"Stop! Hold on!" yelled the officer, as he rushed to the side. "Come back or I'll shoot!"

He peered down into the water. There was no sign of the mate. By this time several members of the crew were aroused and were on the deck.

"What's the matter?" cried a voice that Nat recognized as Sam Shaw's.

"Prisoner escaped!" exclaimed the policeman. "Can you see him?" he asked of Nat, who stood beside him, in the early dawn.

The boy shook his head in disappointment.

"He's got away, I guess," he said.

"Get me a boat!" cried the officer. "I'll find him if it takes all day. Come on!"

CHAPTER XXIV
IN A COLLISION

"That's what he did," added the policeman. "He got away from me, too. Somebody get me a boat."

"What for?" asked the captain.

"Because I'm an officer of the law, and a prisoner has escaped. I had him a prisoner, all right, for I had my hand on him, but he went so sudden he got away."

"There's a boat moored alongside," said the captain, when matters had been briefly explained. "But you want to hurry. I can't lay here all day, though how I'm going to sail without a mate is more than I know."

"I'll get him for you, but I'll have to take him right away again," said the officer. "He's a criminal and a fugitive from justice."

The mate might have been almost anything, as far as any denial on his part was concerned, for not a trace of him had been seen since he jumped overboard. Sam Shaw, mean as he was, had a genuine affection for his uncle, and he was much distressed about his relative.

"He's drowned! I know he's drowned!" he exclaimed, as he walked about the deck, half crying.

"Oh, dry up!" advised Nat savagely, for he knew the mate was a good swimmer, and he had no doubt but that Bumstead had managed to reach shore, under cover of the semi-darkness, and was far enough away by this time.

Meanwhile, the policeman got into a boat and rowed about, but all to no purpose. The mate had disappeared as completely as if he was at the bottom of the lake.

"Well," said Nat, much disappointed, "that's done with. It's a failure. I guess I'd have done better if I'd gone alone, and not taken the policeman with me, though he meant well enough. Now I'd better get some breakfast and then arrange to have some one row me out to meet the Mermaid."

He told the officer that he would have to leave.

"Very well," replied the policeman. "You may go, but I'll never give up hunting for my prisoner. It's the first time one ever got away from me, and I'm not going to stand it. I'll keep hunting until I find him, if it takes all day or a whole year. You had better leave me your address, and as soon as I arrest him, I'll let you know."

"I don't believe that would do any good. I travel about so, on the boat, that I can't tell just what my address will be. You had better give me the warrant; I may run across him at some other port."

Rather reluctantly the policeman gave up the legal document.

"I wish I had handcuffed him at first," he said. "Then he couldn't have gotten away, and if he jumped in the water he would have been drowned."

"I wouldn't care about having that happen," said Nat.

"Me either, though I hate to let a prisoner get away. But I'll catch him yet, you see."

And when Nat had gone ashore, eaten his breakfast in a little restaurant, and was being rowed out to be picked up by the Mermaid, the policeman was still searching about the dock and adjacent shore for the missing mate.

Captain Turton and the pilot sympathized with Nat over the failure of his mission, but they said Bumstead was sure to be arrested sooner or later.

"He'll probably transfer to some other boat, now," said Nat.

"Very likely," answered Mr. Weatherby. "He knows you are after him, and it's going to be harder to arrest him."

The Mermaid proceeded on her way, and for some time Nat was so occupied with his work, for there was a great increase in passenger traffic, that he almost forgot about the rascally mate and the stolen money.

Meanwhile, as my young readers have probably surmised, Bumstead had safely reached shore and had arranged to keep out of the way of officers of the law. The sudden appearance of the policeman in his cabin had been the first intimation that there was a warrant for his arrest, and that Nat knew of his appropriation of the fifteen hundred dollars belonging to Mr. Morton.

It is true the mate had fancied Nat was suspicious, after the lad had seen the wallet, and questioned him about it, but, when some time passed, and nothing resulted, the scoundrel thought that Nat either had his suspicions lulled, or did not know how to go about recovering the money. That a previous plan to arrest him had failed, by his shift of vessels, the mate never dreamed.

Now he knew he must make another change. It would not be safe to remain aboard the Spray. Accordingly, when he had reached shore, after his sensational leap for liberty, he sought refuge with a man he knew at Cove Point. He remained there until he heard that Nat had left, and that the policeman, very reluctantly, had given up the search.

