Nat hardly knew what to make of the strange turn of events. It had happened so suddenly that he had no time to prepare himself. He was positive Sam had dropped the cigarettes into his pocket, but to prove it was another matter. He knew the mate would take the side of his nephew, while Nat had no one to stand up for him.
"Unless Mr. Weatherby does," he said to himself. "I guess I'll tell him about it."
"You leave it to me," said the pilot, when Nat had related his story. "I think we can easily prove that Sam Shaw is guilty. Don't worry. I'll stand by you."
Nat felt better after this, and went about his duties with a lighter heart. Nevertheless, he could not help being anxious when he received a message telling him to report to Captain Marshall's cabin.
"If you need any witnesses call on me," said the purser, as the boy went aft. "I saw Sam smokingbefore you joined him, and I'll testify to that effect."
"Thank you," said Nat. "I may need you. He tried to play a mean trick on me."
In the cabin Nat found assembled Mr. Bumstead and Sam Shaw, besides the commander of the ship, who, looking very stern, sat in a big chair behind the table.
"I wonder where Mr. Weatherby is?" thought Nat. "He said he'd stand by me. I hope he comes."
"There's no need to state the reasons why we are here," began the captain. "I'm determined to get at the bottom of this smoking business, and put a stop to it. Does your nephew smoke?" he asked, turning to the mate.
"I—er—I think he used to, but he told me he had given it up, I think he has. Haven't you, Sam?"
"Yes, Uncle Joe; but when Nat offered me one a while ago, I took it before I thought of what I was doing. I forgot I had promised you I wouldn't smoke any more."
"I never gave him a cigarette!" burst out Nat.
"That will do!" exclaimed the captain. "You'll have your chance later."
He placed the box he had taken from Nat's pocket on the table in front of him.
"Did you ever see that box before?" he askedof the mate. "Did you ever see your nephew have it?"
"No, sir."
"Is that your box of cigarettes?" the captain asked Sam.
"No, sir; it belongs to Nat," which was the truth, as far as it went, since Sam had mentally made Nat a present of it.
"So it's yours, then?" turning to Nat.
"No, sir, it is not!"
"Who is telling the truth here?" asked the puzzled captain.
"I am!" declared Sam quickly.
"You are not!" cried Nat. "I never owned that box."
"I found it in your pocket," declared the commander.
"Because he put it there."
"I have already said I don't take any stock in that story. What object would he have in doing that?"
"I don't know, but he did it."
"I'm sure my nephew would not do such a thing," said the mate. "I know Nat smokes, for I have seen him smoking about the dock when we had occasion to tie up there."
"I used to," admitted our hero, "but I gave it up. If you will call Mr. Dunn," went on Nat desperately, "I think he could give some evidence."
"What kind?" asked the captain sneeringly. "Did you make up some for him?"
"No, sir, but he says he saw Sam smoking before I passed him there on the deck, and warned him it was against the rules."
"Hum! Well, I suppose I'll have to send for him," which the captain did.
Mr. Dunn told how he had seen Sam smoking before Nat had occasion to go to that part of the deck where the mate's nephew was.
"Are you sure of this?" asked the mate sternly, before Captain Marshall had a chance to question Mr. Dunn. "Remember you are blackening a boy's character by what you say."
Now, unfortunately for Nat, it so happened that Mr. Dunn had what is termed a very "short" memory. He could recall matters distinctly for only a short time after they occurred, unless he made a note of them. That he had not done in this case. The mate saw his advantage, as the purser hesitated, and he pursued it.
"Wasn't itafteryou sent Nat to that part of the deck that you saw Sam smoking?" he asked. "Wasn't itafterthat?"
Mr. Dunn tried to recollect. His faulty memory went back on him, he hesitated and stammered, he became confused, and the outcome was he had to admit that he might have seen Sam smoking afterNat had met him. The result was he did Nat's cause more harm than good.
"Well, I hope you're satisfied with your witness," remarked the captain dryly. "I don't see that you've proved anything, whereas the box of cigarettes is very damaging evidence against you."
Nat questioned Mr. Dunn, seeking to have him recall exactly what had taken place, but the purser, much as he wanted to help his assistant, failed dismally.
"I am compelled to say I believe you gave Sam the cigarette," went on Captain Marshall, "and, much as I regret it, for I think you are a hard-working lad, I shall have to discharge you. You broke a very strict rule of the ship, one on account of which we might, in case of fire, lose all our insurance. It is too flagrant to pass over."
"Then you believe him instead of me?" asked Nat faintly.
"I must say that I do."
"But I never had those cigarettes."
"The evidence is against you. What object would Sam have in putting them into your pocket? That is a question you cannot answer satisfactorily."
"I believe he wanted to injure me because I got this place that his uncle wanted for him."
"Nonsense! I have a better place in view formy nephew," said the mate. "He will take it as soon as this voyage for his health is ended."
"As for traveling for his health, I wouldn't advise him to smoke any more cigarettes," remarked the captain dryly, "no matter who gives them to him."
"I'll not," promised Sam eagerly, congratulating himself on the success of his plot.
"No, I'll see that he does not," added his uncle.
Poor Nat did not know what to do or say. Mr. Dunn had slipped out of the cabin. The purser was sorry for what had happened, and most of all he regretted his inability to help Nat, for though he could not testify to it in a way to carry conviction, he was sure in his own mind of what had happened.
"Why doesn't Mr. Weatherby come?" thought Nat.
