DURING the next two days Guy was as light of heart as a boy could possibly be. He messed and bunked with the sailors, and soon begun to feel so much at home among them that he would not have gone back into the cabin if he had been allowed the privilege. It is true he sometimes told himself that these unkempt, swaggering fellows in blue flannel shirts and canvas trousers were not just the sort of men that he had been in the habit of associating with at home. But after all he cared very little for that. He expected to mingle with rough characters and lead a rough life all his days, and the sooner he commenced the sooner he would get used to it.

He saw the steward occasionally, but that worthy never noticed him. He knew of course that Guy could not leave the steamer until she made a landing, and if in the meantime the crew were disposed to take him and care for him, it was no concern of his. All he wanted of Guy was to keep away from that part of the vessel devoted to the use of the cabin passengers.

Guy also saw Bob Walker every day, but never spoke to him. Indeed he was not allowed an opportunity, for whenever Bob caught a glimpse of him he would throw up his head, stick his cigar (and he always had one in his mouth) up toward his right cheek, and walk off with all the independence imaginable. This always made Guy very angry.

“He thinks he is some, but he’ll be glad to sulk away and hide himself before we reach Chicago,” soliloquized Guy. “He smokes at least ten or a dozen cigars every day; and twelve cigars at ten cents each amount to a dollar and twenty cents—in two days, two dollars and forty cents. He told me he didn’t have half a dollar in his pocket; and if that was the truth, where does he get those cigars? I don’t wonder Flint suspects him. I would have suspected him myself if I had been sharp.”

On the evening of the fourth day after leaving Norwall, Flint hurried into the crew’s quarters, where Guy was dreaming away the time in his bunk, and shook him roughly by the shoulder.

“Roll out now,” said he. “Saginaw is close by. We shall be alongside the pier in half an hour, and you must be ready to get off. Where’s your dunnage?”

“Here it is,” said Guy, pulling his valise and bundle out of an empty berth.

“What have you got in that carpet-sack? I heard something rattle, and you lift it as though it was heavy.”

“So it is. I’ve got my hunting equipments in here.”

“Roll ’em out, and let’s have a look at ’em.”

Guy accordingly produced the key and unlocked his valise. The sailor looked into it, examined the contents, and said:

“You can’t take them things on board ship with you, and you might as well get rid of them one time as another. Chuck ’em overboard.”

Guy was astonished, and at first felt like flatly refusing to obey the order. He had been to considerable trouble and some expense to collect the articles comprising the outfit, and he could not bear to part with them. But after a little reflection he thought better of it, and gathering them all up in his arms, he went to the door, looked up and down the deck to make sure that there was no one in sight, and threw them into the water.

The hunting-knife, on the handle of which he had intended to score a notch for every grizzly bear he “rubbed out;” the lead, which, melted into bullets, was to have created such havoc among the buffaloes and antelopes of the prairie; the traps that were to have made him rich and famous—all went down among the fishes. The rubber blankets alone remained afloat, and after giving a melancholy flap or two, as if bidding him farewell, faded from his view in the fast-gathering twilight.

“Now,” said the wheelsman, when Guy came back to him, “what’s in that bundle? Your clothes? Well, put ’em into your carpet-sack, and while you’re doing it, listen to what I have to say. I must talk fast, for both me and my partner have to be at the wheel when we make a landing. By the time we reach the pier it will be pitch dark. As soon as the gang-plank is out, take your dunnage and go ashore. Follow a long wood-pile which you will find on the pier until you come to the shore end of it, and then round to and come back to the propeller on the opposite side. Do you understand? I shall be relieved from the wheel by that time, and I’ll be standing on deck just over the after gangway. You’ll see me, and you must keep watch of me, too, for when the coast is clear I’ll wave my hat, and you must run up the gang-plank and dodge into the engineers’ locker. You know where that is, don’t you?”

“Yes; but what will the engineers say if they see me going in?”

“Nothing. I’ve talked it all over with them, and they said I might stow you away in there. They’re sorry for you because you lost your money. Behind the door of the locker you’ll find a chest with a blanket and pillow in it, and all you’ve got to do is to turn in and keep still. You can lay there as snug as a bug in a rug, for nobody except the engineers ever goes near that locker, and they won’t bother you.”

“Flint!” shouted the mate on watch at this moment.

“Ay, ay, sir!” answered the sailor. “I must go to the wheel now. Can you remember what I have said?”

“Yes, I can,” replied Guy.

“Be careful that no one sees you when you come aboard,” said Flint earnestly, “or you’ll get me and the engineer in hot water.”