Then the mate sent for his nephew, and the pair took what money was coming to them and left town. About two weeks after this the mate secured a place on the freighter Liberty Bell, which plied up and down Lake Huron.

"Uncle Joe, what did that officer want?" asked Sam Shaw of his relative, one day, when he happened to mention their former place aboard the Spray. "Was it in connection with that charge you made against Nat before the pilot board?"

"Well—er—yes—that was it. They wanted my testimony."

"Why don't you give it to them? I'd like to see that Morton chap locked up. How did he escape being sent to jail on your charge?"

"I don't exactly know," replied the mate. "I guess he is only out on bail."

"I hope they send him to prison for a long time. I can't bear him, he's so stuck up, thinking he's a regular pilot."

"Well, I'll fix him," murmured the mate. He did not want his nephew to know about the accusation Nat had made, for he was afraid Sam might, unconsciously, betray him. Nor was the mate altogether easy regarding the charge he had made before the pilot board. He had read in the papers about that case, and how he was wanted for contempt of court. He thus had to face two charges, and he knew he must be very careful when he went ashore, lest he be arrested.

"We'll meet the vessel that Morton fellow is on, this trip, Uncle Joe," went on Sam.

"How's that?"

"Well, we're going to Bay City, and the Mermaid is coming to Detroit, according to the papers."

"Is that so?" asked the mate, suddenly interested. "I wonder where we'll pass her?"

"About Ludlow's Island," answered Sam, who was developing a good knowledge of the lakes.

"Ludlow's Island," repeated the mate. "The channel there is quite narrow. We'll have to pass quite close."

"Do you think he'll see you, Uncle Joe?"

"No—of course not. What does it matter? I'm not keeping out of his way. I had certain reasons for not wanting that officer to take me to court; that's why I leaped overboard that time."

"Oh," answered Sam, who had not heard the explanation given by Nat and the policeman.

"So we'll pass his vessel quite close," murmured the mate, when his nephew had left him. "That's my chance. If I can be left in charge of the wheel I think I can make Nat Morton wish he had never interfered with me. Let's see, we ought to get to Ludlow's Island to-morrow night. I hope it's dark or foggy."

Meanwhile, all unconscious of the perils in store for him, Nat was, that same day, guiding the vessel of which he was now officially the assistant pilot toward Detroit.

"It's going to be a thick night," said Mr. Weatherby, as Nat relieved him in the pilot-house, the evening of the day after the conversation set down above between Sam Shaw and his uncle. "I think there will be quite a fog before morning. Don't take any chances. If you're in doubt call me, but I'd like you to try your hand at taking the ship past Ludlow's Island. It's one of the worst places in the lake, and when you've been through that, in a fog, you're almost entitled to a pilot's license."

"I'll try it, Mr. Weatherby."

"That's the way to talk."

As the night came on the fog increased, until Nat decided he would slow down to half speed. The bell and whistle were kept going at regular intervals, and two men were stationed in the bow as lookouts.

It was close to midnight when Nat, who had decided to ask to be relieved, for he was a little doubtful of his ability under such bad conditions, saw through the haze another vessel approaching. He was in the narrowest part of the channel.

"There isn't time to send word to Mr. Weatherby now," he thought. "I'll wait until I pass that ship. Then I'll go below, for I'm getting nervous here."

The two vessels were approaching nearer and nearer to each other. If Nat had been aware that the ship he was about to pass was the one on which was his enemy, the mate, doubtless he would have been more nervous than he was.

"He seems to be crowding too close over this way," thought Nat. "Guess I'll give him a caution signal."

He pulled the whistle wire sharply. Short blasts came forth from the Mermaid's hoarse siren. To Nat's surprise the other vessel, instead of keeping away from him, in the narrow channel, seemed to be coming closer.

"Doesn't he know enough to keep away, and on his own course?" said the young pilot half aloud.

He waited with an anxiously beating heart, and at the same time looked around to see if anybody else was near.

"Oh, if only Mr. Weatherby was here now!" he told himself. Never had he missed the old pilot so much as at this moment. For one instant he thought of yelling for assistance, but knew it would be useless, for his voice would not carry far enough. He was in sole charge and must do the best he could.

"Perhaps that other pilot is drunk," he murmured, and then shut his teeth hard. He was "up against it good and hard," and he realized it only too well. He trembled in spite of himself, and an icy chill began to creep up and down his backbone.