"You will be relieved of your duties in the purser's office," went on Captain Marshall. "Mr. Bumstead, will you, as a favor to me, allow your nephew to help Mr. Dunn for the remainder of the voyage?"
"Yes, sir. I think he will be glad to do it. Will you not, Sam?"
"Certainly," was the answer, and the red-haired youth did not try to conceal the satisfaction he felt.
"Then you may consider yourself discharged,"said the commander to Nat. "I will put you ashore at the next port."
"What's that?" exclaimed a voice, and those in the cabin looked up to see Mr. Weatherby standing in the doorway. "Nat discharged! What's it all about? I tried to get here sooner, but I had to make up some records, and they took longer than I calculated. Is the investigation all over, captain?"
"It is, and I am sorry to say I had to decide against Nat. I believe he had the cigarettes and gave Sam some to smoke in that part of the ship where they are forbidden. I don't know that he smoked himself, but he might as well have done so as to induce another."
"I don't believe Nat did anything of the kind," said the pilot.
"I'm sorry I can't agree with you," responded the commander. "I have relieved him from his duties and put Sam temporarily in his place. He leaves the ship at the next port."
"He does, eh?" said Mr. Weatherby. "Then all I've got to say is that if he goes, I go too!"
Such a startling announcement as the pilot made could not fail to surprise those in the cabin. Nat wondered whether his friend meant it, and as for Captain Marshall, he believed the pilot was not aware of what had taken place at the investigation.
"Do you mean that you will leave the ship without a pilot?" asked the commander.
"No; at least, not until we get to the next port, where you can hire one. In fact, after we get over this part of the trip you'll not need one, for the lake is well charted, and you can steer as well as I can. But I repeat, if Nat goes, I go too."
"But he broke one of the most stringent rules of the ship," retorted the captain, who did not at all like the idea of losing his pilot.
"I can't agree with you. I know something of this case, and I believe Nat is innocent of the charge."
"Do you mean to say that my nephew is guilty?" asked the mate.
"I don't know that I care to express an opinion," was Mr. Weatherby's answer. "From what I know of him I should say I think your nephew might be guilty. I know he smokes cigarettes."
"I used to," interrupted Sam, "but I've stopped."
"Your hands don't bear out that assertion," said the pilot quietly, as he pointed to the tell-tale yellow stains on Sam's fingers. "I am inclined to think you smoke pretty steadily yet."
The red-haired youth had no answer to make to this.
"Do you dare to accuse my nephew?" demanded Mr. Bumstead.
"I said I didn't care to accuse any one," replied Mr. Weatherby. "I only said I believe Nat innocent, and if he is discharged I leave also."
"I think you are taking an unfair advantage of me," said Captain Marshall. "You know I need your services for some time yet."
"Well, you know how to retain them."
"How?"
"By not unjustly discharging Nat."
"I don't think I was acting unjustly."
"I do."
The captain was plainly disturbed. He knew he could not well get along without the pilot, yet he did not like to have to give in to Nat's claim of innocence. To do Captain Marshall justice, thoughhe was quick-tempered, he really believed Nat at fault, chiefly on account of Mr. Dunn's failure to give the proper testimony at the investigation. So with no very good humor he had to change his orders.
"Very well," he said rather sourly. "I'll not discharge Nat, though I believe him guilty."
"That will not do," insisted Mr. Weatherby. "If you believe him guilty you must discharge him."
"But if I do, you'll go, and I will be without a pilot."
"That is true, but there is another alternative."
"What is it?"
"You can say that at least there is a chance Nat is not guilty. He should, I think, be given the benefit of the doubt."
"Very well. I'll admit that," replied the captain stiffly, for he did not like to be dictated to.
"I believe that is all, then," went on Mr. Weatherby. "I suppose Nat may go back to the purser's office?"
The captain nodded. He was in an exceedingly bad humor. He felt that his position as captain of the ship was at stake. He had incurred the enmity of the mate, who was a part owner, and he felt that Mr. Weatherby, who was a member of the company owning the vessel, had no very friendly feelings toward him. Still, there was nothing else the commander could do.
"I'll get square with you yet," muttered Sam as Nat passed him on his way out of the captain's cabin. "I'll have your place, too, before a great while."
"Maybe you will—when I'm through with it," replied Nat, quite pleased with the way things had turned out, yet wishing he could completely vindicate himself. "But I tell you one thing, Sam Shaw, if you try any more of your tricks on me I'll give you the worst licking you ever had."
The boys were outside of the cabin now, and on the deck.
"You will, eh?"
"Yes, I will, and don't you forget it! You put those cigarettes in my pocket, and you know it."
"Oh, I did, eh? Then why didn't you prove it?" sneered Sam.
"I will, some day, and when I do—well, look out—that's all," and Nat turned away and went back to his work.
Though the incident seemed closed, there was not the best of feeling between Captain Marshall and the pilot. As for the mate, he was so angry at Mr. Weatherby that he would not speak to him.
TheJessie Drewcontinued on her voyage. Stops were made at several ports in Saginaw Bay, where cargo was either discharged or taken on. Samkept himself out of Nat's way, but this was not difficult, for Nat found plenty to do, as, since he grasped matters rapidly, the purser turned more and more work over to him.
Nat was glad of this, since he wanted to learn all he could, and he was rapidly advancing. Mr. Dunn complimented him on his aptitude for the work, and said it would not be long before he could qualify for the position of assistant purser.
"Then I suppose you'll be after my place," he said.
"No, indeed," answered Nat with a smile. "You've been too kind to me."
