legs, with a big sigh. "Clap another shell in and give it to him. Reckon you know how to work the trombone action, don't you?" the trapper went on to say.
"H-h-hope he didn't p-p-poison us?" broke out Toby. "Why, I only put some salt in it," explained the cook, greatly broken up over his first attempt at "surprising" his chums. "What did you take that salt out of?" asked Owen. "This little glass jar here; but what're you grinning at? Ain't it salt at all?" demanded Bandy-legs. "Taste it and see," Owen fired back.
Weasels ain't in it with Bandy-legs, boys. You see from the way he looks at that oak yonder, that's his choice, when she comes bowling along here." Max had some little scheme of his own on his mind. He did not even take his cousin into his confidence; but along after lunch he picked up the gun, and, remarking that he might go for a little walk along the shore, left them wondering.
For my part, I've made up my mind 'twas only a little old owl." Bandy-legs laughed, while Toby grunted his disgust. "Huh! think so, d-d-do you, Mister Know-it-all? J-j-just you wait and s-s-see," he remarked. "Wait for what?" demanded the scoffing Steve. "Why, Max is g-g-going to find out," asserted Toby. "G-g-guess owls don't leave tracks, d-d-do they? Well, Max c-c-can soon tell us.
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