and Nat tore open the yellow envelope. The
message was from Mr. Scanlon, and it was short. It said:

"Freighter arrived. Bumstead and nephew not aboard.
They shipped on another vessel before arriving at
Buffalo. Wire me what to do."

CHAPTER XVIII

NAT'S PLUCKY PILOTING

"Well, if that isn't tough luck!" exclaimed Nat.

"I suppose Bumstead thinks just the opposite," remarked the pilot.

"I wonder if he heard of our plan, and made the change of boats to
escape us?"

"I think not. He could not know that we were after him. I fancy the
mate and Captain Marshall had some disagreement. I know the mate did
not like Mr. Marshall, who, in fact, was rather afraid of Bumstead.
Very likely they had a quarrel, and the mate got aboard the first
vessel he met."

"Then we can't have him arrested."

"Oh, I guess we can. It will take a little longer, that's all. He's
sure to stick around the lakes, as he doesn't know enough of
navigation to get a job anywhere else. News travels pretty well among
those engaged in business up here, and we'll get on his track sooner
or later."

"I hope so, for I want that money. When I didn't know I was to get any
I was pretty well satisfied, but now that I have heard of this legacy,
it seems as though I ought to get it."

"And so you shall. But I must telegraph to Mr. Scanlon. I don't
believe we can ask him to do any more for us. He probably wants to
continue on to New York. Besides, we can't inform him where to look
for Bumstead. I'll just wire, thanking him, and tell him we'll look
after the rascal now."

"I guess that's the only plan."

A message was sent to Mr. Scanlon, and by that time the _Mermaid_ was
ready to proceed. The indications of the storm became more pronounced,
but it did not break that night.

Day after day slipped by and Nat kept steadily at work, learning all
about piloting that was possible. It was wonderful how quickly he
acquired the art of navigation.

"The boy was born to it," declared the old pilot to the captain. "He
knows as much about it already as many assistants who have been at the
wheel for ten times as long."

Mr. Weatherby was far from well, and Nat noticed that he could not
keep at the wheel as steadily as before. One evening when a heavy
storm was brewing the old pilot said every bone in his body ached.

"Guess I'm in for a spell of sickness, sure," he remarked.

"Can't you take some medicine?" asked Nat, sympathetical