"I wish I could have done more for you at that investigation. It's too bad my memory is so faulty. I have to make a note of everything the minute it happens, or I'd forget it. I get so used to relying on books and memoranda in this position that I'm lost without them."
"Don't worry about it," said Nat. "It's all right. Some time I'll prove what a mean trick Sam played on me, and then I'll be satisfied."
Mr. Weatherby did not forget his promise to teach Nat all he could about piloting, and many a day the lad spent in learning the different points and studying the lake, its various headlands, lighthouses, buoys and other marks on which navigators have to depend.
"You're coming on well, Nat," said the old pilotone day. "It won't be long before you can qualify for an assistant pilot, and then it will be only a matter of a few years when you will be a full-fledged one."
"I'll be glad when that time comes. I want to earn some money to pay back Mr. and Mrs. Miller for what they did for me."
"Yes, they were very kind to you, and they felt it more than a family would that had more money. Never forget your friends, Nat. By the way, have you seen or heard anything more about that pocketbook which the mate had?"
"No; I've watched him closely, but I haven't had a sight of it. Probably I was mistaken."
"I think not, yet he may have come by it honestly, even if it was your father's. Sailors often make each other gifts, or your father may have sold it to Mr. Bumstead."
"I don't believe he'd do that. He thought too much of it. But if the mate came by it honestly, I don't see why he acted so queerly. I can't help thinking there is some mystery about it. In fact, father's death was so sudden that little was known concerning it."
"I have a plan in mind, which I am going to put into operation as soon as possible," said the pilot. "It may result in some information."
"What is it?"
"I know a man who was on the lumber barge onwhich your father was. I am going to write to him, and have him tell me all the circumstances connected with your parent's death."
"I wish you would. It would relieve my mind to know all the facts."
"That is what I thought. I will write in a few days, but now I have another matter I want to speak to you about."
The pilot's manner was serious, and Nat wondered what his friend was about to say. Mr. Weatherby went to the door of the pilot-house and looked out.
"I just wanted to see that Sam Shaw, or his uncle, were not about," he said in explanation. "They've been hanging around here of late, and I'm suspicious of them."
He closed the door, and coming over to where Nat stood at the wheel said:
"How would you like to come with me on a big passenger steamer?"
"Are you going?" asked Nat in surprise.
"Well, I have the chance. I got a letter the other day from a big firm, that wants another pilot. They made me a very good offer, and I'm inclined to take it. I thought I would ask you if you'd like to go."
"Would I have a chance to learn to be a pilot?"
"Yes, a better chance than you have here."
"Then I'd like to go first-rate. I'm ever so muchobliged to you. Do you think you will accept the offer?"
"I believe I will. I'll tell Captain Marshall that we are going to leave him at Detroit. He can easily get another pilot there, and we'll change to a ship where conditions are more pleasant. I'm glad you want to come with me."
"I don't know what I'd do if it wasn't for you."
"Well, I still feel that I'm in your debt," replied Mr. Weatherby. "I think——"
He stopped suddenly and went to the door. He listened a moment, then quickly opened it. Sam Shaw was hurrying away down the deck.
"I believe he was listening, the young rascal!" exclaimed the pilot.
"Do you think he heard anything?"
"He must have. The windows were open."
"What will you do?"
"Well, it doesn't matter much. I'll inform Captain Marshall at once of my intentions, and so spoil any trick which the mate's nephew thinks he can play on us."
That Captain Marshall was surprised is putting it mildly when a little later Mr. Weatherby informed the commander that he was going to leave to be a pilot on a big passenger steamer.
"If it is a question of more money, I think you can get it on this steamer," said Mr. Marshall.
"No, it isn't altogether that. The freight runs are too long to suit me. I am getting along in years, and I like to spend a little time on shore. By taking this position on a passenger vessel I will have considerable time between trips. Then, again, conditions are not as pleasant here of late as I'd like to have them. Nat and I will leave you as soon as you reach Detroit."
"Nat! Is he going with you?"
"Yes. After what has occurred I should think you would be glad of it."
"I don't know that I am," replied the captain. "At first I believed him guilty of having those cigarettes, but since then I have been informed byone of the crew that Sam Shaw smokes in secret, though not in forbidden places. No, I can't say that I am altogether pleased that Nat is going. He is a good boy, and though he is a trifle slow in some things I think I will prefer him to Sam."
"Then Sam is going to have his place?"
"If Nat leaves. I have promised Mr. Bumstead that I will give his nephew the position."
"I hope you don't repent of it. I am sorry this little trouble has occurred, but I'll stick to Nat every time."
"I wish I was sure that Sam and not Nat was at fault," went on the captain. "I confess I do not altogether like Sam, but I am under obligations to his uncle."
"Well, Nat and I will soon be leaving you," continued the pilot. "Of course, until I go, I will do all I can to help you, and so will Nat."
Though Captain Marshall was a little sorry to lose Nat, yet, on the whole, he was not ill-pleased that the boy to whom, in a measure, he had had to admit himself in the wrong was going to leave. He would have been better pleased to get some one else besides Sam in his place, but he could do nothing, as he had given the mate a promise.
As for Nat, he was delighted at the prospect of a change. He had always wanted a place on a passenger steamer, for though he might be kept busier, the work was of a pleasanter character.The wages, too, were higher, and there was a better chance for advancement.
Several days went by, and the freighter made a number of stops of small importance.
