ood
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 t