The Strange Cabin on Catamount Island | Page 3

us we'd notice a light in the
window. Hello! who's that?"
"Think you saw something, did you, Max?" asked the other; "but as
there wasn't any answer, I guess you must have been off your base that
time."
"Perhaps I was," replied the other; "but here we are at the door now,
and as I've got my key handy, I'll open up."

The boathouse had once been some sort of low, squatty building, which,
being made over, answered the new purpose very well. And when Max
had started a couple of lamps to burning the prospect was cheery
enough. Several canoes were ranged in racks along one side. Three of
these were single canoes; the other a larger boat, which two of the boys
paddled, and they called it the war canoe.
Hardly had they reached this point than there was heard the sound of a
voice at the door. Steve opened it to admit a panting boy, whose short
lower extremities had a positive inclination to pattern a little after the
type of bows, which gave Bandy-legs the name by which he was
known far and wide.
Then came Owen Hastings, a quiet sort of a fellow, looking very like
his cousin Max; and a minute later Toby Jucklin appeared.
"Now open up, and explain what all this fuss and feathers means?"
demanded Owen, as the five gathered around the table upon which the
larger lamp stood.
The boys expected to fit this building up as a sort of club room later on,
and in this place during the next winter keep all their magazines, as
well as other treasures connected with their association, together.
So Max explained just how it came that Herb Benson, the leader of
another group of Carson boys, had challenged them to spend a certain
length of time on Catamount Island, far up the Big Sunflower branch of
the Evergreen River, which flowed past the town.
Some time previous to this Max and his four chums, wishing to secure
funds in order to carry out certain pet projects for the summer vacation,
and early fall, had conceived the notion that perhaps the mussels, or
fresh-water clams, that could be found, particularly along the Big
Sunflower, might contain a few pearls such as were being discovered in
so many streams in Indiana, Arkansas, and other Middle Western
States.
They had been fairly successful, and during a search discovered a

number of really valuable pearls. From the proceeds of the sale of a
portion of their find they had purchased motorcycles, with which they
enjoyed a few runs. Then, as Steve had remarked so forlornly,
Bandy-legs being so clumsy with his mount as to have a few accidents,
which, however, had not been serious, their folks had united in
declaring war on the gas-engine business. Consequently they had been
compelled to dispose of the machines at a sacrifice. And the canoes had
been their second choice.
After the other three had heard what the proposal was, they united in
declaring their perfect willingness to take up the dare, if only to show
Herb that there was a big difference between his brand of nerve, and
that which the five chums possessed.
Of the lot possibly Bandy-legs was the only one who did not show
great enthusiasm over the project. Max noticed that he seemed to
simply let the others do the talking, though when a vote was taken upon
whether or not they should accept the challenge, the Griffin boy's hand
went up with the rest. Still, that was certainly a sigh that broke from his
lips.
"What's the matter, Bandy-legs? Don't you feel like making the try?"
demanded the impetuous Steve, quick to notice that the other was not
brimming over with the same kind of eagerness that actuated himself.
"Oh! I'm going along, all right," declared the shorter chum, doggedly.
"Ketch me staying out when the rest of you want to go. But I never
dreamed I'd ever pluck up the nerve to stay a night on that blooming
island. Why, ever since I c'n remember I've heard the tallest yarns about
it. Some say it's just a nest of crawlers; and others, that all the varmints
left unshot in the big timber up beyond have a roost on that strip of land
in the middle of the river."
"Rats!" scoffed Steve, derisively. "That's all talk; hot air, you might say.
Don't believe there's any truth in it, any more'n that story about ghosts,
and queer noises that Herb and his crowd tell about. Anyhow, I never
let a dare go past me."

"That's right, Steve," remarked Owen; "it acts on you just like a red flag
does on a bull. But it's decided, is it, fellows, that we go to-morrow
noon?"
"We ought to be able