"Well, Nat," said Mr. Weatherby in the evening, after the boy had spent nearly all day in the pilot-house perfecting himself along the lines of his chosen calling, "we'll be at Detroit to-morrow morning, and then we'll bid farewell to theJessie Drew. I suppose you'll be glad of it?"
"Partly, yes, though it was very nice before Sam showed up."
"I, too, will be a little sorry to go," added the pilot. "I have been on her a number of years now, and it seems like home to me. But I think a change will be best."
"Is the passenger steamer at Detroit?"
"No, but it is expected there in a few days. We'll lay off on shore until she arrives. I have been in communication with the owners, and the boat is to pick you and me up at that port. You'll have a chance to make a few excursions on shore."
"Oh, I'm not tired of work so soon."
"No, I should hope not. But I have a little business to attend to in Detroit. I may say it affects you."
"Affects me? How is that?"
"You remember I told you I was going to writeto a man who was on the lumber barge with your father?"
"Yes."
"Well, I did so, and I have an answer from him."
"Who is he? What does he say?"
"His name is George Clayton."
"Why, I have often heard my father speak of him."
"Yes; well, I had a letter from him the other day. It was forwarded to me from Chicago."
"What does he say? Does he recall anything out of the ordinary concerning my father?"
"That's what I can't tell. He doesn't say anything, except that he will meet me in Detroit. So he may know something, and, again, he may not. I suppose you haven't learned anything more from Mr. Bumstead?"
"No. He hasn't said much to me since the trouble over the cigarettes."
"Did you ask him any more about the pocketbook?"
"I started to speak to him about it, intending to inquire if he couldn't possibly be mistaken, but he refused to talk about it and turned away, saying the wallet was his, and had been for a long time."
"A good deal depends on what he calls a long time," murmured Mr. Weatherby as he went to his cabin.
"I wonder what Mr. Clayton can tell me?" thought Nat. "I don't believe there was anything suspicious about father's death, or it would have been brought out at the time. The captain of the barge said he had fallen overboard while at work during a storm, and that they had a hard time recovering his body. Poor father! If he was only alive now he and I could be on some vessel and both earning a good living."
Nat was a little sad at the thoughts of his dead parent, but he did not dwell long on this gloomy side. He had his work to do, and work is one of the best things in the world to make us forget our griefs.
TheJessie Drewtied up at the wharf in Detroit early the next morning. Mr. Weatherby had his baggage all packed, and Nat at his suggestion had done the same. Nat had been paid off by Captain Marshall the night before, but the pilot received his money in the form of a check every month.
"I hope you do well in your new place," said Captain Marshall as he bade Nat good-by.
"Thank you. I hope to be able to prove some day that those cigarettes were not mine," replied Nat.
"If you do I will always be ready to beg your pardon," was the commander's reply, somewhat stiffly made.
"Well, Nat, are you all ready?" called the pilot as he stood at the head of the companionway.
"All ready," replied the boy, coming up on deck. Near the gangplank, over which he had to pass to leave the vessel, stood Sam Shaw. Though Sam had said little to his uncle about it, he was quite envious over Nat's rise in life. To be a helper to a pilot on a passenger steamer was much better than to be an assistant to the purser of a freighter. Sam had hinted to his uncle the advisability of Mr. Bumstead seeking a berth on a passenger boat, but the latter had replied he did not care for that sort of a place. The truth was the mate was not competent to take such a position, as he was not a first-class officer.
"Good-by, Nat," called Mr. Dunn to the lad who had been such a help to him. "I'll miss you."
"Oh, I guess I can do as well as he did," spoke Sam quickly. "I'll not make any mistake checking up the cargo lists, and I'll not go to sleep in the hold and say a bale fell on me." For his uncle had told Sam of these two circumstances, giving his own version of them.
"That'll do you!" exclaimed Nat. "Don't you get too fresh!"
"And I'm not going to have any cigarettes, either," went on Sam, determined to do all he could to blacken Nat's character.
This last taunt was too much for Nat. Dropping his valise he sprang for Sam.
"You take that back!" he demanded.
"I'll do nothing of the kind!" was Sam's retort.
"Then I'll punch your head!"
"You don't dare! I'm not afraid of you. Get away from me, or I'll land you one on the nose!"
The two boys stood glaring at each other. Nat was thoroughly angry, something that was rare with him, and Sam felt a desire to strike the lad who had managed to get ahead of him.
"Are you going to get away from me?" demanded Sam.
"Not until I get ready."
"Come, Nat, don't have anything to do with him," advised Mr. Weatherby, for he did not want to see a fight.
At the sound of his friend's voice Nat involuntarily turned his head. Sam meanly took advantage of this, and drew back his arm for a blow. His fist shot out, but Nat turned aside in time so that he only received a light blow on the shoulder. He had been hit, however, and he was not the lad to stand that without taking some action.
"There! If you want to fight!" he cried, and his left shot out, straight for Sam's face. Sam tried to dodge, but he was too late. The blow caught him full on the chin, and so powerful wasit that he reeled backward, vainly clutching the air for support.
He had been standing with his back to the little space between the ship's rail and the rail of the gangplank. Nat's blow sent him reeling backward, and a moment later Sam fell into the water between the vessel and the dock.
"Man overboard!" sang out a sailor who had witnessed the fight and its outcome. "Man overboard!"
He ran to the rail, and threw a life-preserver down into the narrow space. But with the realization of what he had done Nat was in action.
He threw off his coat and vest with a quick motion, and with his knife cut the laces of his shoes, kicking them off in a trice. Then, running to the rail, he peered down to where a swirl in the water indicated Sam's position. Over the rail leaped Nat, to rescue the boy whom he had knocked into the water.