So saying, the wheelsman hurried away, and Guy sat down on one of the bunks near the door to wait until the propeller reached the shore. She had scarcely touched the pier when the steward came up.

“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed, slapping Guy familiarly on the shoulder. “I have been looking for you. It is time you were making yourself scarce about here.”

“I am going as soon as the gang-plank is shoved out,” replied Guy.

“But I want to see you go. I am well posted in the tricks of you dead-beats, and can’t be fooled easy. Come on. That isn’t all your baggage,” he added as Guy picked up his valise. “You had a bundle when you came on board.”

“If you are better acquainted with my business than I am, you had better attend to it,” replied the boy, who did not like the steward’s domineering tone. “I guess I know what I am doing.”

He pushed past the officer as he spoke, and started down the stairs. On the way he met with Bob Walker, who was loitering around on purpose to see him off.

Bob winked at the steward and nodded familiarly to Guy, who returned the recognition with a savage scowl. When the latter disappeared down the stairs, Bob seated himself on the railing, and drawing a buckskin purse from his pocket, shook it in his closed hands, and smiled complacently. If one might judge by the loud jingling of its contents, the purse was well filled.

“Now, my young boy,” said the steward, when he and Guy had descended the gang-plank that led to the pier, “I shall stand here until I see you safely ashore. Good-by, and the next time you start out on your travels, be sure you’ve got money in your pocket.”

Guy bolted off without saying a word in reply. The extraordinary interest the steward took in his movements was something he had not bargained for, and he was very much afraid that he might not succeed in returning to the steamer without being seen by him or some one else who would order him ashore again.

What could he do in that case? Saginaw, what little he was able to see of it by the aid of the light from the lanterns and torches on the pier, was not a cheerful-looking place. More than that, he did not know a soul there; and where could he go to pass the night and find a breakfast the next morning? The only friend he had that side of Norwall was the wheelsman, and sooner than lose him he would do something desperate.

Casting his eye over his shoulder occasionally, he saw that the steward was not only keeping watch of him, but that he was following him to see that he went ashore.

There were two others watching him also—Bob Walker, who was perched upon the rail, and Dick Flint, who stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the wheel-house.

“Bob is very anxious to see the last of me,” said Guy to himself, “and that, in my opinion, is another proof that he stole my money. But he isn’t as smart as he thinks he is, and neither is the steward. With Flint’s help I can fool them both. There’s no use in spoiling things by being in too great a hurry. The crew are getting ready to wood-up, so I shall have plenty of time.”

Guy made his way along the wood-pile, but when he reached the end of it he could not “round to and come up on the other side,” as the sailor had told him to do, so he kept straight ahead, and having reached the shore, stopped in the shadow of a warehouse. Neither Bob nor the steward could see him there, but as the pier and the steamer were brilliantly lighted up, he could observe their every movement.

He saw the steward, who had followed him to the end of the wood-pile, gaze steadily at the warehouse for a few minutes, and then turn about, go back to the propeller, and disappear in the gangway. Bob also left his perch after a little delay, and that was a signal to Guy to bestir himself.

He ran quickly down the bank to the pier, and throwing himself on his hands and knees behind the wood-pile, made his way toward the steamer, dragging his valise after him. In a few seconds more he was crouching close at the edge of the pier, waiting impatiently for a sign from Dick Flint, who was walking slowly up and down the deck.

Bob Walker, having seen Guy disappear behind the warehouse, drew a long breath of relief, and pulled a fresh cigar from his pocket.

“He has gone at last,” said he, “and I am safe. His presence for the last three days has been a perfect torture to me; but from this time forward I shall stand in no fear of discovery. There comes the steward, and I might as well have a glass of ale.”

Bob was very observing, and the Queen of the Lakes had not been many hours out of the port of Norwall before he began to learn something. He noticed that there were two or three gentlemen among the cabin passengers who made regular hourly visits to some place abaft the cabin, and that when they came back they were either smoking fragrant cigars or wiping their lips as if they had something good to eat or drink. Bob made it his business to follow them on one of their excursions, and found that they stopped in front of a little bar kept by the steward. After that Bob went there on his own responsibility, and became one of the best customers at the bar. As he always paid for what he got, and seemed to have plenty of money, the steward cultivated his acquaintance, and was ready to serve him with a cigar or a glass of ale at any hour of the day or night.

On this particular evening, as Bob made his way aft, a sailor followed him at a respectful distance. While he stood at the bar, the man, who was partially concealed behind a stanchion, took off his hat and waved it once or twice in the air, whereupon a figure which was crouching at the end of the wood-pile sprung up and darted into the gangway like a flash. It was Guy Harris.

