The Boy Pilot of the Lakes: or, Nat Morton's Perils

"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 was it 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 be standing 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."

CHAPTER XV

NAT HEARS SOME NEWS

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 want to. 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 the Jessie 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 the Mermaid docks."

"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 his father'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 of lumber 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 take Mr. 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."

CHAPTER XVI

JUST TOO LATE

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 the Jessie 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 I did, 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 the Jessie Drew is 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. and Mrs. 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 the mate. 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 saved my 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.

CHAPTER XVII

PLANNING A CAPTURE

"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 it does 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 the Mermaid, 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 the Mermaid arrived 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.

The Mermaid was 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 young protégé was 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. The Mermaid steered 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."