At the sailor's cry Captain Marshall and the mate came running out on deck. They were told by the pilot what had happened.
"I'll have him arrested for this!" cried the mate. "He tried to murder my nephew."
"Your nephew hit him first," replied Mr. Weatherby.
"Yes, and now he's trying to drown him!"
"Not a bit of it. Sam had no business to bestanding where he was. Let Nat alone and he'll get him out. He rescued me from a worse place than that."
The three men rushed to the rail, and peered down. Neither boy was in sight.
"Sam's drowned! Oh, Sam's drowned!" cried the mate, helplessly.
"Nonsense!" replied the pilot. "He hasn't been in half a minute. There! Nat's got him!"
Nat had reappeared on the surface, with one arm about his enemy.
"Throw me a rope!" he cried. "He's unconscious! Must have hit his head!"
"Can you hold him?" asked the pilot.
"Yes. I've got hold of the dock."
The rope was hastily lowered, and Nat placed the loop of it about the shoulders of the unconscious Sam. Then those on deck hauled him up.
A few seconds later, with the aid of the same rope, Nat was pulled on deck.
"Is he—is he all right?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes," answered the pilot. "That was a plucky rescue."
"Well, I couldn't do any less, seeing I knocked him overboard. I was afraid I couldn't get him. He's quite heavy."
"This is a dramatic farewell," commented Mr. Weatherby. "I suppose you can't go now, until you have changed your clothes."
"I don't want to go until I know whether he is all right. I'm sorry I struck him so hard."
"He deserved it, for he took an unfair advantage of you."
"Yes, that's so; but I didn't think it would end this way."
"Better go to the engine-room, and change your clothes," suggested Mr. Weatherby. "I'll wait for you."
Nat took off his wet garments, and donned some others, while the damp ones were put to dry over one of the boilers. In the meanwhile Sam had been revived. He was not much hurt, but he had swallowed a quantity of water, which made him quite ill.
"I'll have that Nat Morton arrested for assault and battery," declared the mate.
"No—no—don't!" begged his nephew.
"Why not? Didn't he hit you?"
"Yes—but—but I hit him first, and—and Mr. Weatherby saw me."
"Oh," said Mr. Bumstead. "Well, we'll get even with him some way."
"That's what I will," declared Sam, with as much energy as possible under the circumstances. "I'm glad he's going. Are you sure I'm to have his job?"
"Yes, and you'll get more money. I made Captain Marshall agree to that, though he didn't wantto. But you'll have to be very careful. Don't you dare smoke any cigarettes."
"How do you know I do smoke 'em?"
"Oh, I've got a good nose for tobacco," replied his uncle. "I'm warning you; that's all. I don't like this Nat Morton any more than you do, and I'm glad he is going."
The mate did not say why, but it was because he had hidden away a certain wallet, with a name erased from it, and this wallet he did not want Nat to see.
Owing to the fight between Nat and Sam, it was not until noon that Mr. Weatherby and our hero were able to leave theJessie Drew. By that time Nat's clothes were dry, and then, without Sam looking on, for he was below in his bunk, the pilot and the lad whom he had befriended went ashore.
"We'll go to the Imperial Hotel," spoke Mr. Weatherby. "That's where I usually put up, when I'm here, and we'll wait there until theMermaiddocks."
"Is that the name of the ship we are going on?" asked Nat.
"That's her. She's a fine steamer, and Captain Turton is a fine man. I shall like to work for him, and I believe you will too."
"Maybe he doesn't want me," suggested Nat, for he had been thinking of that contingency.
"Oh, I've arranged all that. But I wonder if George Clayton will be here?"
"Where did you expect to meet him?"
"At the hotel. There's the place, just ahead," and the pilot pointed down the street. "Yes, and there's George, like a lookout in the bow on a foggy night. There, he's signaling us!"
Nat saw a stout, jolly looking man, standing on the hotel steps, waving his hand to Mr. Weatherby.
"Ahoy there!" called Mr. Clayton, when they were within hailing distance, "how goes it?"
"Very fair. How about you?"
"Oh, I've had pretty good weather, and I managed to keep off the rocks and shoals. But is this Nat Morton, whom you were telling me about?"
"That's Nat," replied the pilot.
"Hum. Looks like his father," commented Mr. Clayton. "Shake hands, young man," and he extended a big one, roughened by many years of toil aboard lake steamers.
"Did you know my father?" asked Nat, with deep interest.
"Indeed, I did. He and I were messmates on many a trip. I was on the same barge when a big wave washed him overboard. My! but that was a rough night!"
"I thought maybe, George," said Mr. Weatherby, "that you could tell Nat something about hisfather's affairs. There seems to be something wrong somewhere, but I can't get a clear passage to what it is. The signals don't seem to be right, and we're navigating around in a fog. Maybe you can put us on the right course, and we'll get into some sort of a harbor."
"I'll do my best, though I don't know much about his affairs," said the stout sailor. "But come on in. I'd like to talk to you."
Nat felt a little strange at meeting one who had known his father so intimately.
But George Clayton was not one to let one feel sad for very long. When they were in his room at the hotel, drinking lemonade, for the day was hot, he told Nat all he knew about his father's last voyage.
"And so you're learning to be a pilot," he said to Nat at the close. "I thought your father was going to set you up in some business. He was afraid you would meet with some accident if you followed the same calling he did."
"Set him up in business? What do you mean?" asked Mr. Weatherby.