Rapid as his movements were, however, he did not succeed in entering the gangway without discovery; for Bob, having received some change from the steward, who at once closed the bar and went off, faced about, and while putting the money away in his purse, happened to cast his eye toward the pier just in time to see Guy jump up from behind the wood-pile. He thought he recognized him, and to make sure of it leaned quickly over the side and obtained a good view of him.

“Now that plan won’t work, my young friend,” he exclaimed, and so astonished was he that he spoke the words aloud. “It will never do to let you stay here. I’ll have you put off again before you are five minutes older.”

Bob hastily put the purse into his pocket and was hurrying forward when he found himself brought to a stand-still by a burly fellow who suddenly stepped before him and blocked up his path.

“Hold hard there!” said the latter. “Where are you going?”

“I want to find the steward,” answered Bob, trying to crowd by the sailor.

“Hold hard there, I say!” repeated the man, seizing Bob by the collar and pushing him back. “What do you want to see the steward for?”

“What’s that to you, you insolent fellow? Let me pass, and don’t dare put your hand on me again. If you do, I will report you to the captain.”

“Oh, you will, will you? Come on, there’s the old man on the pier.”

Flint, for it was he, linked his brawny arm through Bob’s and made a motion to pull him toward the stairs, but the boy drew back.

“Why don’t you come on?” cried the wheelsman. “I thought you wanted to report me to the cap’n. What have you got to say to the steward, I ask you?”

“There’s a fellow below who is going to steal a ride to Chicago,” replied Bob, alarmed at the man’s tone and manner.

“No, he hain’t,” said Flint. “He’s only come back to get his money. Hand it out here.”

Bob’s assurance was pretty well frightened out of him by these words. His secret was not safe after all. He made a strong effort to keep up his courage.

“Hand what out?” he asked, trying to assume a look of injured innocence.

“Oh, you don’t know nothing about it, do you? I want that buckskin purse that you just put into your pocket. There’s fifteen dollars in it, or ought to be, and you stole it from your room-mate on the first night out from Norwall. Hand it over, I say.”

“I didn’t steal any money. You didn’t see me put any buckskin purse into my pocket, and I haven’t got any, either. The best thing you can do is to let me pass.”

“You needn’t put on no frills with me, ’cause they won’t go down. You didn’t know that the curtain of the window of your state-room was up that night, did you? You didn’t think I saw you when you took that purse out of your room-mate’s pocket, did you? Well, I did; and I heard you tell him when he asked you what you were doing, that you had been out on deck to see how things were going on, and that it was raining buckets and blowing great guns butt-end foremost. Aha!” he added, seeing that an expression of unbounded astonishment overspread Bob’s pale face. “I know all about it, don’t I? I stood here, too, while you were loafing at that bar, and saw you take that same purse from your pocket and pay for a glass of something out of it. And there it is, right there,” said Flint, making a sudden dash at the boy’s pocket and clutching it and its contents with a firm grasp. “Now hand it out without no more words, or I’ll walk you down to the old man and have you locked up for a thief. I sha’n’t ask you again.”

Bob was utterly confounded. The conversation between him and Guy on the first night out had taken place just as the sailor had repeated it, and that was the time he had stolen the purse from his friend’s pocket. But how in the world could the theft have been found out? Guy did not see him take the money, for he was asleep. Beyond a doubt Flint told the truth when he said that he had observed the whole proceeding. Overcome with fear and rage Bob could not speak. Mistaking his silence for obstinacy, the wheelsman seized him by the collar and began dragging him toward the stairs, intending to take him before the captain. Then Bob found his tongue very speedily.

“Hold on,” he cried. “If I give you the money will you promise that you won’t blow on me?”

“I’ll keep still if you do; but if I hear you lisp a word about a fellow’s trying to steal a ride to Chicago I’ll have you locked up as sure as you’re alive. Now,” he added, as Bob placed the purse in his hands, “how much have you spent out of it?”

“Just ten cents.”

“Well, hand it out here. I must have fifteen dollars. Not a red less will satisfy me.”

“I have nothing smaller than a dollar.”

“Then give me that. I’ll take it for interest.”

Bob did not dare refuse. He gave the money to the wheelsman, who said, as he put it away in the purse:

“Now go into your room, and don’t show your face on deck again until this vessel is well under way. Keep a still tongue in your head and I’ll do the same.”

Bob, glad enough to get out of the man’s sight, at once started for the cabin. Flint watched him out of sight and then rolled off toward the wheel-house, winking and nodding his head as if he were highly gratified at what he had done.