He gave another signal. Then, as he watched, he saw the prow of the other vessel turn toward him.

"He's going to ram me!" exclaimed Nat.

Quickly he gave another signal, and then he rang for full speed astern. But it was too late. With a crash the other vessel was upon him, though the result was different from what might have been expected.

The Mermaid was a steel boat, while the Liberty Bell was an old wooden one. Instead of the bow of the latter crashing into the hull of the passenger steamer, the bow of the freight boat crumpled up like paper, being smashed into kindling wood up as far as the pilot-house, part of which was demolished.

There was a confused ringing of bells and blowing of whistles, and then both vessels came to a stop.

CHAPTER XXV
BUMSTEAD'S ARREST—CONCLUSION

"Ahoy the Mermaid!" came a hail from the other boat. "What's the matter with you fellows, anyhow? Can't you keep on your own side of the channel? My bows are stove in, and you've injured one of my men!"

"Who are you?" called back the pilot.

"Captain Carter, of the Liberty Bell."

"It was your steersman's fault," shouted Mr. Weatherby. "Are you in any danger?"

"No, but I'm going to lay-to until morning, and then I want to know who's going to settle for my damage."

"We'll see you in the morning, then," was the pilot's answer.

Nat passed an uneasy night. Though he knew the fault of the collision was not his, he worried lest he might not be able to prove it. There might be an old pilot in the other vessel—a pilot up to all sorts of tricks, who, even if he was wrong, could so make matters appear as to throw the blame on Nat.

"If he does, that ends my career as a pilot," thought our hero.

Soon after breakfast Captain Turton, with the pilot and Nat, went aboard the other vessel. Her bow was quite badly damaged, but the break did not extend below the waterline.

"Did you say some of your men were injured?" asked Captain Turton, when he had greeted the commander of the Liberty Bell.

"Yes, sir, my mate, Joseph Bumstead. His leg is broken."

"What?" cried Nat and the pilot in the same breath.

"Bumstead is his name. I don't see anything peculiar in that," replied Captain Carter, looking at the two in surprise.

"Well, as it happens, there is something peculiar about it," went on Captain Turton. "We have a warrant for his arrest on a serious charge. However, if his leg is broken, he isn't very likely to get away, and I think we can proceed with the investigation. I want to find out who is to blame for this."

"Your steersman, of course," was Captain Carter's quick answer.

"It's natural you should say that. But we'll see."

Several members of the crew of both vessels were called as witnesses. Nat told his story, of how he had tried to warn the other vessel away, and how the steersman of it had persisted in crowding him.

"By the way, who is your pilot?" asked Mr. Weatherby. "I haven't seen him since I came aboard."

"I have no regular pilot," answered Captain Carter. "My mate, Mr. Bumstead, whom I recently engaged, was steering when the collision occurred. He told me he could qualify as a pilot."

"Hum," remarked Mr. Weatherby. "I think it will be a good plan to question Bumstead."

"He's in his bunk."

"Then we'll go there. Come, Nat."

The rascally mate started when he saw the boy, and his face, that was flushed with a slight fever, grew pale.

"Well, you've caught me, I see," he fairly snarled. "But luck is against me."

"Yes, we've caught you in more ways than one," said the pilot.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean that you gave the wrong signals last night, either intentionally or through ignorance, and that you caused this collision."

"Who says so?"

"Half a dozen witnesses. Members of your own crew, for that matter."

"My own crew?"

"Yes."

"I don't believe it."

"It is true, nevertheless."

"Name the men," growled Bumstead. He was suffering considerably, yet he still had some fight in him.

For reply two of the deckhands were called in, and each, after much urging, told his story in detail.

"That ain't true," growled the mate, but his voice sounded weak and uncertain.

"It is true," cried one of the men. Bumstead had treated him roughly the day previous, and he was glad of a chance to "square accounts."

"So it is—every word," put in the second deckhand who had been summoned.

"You are all against me," muttered the mate. "It's a plot, I reckon."

"No plot at all," cried Captain Turton. "We are simply bound to get at the bottom of this affair."

To this Joseph Bumstead made no reply.

"I'd like to know why you told me that you could qualify as a pilot," put in Captain Carter, and his voice had anything but a pleasant ring to it.

"I can qualify."

"I don't believe it."

"He is no pilot, and never was," said Nat. "He has done very little steering."

"You don't know what I've done," growled the mate.

"Yes, I do know!" exclaimed the boy quickly. "I know a good bit more than you think I do."