"Well, I don't know exactly what business, but I know Jim—I always called your father Jim," he explained to Nat—"I know Jim was talking what he was going to do with the profits of the load of lumber—I mean his share."
"Did Mr. Morton have a share in the load oflumber on the barge from which he was drowned?" asked the pilot.
"Of course. Didn't you know that? Didn't you get his share when he died?" he asked of the boy.
"I got nothing. Father left nothing, as far as I know."
"Why, he certainly left something," insisted Mr. Clayton. "We all got our share out of it, and I always supposed his went to his heirs. You're the only one, I understand."
"This is getting to be quite a puzzle," declared Mr. Weatherby. "Suppose you explain."
"Well, you certainly surprise me," went on Mr. Clayton. "And Nat didn't get anything after his father died?"
"Not a cent. How could he? Mr. Morton left no papers of any kind."
"Well, he certainly did, for I saw 'em. There was a whole walletful, and among them was a certificate of his share in the lumber deal."
"What lumber deal? What wallet?" asked Nat excitedly.
"I'd better begin at the beginning," said Mr. Clayton, "and tell it all regularly—that is, as much as I know. But first I must have some more lemonade."
He filled his glass from the pitcher, drank a goodly draught of the beverage, and began:
"Jim and I and several others formed a syndicate on that lumber. That is, we all put our money together and purchased the load. It was good timber, and the price was high, and we stood to make considerable. Jim had five shares, and each share was worth in the neighborhood of three hundred dollars. I had two shares."
"Then my father had fifteen hundred dollars in that lumber deal," said Nat.
"That's what he had, my boy, and where it went to is a mystery."
"Did you get your money out of it?" asked the pilot.
"I certainly did, and so did the others. After that storm, when your father was lost overboard, we had a hard job getting the lumber to port, but we managed to do it, and sold it for a good price."
"What was done with the money?" asked Mr. Weatherby.
"It was divided among the members of the syndicate."
"What about Mr. Morton's share?"
"His was laid aside, and the second mate of the barge said he would take it to his address in Chicago. He got it off Mr. Morton's dead body."
"I never received the money," said Nat.
"That's queer," spoke Mr. Clayton.
"Who was the second mate, who agreed to takeMr. Morton's share to his heirs?" inquired the pilot.
"He was Joseph Bumstead," was the startling answer, "but I don't know where he is now. He cleared out after we sold the lumber, taking his share, and Mr. Morton's, and I haven't seen him since."
Such was their surprise over this announcement on the part of Mr. Clayton, that neither Mr. Weatherby nor Nat knew, for a moment, what to say.
"Are you sure Bumstead had Mr. Morton's share?" asked the pilot.
"Of course. He took charge of everything that was found in poor Jim's pockets. There was a little money, and some other papers. One, I recall, was a promissory note for about four hundred dollars, for money Jim had loaned to Bumstead. I remember there was some question about letting him take that, but he said he would pay the money due on it to Jim's heirs, and we let him have the whole business."
"What sort of a looking man was this Bumstead?" asked Mr. Weatherby, while he and Nat waited anxiously for the answer.
Mr. Clayton accurately described the mate of theJessie Drew.
"It's the same man," murmured the pilot. "There can be no mistake about that."
"Why, do you know him?" asked Mr. Clayton.
"I have every reason to believe that he is mate of the freight steamer Nat and I have just left," was the reply.
"Then let's get right after him, and make him give up that money!" exclaimed Mr. Clayton. "He's got it. Probably he turned the lumber shares into money as soon as he got ashore, for he could easily do that."
"Then with the money due on the note he has about two thousand dollars belonging to——"
"Belonging to Nat!" interrupted Mr. Clayton, "and I'll see that the boy gets it. Come on, don't lose any time. Bumstead may skip out. I didn't like the man when I was in the same crew with him, but I never supposed he was a thief."
"This explains why he did not want Nat to come aboard to work," said the pilot. "He was afraid Mr. Morton's son would discover something."
"And Idid, too," put in Nat. "I saw him have my father's wallet."
"That's so; I forgot about that for the moment," cried Mr. Weatherby. "Do you recall that pocketbook, with Mr. Morton's name on it in gold letters?" he asked, turning to Mr. Clayton.
"Indeed, I do. Jim thought a lot of that. Has Bumstead got it?"
"We have every reason to think he has."
"He's a thorough villain," commented Mr. Clayton. "Now don't let's delay any longer, or he may skip out. Let's get a policeman, or a detective, and have him locked up. I'll be a witness against him."
"I guess that's our best plan," assented the pilot. "Well, Nat, you're better off than you thought you were. Two thousand dollars is a neat sum for a lad like you."
"I haven't got it yet."
"No, but we'll see that you do get it," replied Mr. Weatherby's friend. "We'll have the law on that rascally mate. No wonder he wanted his nephew to have your place."
"Shall we go down where theJessie Drewis tied up, and see if the mate is aboard before we get an officer, or stop at the police station first?" asked Mr. Weatherby, as he, Nat and Mr. Clayton left the hotel.
"Let's get a policeman, or a detective, first," was Mr. Clayton's answer. "We can't take any chances with a man like Bumstead. To think of him having that money more than two years, since poor Jim was drowned, and Nat suffering for what was really his own!"
"Oh, I didn't suffer so much," was our hero's answer. "I managed to get along, and Mr. andMrs. Miller were very good to me. Then I had a good friend in Mr. Weatherby."
"No better than I had in you," replied the pilot, who had told his friend of the plucky rescue.
A stop at the police station, and a recital of part of the story to the sergeant in charge, readily procured the services of a detective. In order to excite no suspicions, it was arranged that the officer and Mr. Clayton should go on ahead to the dock where the freight steamer was tied up. They could go aboard, and if Mr. Bumstead saw them he would not become alarmed and escape, whereas, if he saw the pilot and Nat returning he might take the alarm.
Accordingly, when they were part way to the dock, Nat and Mr. Weatherby walked down a side street, while the others went on.
"I wonder if he'll put up a fight?" mused Nat, as they paced slowly up and down, waiting.
"Very likely. He is a desperate man, and I haven't the slightest doubt but what he pushed that bale on you in the hold."
"I think so myself," agreed Nat.
It seemed quite a long time that Mr. Clayton and the detective were gone, and Nat grew impatient.
"Something must have happened," he said.
"I hope so," answered the pilot. "I hope they got him, and that he had your money with him."
They resumed their pacing up and down. About ten minutes later they saw Mr. Clayton and the officer coming toward them, unaccompanied.
"They didn't get him!" exclaimed Nat.
"Maybe he gave up the money."
"I hope he did. I shouldn't like to go to court over it."
"Well?" asked the pilot, as the two came nearer.
"We were just too late," answered Mr. Clayton dejectedly.
"Too late?"
"Yes, the vessel has sailed for Buffalo. We have been trying to find another ship bound for the same port, that might get in ahead of the freighter, but we couldn't. I guess Bumstead has escaped us for a time, but you can follow him. His ship will tie up in Buffalo for a week."
"But Nat and I have to go aboard the passenger steamer in a few days," said Mr. Weatherby. "We'll have to stay on Lake Huron for a month or more, cruising about. I can't go to Buffalo, and I don't believe it would be safe for Nat to go alone."
"I wish I could," said Mr. Clayton, "but I've got to ship for a trip to Duluth and other ports to-morrow. Even if I didn't have to go, I would have no right to make a complaint against themate. It would have to be done by Nat, as it's his money."
"That's right," said the detective. "The person whose property is stolen has to make the complaint. But we might wire the Buffalo police to hold the man until one of you can get there. The only trouble is you'd have to swear out a warrant here, and as I understand it, there is only a suspicion against Bumstead."
"We are practically sure he has Nat's money," replied the pilot, "still, there may be some difficulty in causing his arrest, when he is so far away. If we could only send some one to Buffalo, who understood the case, and would know what to do, we could manage. It is out of the question for me to go, and I don't believe Nat could manage matters. The mate would probably get some criminal lawyer, and effect a release, even if he was arrested. It's quite a puzzle."
"I don't see what we can do," added the detective. "If we had been half an hour sooner we could have nabbed him."
Nat, who had hopes of recovering the money that was rightfully his, began to feel discouraged. It looked as if the rascally mate had the best of them.
As the four stood in the street, undecided what to do, a voice hailed Nat, calling out:
"Well, well! If there isn't the lad who savedmy boat for me! I'm glad to see you again. How are you?"
Nat looked up, to see advancing toward him two men. The younger was John Scanlon, whose craft the boy had saved from being stove in at the dock in Chicago, some weeks before.
"Glad to meet you again," said Nat cordially, as he shook hands with young Mr. Scanlon. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, we're on a little trip, my father and I. By the way, I don't believe you have met my father. Dad, this is Nat Morton, whom I was telling you about. He saved our rowboat."
"Humph, I haven't quite forgiven you for that careless piece of work, John. But I'm glad to meet Nat," and Mr. Peter Scanlon shook hands with the lad.
"What are you doing here, Nat?" asked John.
"I'm learning to be a pilot."
"This is a queer place to learn that calling—ashore."
Then Nat explained that he was about to make a change of craft, and he introduced his companions to John and the latter's parent. He also told of the money due him and their fruitless efforts to capture the mate.
"Why, that's quite a romantic story," commented John Scanlon. "To think of your having money all this time, and not knowing it!"
"And I'm still without it," said Nat, "and likely to be for some time, unless something happens."
"What a story that would make for the newspapers," went on John. "I once thought of becoming a newspaper reporter. This would be a dandy yarn."
"Hold on there, young fellow!" exclaimed the detective.
"What's the matter?" asked John.
"Don't go to tipping off the papers about this. We're going to have a hard enough time as it is to capture this chap, and we don't want him to know we're after him. If he sees something about it in the papers, he'll take the alarm and leave Buffalo before we can land him."
"Buffalo? Is he headed for Buffalo?" asked John Scanlon excitedly.
"Yes. Why?" asked Nat.
"Why, that's where we're going! My father's steam yacht leaves for Buffalo to-morrow. We're going to make the trip all the way to New York, by way of the St. Lawrence River, and we're going to stop off at Buffalo. Maybe we'll see this Bumstead."
"Say, if you only could catch him!" cried Nat eagerly.
"There are several legal difficulties to that plan," objected the detective.
"Perhaps I can suggest a way out," put in Mr. Scanlon, who had been listening with interest to the story of Nat's newly discovered possessions. "I am a lawyer, and if I can help the lad who saved my son's boat from destruction, I'd be only too glad to do so."
"That might be the very thing," went on the officer. He explained the mix-up that would ensue if some unauthorized person attempted to cause the arrest of the mate in Buffalo.