"Ha! What do you mean by that?"

"You'll find out later. We'll settle one question at a time."

"See here, Bumstead, you might as well own up that you were responsible," said Mr. Weatherby. "If you try to stick it out you'll only make matters worse. To my way of thinking, you ran into us on purpose."

"No! no! I—I——" The mate hesitated, not knowing how to proceed.

"Come, out with it."

"Well—er—if you must know the truth, I—er—I got confused."

"Confused!" roared Captain Carter.

"Ye-es. I—er—I had a headache, and I got a sudden spell of blindness. I—er—I wanted to put the wheel over, but before I could get straightened out the damage was done."

"I don't believe a word of that!" exclaimed Captain Turton. "He is a rascal!"

"No! no! I was confused—I swear it!" groaned the mate. All the remaining courage was oozing out of him. "I did my best to clear your vessel, but I simply couldn't do it."

Captain Carter turned to one of his hands.

"Did he act confused, so far as you know?" he questioned.

"I don't know about that," answered the man. "He sure didn't steer the boat right."

"I sometimes get those dizzy spells," said Bumstead. "They come on me without warning. When they do come I don't know what I am doing for the minute."

"You should have told me of this before," said Captain Carter.

"I—er—I was afraid I'd lose my job if I did. But I was confused, I swear I was. Otherwise, I should never have run into that other boat."

They had to let it go at that, since there was no direct proof of any intentional desire to smash into the Mermaid, and the charge was too grave to take any chances on. But it was satisfactorily proved that the mate did give the wrong signals, and that Nat was not to blame.

"Now that is over, we have another matter against you," went on Mr. Weatherby. "I presume you know what it is, Bumstead."

"Yes," said the other in a low voice.

"Nat, go ashore and call an officer," said the pilot.

"Don't do that!" begged the mate. "I'll confess everything, and I'll pay the money back with interest."

"Then you admit that you kept the fifteen hundred dollars you were to deliver to Mr. Morton's son?"

"Yes. It was a great temptation, after I cashed the lumber certificates. I needed the money badly, and I kept it. I meant to pay it back, but I—I couldn't."

"And will you pay back the money on the note?"

"Every penny, with interest, if you don't have me arrested."

"What do you say, Nat?" asked Mr. Weatherby.

"I have no desire to see him arrested, though I think he tried to injure me in other ways than by keeping this money from me. But I forgive him," answered the boy.

"I think that is the best way," went on the pilot. "You have been punished almost enough, Bumstead. I hope it will be a lesson to you."

"It will. Mr. Morton was kind to me, and I treated his son very wrong. I'm—I'm sorry," and the mate turned his face away, so they would not see him weeping.

Nat was glad to get away from the sad scene. On his way out he passed Sam Shaw, but that youth had nothing to say, and he turned aside.

"I feel that I owe you an apology," said Captain Carter to Captain Turton. "I'll discharge that rascal of a mate and his red-headed nephew, too."

About two weeks later, through the efforts of Mr. Scanlon, the lawyer who took charge of the case for Nat, the entire sum appropriated by the mate, together with interest for two years, was recovered, and turned over to the young pilot, who also received his father's wallet, which he prized very much. Bumstead and Sam lost their places on the Liberty Bell, and at last accounts they were working as laborers aboard a grain barge, for the mate had to sell his shares in the Jessie Drew to pay Nat what was coming to the boy. Sam confessed his trick about the cigarettes, and Captain Marshall, when he heard about it, begged Nat's pardon in a letter.

"Well," said Mr. Weatherby to Nat one day, "since you have come into your inheritance, I suppose you'll give up learning to be a pilot?"

"Indeed, I shall not. I'm going to spend a couple of terms at school, and then I'm coming back with you again. I want to see my old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Miller, and do something for them, in return for their kindness to me. I'm going to be a pilot yet, and, I hope, a good one."

"There is no question but what you will, if you keep on as you have been going," returned Mr. Weatherby.

Nat used part of the money to better his education, and he gave a goodly sum to his kind friends, so that they were able to live in better circumstances. Then the young pilot resumed his work aboard a big passenger steamer, Mr. Weatherby coaching him, until the aged man said Nat knew as much as he did, if not more.

To-day, one of the best pilots on the Great Lakes is Nat Morton, who once was a wharf-rat about the Chicago water front. But he won his place through pluck and after not a few perils.

THE END

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