"I think we can get around that difficulty," said the lawyer. "According to your story the mate is guilty of embezzling money belonging to another, with which he was entrusted. Then there is the promissory note, which would come under a different head. Nat can make a complaint in this city, charging the mate with embezzlement. A warrant can be sworn out, and I can be duly authorized to prosecute the case for Nat."
"That would answer first-rate," commented the detective.
"Only I'm afraid it will put you to a good deal of trouble, Mr. Scanlon," said Mr. Weatherby.
"I don't mind that in the least. I am in no hurry. In fact I am on a pleasure trip, and itdoes not matter when I get to New York. I had planned to stop at Buffalo, and spending a few days longer there than I calculated on will make no difference."
"But will your boat get to Buffalo ahead of the freight steamer?" asked Mr. Clayton.
"I think so," replied John Scanlon, with a smile. "It is one of the fastest small yachts afloat. I fancy we will be at the dock waiting for this Bumstead when his ship gets in."
"Yes," agreed his father. "I will be waiting for him there with a warrant. But we must lose no time. Supposing we go to the police station and draw up the complaint?"
This was soon done, and with the proper papers in his pocket, Mr. Scanlon and his son prepared to set out on their voyage to capture the rascally mate. The lawyer promised to telegraph Nat the result of his efforts, as soon as possible, and the pilot gave Mr. Scanlon a list of the ports at which theMermaid, his new vessel, would call.
"In case anything happens, you can notify us," said the pilot.
The lawyer and his son bade the others good-by, as, now that they had an object in view, the Scanlons wanted to begin their trip at once.
"Good luck!" called Nat to his new friends. "I hope you get him."
"Oh, we'll get him," replied John confidently.
"Well, Nat, there's been quite a change in your prospects since you jumped overboard, a few hours ago, and rescued Sam Shaw," remarked Mr. Weatherby as, with our hero and Mr. Clayton, they went back to their hotel.
"Yes, I seem to have more friends than I thought I did."
"And one or two enemies. Don't forget that. You've been through some perils already, and I hope they're at an end."
But there were yet more dangers ahead of Nat Morton—dangers of which he did not dream, for indeed, as the pilot had said, he had at least one relentless enemy who would have been well satisfied to see Nat out of his way.
Two days later theMermaidarrived at Detroit, and the pilot and Nat went aboard. Mr. Clayton had previously sailed on his trip to Lake Superior, to be gone some time, but he promised to come, whenever wanted, to testify against Bumstead, in case the mate was brought to trial.
TheMermaidwas a fine passenger steamer, which called at all the principal ports on Lakes Huron, Michigan and Erie. She carried passengers chiefly, but also took some freight. Nat, however, found he had nothing to do with that department. He was assigned to the captain's cabin, where he would have certain light duties to perform, but it had been arranged, by Mr. Weatherby, that his youngprotégéwas to receive more instruction in piloting than had been possible aboard the freighter.
So the most of the day, and part of the night, found Nat with his friend in the pilot-house. TheMermaidsteered by steam, and instead of an immense wheel, there was only a small one. A simple turn of it, with one hand, would send the great steamer on any desired course.
"This is another reason I wanted to change," remarked Mr. Weatherby, as he explained to Nat how the steam steering gear was operated. "That big wheel was getting too much for me to handle, especially in a storm. We'll have it easier now, and it will be more pleasant."
There was no doubt about this. TheMermaidwas a new steamer, and was handsomely furnished. And it was much nicer to be among passengers, than delving away in a dark, dirty hold, checking up long cargo lists. Nat began to feel that his life had changed very much for the better. He had a new suit of clothes, and made a good appearance.
For about a week theMermaidcruised on Lake Huron and Lake Michigan, taking on passengers, and some freight at one port, and leaving them at another. Nat was rapidly progressing in his chosen calling, and several times he had steered the vessel all alone, with no one in the pilot-housebut himself, for Mr. Weatherby wanted the lad to acquire confidence.
Captain Turton was an agreeable man, and readily consented that Nat should have all the privileges possible, in order to learn more rapidly.
"I was young once myself," he said with a smile. "I had to pick up my knowledge of ships as best I could, and if I had had half a chance I would be a better navigator than I am now. In fact, I could have learned piloting among these many islands in Lake Huron, and that would have saved me hiring you, Weatherby."
"Well, if Nat keeps on, he'll soon be able to take my place," said the pilot with a smile. "He did nearly all the work to-day. I'm getting lazy, I guess. For the last few days I haven't felt like myself."
"Maybe you're getting malaria," suggested the captain.
"I'm getting something. Guess I'll take a big dose of quinine to-night."
"Better not to-night," spoke the captain.
"Why not?"
"Well, I don't like the looks of the weather. There seems to be a storm coming up, and you'll want all your wits about you if it comes on to blow much."
"Oh, I guess I can steer, even if my ears do ring with the quinine, and my head buzzes," answered Mr. Weatherby. "I must break up this languid feeling."
TheMermaidstopped at a good-sized city that evening, preparatory to making an all-night trip. As the boat touched the dock Nat saw on the end of the pier a telegraph messenger.
"Anybody named Nat Morton aboard?" the boy called, as soon as the ship was made fast.
"That's me," replied Nat.
"Well, I've got a telegram for you. I've been waiting three hours, and you've got to pay for my time."
"That'll be all right," said Mr. Weatherby, who was standing at the rail, beside Nat. "It's probably from Mr. Scanlon," he went on. "I was wondering why we didn't hear from him."
He paid the messenger boy, and Nat tore open the yellow envelope. The message was from Mr. Scanlon, and it was short. It said: