GUY HAVING, as he supposed, made his way on board the propeller without being seen by anybody, ran with all possible speed toward the engine-room, keeping a good lookout on all sides for fear of meeting the steward who, as he had learned to his cost, had a way of turning up most unexpectedly. That officer was not in sight, however, but somebody else was, as Guy found when he entered the engineer’s room. It was the striker, who was busy oiling the machinery.

The runaway stopped, undecided what to do. The man, hearing the sound of his footsteps, looked up, and after casting his eyes all about him, nodded encouragingly, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder toward the door of the locker, which stood invitingly open. This reassured Guy, who started forward again, and in less time than it takes to tell it, was snugly curled away in the box behind the door.

The engineer came in soon afterward to put away his oil can, and when he went out he locked the door after him.

Guy felt perfectly safe then, and told himself that there was no danger of discovery. No one came near the locker until the propeller was well out from Saginaw, and then Flint appeared, carrying under his arm a bundle wrapped up in a newspaper.

“Well, our plans worked all right, didn’t they?” said he, and he seemed as highly elated as Guy himself. “You couldn’t have a better hiding-place than this. The steward would never think of looking for you here, even if he knew you were on board, which he doesn’t. There’s only one in the secret beside me and the engineers, and that’s the friend who stole your money.”

“Bob Walker!” gasped Guy. “How did he find it out?”

“He saw you when you came aboard.”

“Then my cake is all dough,” said Guy in great alarm. “He’ll blow on me sure.”

“I’ll risk him, and insure his silence for a dime,” returned Flint. “He’s afraid of me, and he’d better be; for if I hear of his trying to get you into trouble, I’ll have him before the cap’n in less time than he could say ‘hard a port’ with his mouth open. Here’s your purse. I knew he had it.”

“Flint, you’re a good fellow,” said Guy, so overjoyed that he could not speak plainly. “I never can repay you. How did you get it?”

“I saw him have it in his hand, and scared it out of him. I made him believe that I was looking through the window when he took it out of your pocket, and told him that if he didn’t hand it over, I’d have him locked up. He spent ten cents of the money, but I made him give me a dollar, so you’ve got ninety cents for interest. Here’s some bread and cold meat I brought you,” said Flint as he deposited his bundle in one corner of the chest. “You will have to live on it until we reach Chicago, for it won’t be safe for me to come here very often. Somebody might see me. You can walk around a little of nights, but don’t show your face outside the locker in the day-time. Good-by.”

“Now that’s a friend worth having,” said Guy to himself, after the wheelsman had gone out. “Nobody need tell me again that it is such hard work to get on in the world. It’s sheer nonsense. One can always find somebody to lend him a helping hand. I am as comfortable as I care to be, and wouldn’t go home if I had the chance. I am my own master, and can do as I please without asking anybody’s permission. I only wish Flint was a hunter instead of a sailor.”

While these thoughts were passing through Guy’s mind, he was rummaging about in the chest (it was as dark as a pocket in the locker), searching for the bundle Flint had left. Having found it, he ate a few slices of the bread and meat, and then pulling the blankets over his head, curled up and went to sleep.

Before twenty-four hours had passed over his head Guy found occasion to change his mind in regard to some things. He learned that it was exactly the reverse of comfortable to be shut up in such close quarters. He grew weary of this confinement, and longed to get out where he could see what was going on; but he followed Flint’s instructions to the very letter. He ventured out occasionally at night for five or ten minutes, but during the day remained closely concealed, passing the time in sleeping and pacing up and down his narrow prison. While he was taking his exercise he was always on the alert, and the moment a key was inserted into the lock or a hand placed upon the door-knob, he would jump into his box and cover himself up with the blankets. Three days and nights were spent in this way, and then Flint once more made his appearance.

“It’s all right now, my hearty,” said he cheerfully. “We’ll be in Chicago in another hour, and you mustn’t waste any time in getting off after the boat is made fast, for I sha’n’t breathe easy until I know you are safe ashore.”

“Does anybody suspect anything?” asked Guy anxiously.

“Nobody except that friend of yours. He hasn’t said a word, and it is just as well for him that he didn’t; but he’s been all over the steamer a dozen times looking for you. How have you enjoyed yourself, anyhow? Grub all gone yet?”

“Yes; and I’m as hungry as a wolf.”

“Never mind; we’ll have a good supper before long. Be careful that no one sees you when you go off the boat.”

With this piece of advice Flint went out, and Guy, having placed his valise close at hand, walked impatiently up and down the locker, waiting for the propeller to make the landing.

Time moves on laggard wings when one is in a hurry, and Guy thought he had never passed so long an hour before; but at last the engineer’s bell rang, the jarring and rocking of the boat subsided into a gentle, gliding motion, the capstan overhead began to groan and rattle, and finally a heavy bump or two announced that the wharf had been reached. Guy heard the men come down to shove out the gang-plank, and at the same moment one of the engineers pushed open the door of the locker and nodded to him—a signal previously agreed upon between him and Flint that the coast was clear.

Guy picked up his valise and ran quickly through the engine-room, but when he came within sight of the gangway he saw that the propeller was still moving ahead, and that the gang-plank had not yet been pushed out. More than that, his own enemy, the steward, was coming slowly down the stairs, and Guy caught sight of him just in time to avoid discovery by dodging into a dark passage-way.

As soon as the steamer’s headway was checked by the lines the gang-plank was shoved out, and a man on the pier, who had been waiting for an opportunity to come on board, ran up and was cordially greeted by the steward.

“Halloo, Boyle!” exclaimed the officer as the two met at the foot of the stairs, “what do you want here? Are you looking for anybody?”

“Yes, I am,” replied the man.

“It isn’t me, is it?” asked the steward with a laugh.

“No, not this time. I am after a couple of boys who are supposed to have taken passage on this steamer from Norwall. Good-looking young fellows they are, I judge from the description I have of them. One is tall and slender, with light hair and blue eyes, is dressed in black and wears a straw hat. His name is Guy Harris.”

“Great Scott!” thought the listening runaway, “it is all over with me now.”

“I don’t know any boy of that name,” replied the steward, “but we certainly had one aboard who answered to that description. He got off at Saginaw, or rather, we put him off because he had no money. What is the matter?”

“Nothing, only these two young rascals have run away from home, and I am directed to detain them until their fathers arrive—that’s all. Harris got off at Saginaw, you say? I don’t care; his father is rich, I hear, and the more trouble I have to catch him the more money I shall make. The other is short and thickset, with black hair and eyes, wears a blue beaver overcoat, carries a small black valise, and is much given to smoking good cigars. His name is Robert Walker.”

“I don’t know him by that name, but there is such a boy on board, and here he comes now,” said the steward, as the sound of footsteps was heard at the top of the stairs.

The steward and his companion turned their backs and appeared to be very deeply interested in something that was occurring on the wharf, while Guy, trembling with excitement and alarm, drew himself into as small a compass as possible, and waited to see what was going to happen. He was in momentary fear of discovery, for the two men were scarcely more than twenty feet away, and must have seen him if they had once turned their eyes in his direction.

The footsteps sounded nearer, and presently Bob Walker appeared, smoking as usual. He carried his valise in one hand, and the other, being thrust into the pocket of his trousers, held back his overcoat so as to show the gold watch-chain that hung across his vest.

He nodded familiarly to the steward, and was about to pass down the gang-plank when he who had been addressed as Boyle suddenly turned and faced him. He gave a stage start, opened his eyes to their widest extent, looked fixedly at the boy for a moment, and then slowly extended his hand, greeting him with:

“Why, Bob, is it possible? How do you do? How do you do, Bob Walker? How’s your father and mother and all the rest of the good people of Norwall? I didn’t expect to see you here. Give us a shake.”

Bob, taken completely by surprise, involuntarily extended his hand, but suddenly recollecting himself, as quickly withdrew it.

“I didn’t expect to see you either,” said he; “but, as it happens, you’ve made a mistake. My name is Wheeler.”

Bob’s attempt to appear easy and unconcerned was a miserable failure. He knew who the man was, and what brought him there, for he accidentally caught a glimpse of something on the under side of the lapel of his coat. It was a detective’s shield!

Although his heart almost came up into his mouth, he did not lose his courage. He tried to “brave it out,” but, of course, overdid the matter, and his behavior was enough to have removed the last doubt as to his identity, had any existed in the mind of the detective.

“And more than that,” continued Bob, “I don’t live in Norwall. My home is in Omaha. Good-evening!”

“Good-evening,” said the detective. “No offense, I hope?”

“None whatever,” replied Bob politely. “We are all liable to make mistakes.”

“You don’t happen to have a good cigar about your clothes, do you?” said the officer.

Of course Bob had, for he was always well supplied, and promptly produced one.

The detective put it between his teeth, and accepting Bob’s cigar, applied the lighted end to his own, and puffed away until it was fairly started, all the while running his eye over the face and figure of the boy before him.

“Thank you,” said he; “we’ll smoke as we go along. If you are all ready, I am. I see you understand the situation, so there’s no use in wasting time in words. Your father will be along some time to-morrow, and any little explanations you may want—why, he’ll give ’em to you. I guess we had better be walking along now.”

“Haven’t you instructions to arrest somebody else?” asked Bob, with wonderful courage and self-possession.

“Yes; but he doesn’t seem to be here. He was put off at Saginaw.”

“I know he was, but he didn’t stay put off. He is somewhere on this boat now.”

“My gracious!” gasped Guy, squeezing himself closer against the bulk-head.

“Oh, you’re mistaken,” said the steward, with some surprise in his tones. “I saw him go off myself.”

“And I saw him come back,” insisted Bob. “He is concealed somewhere among the cargo.”

“Humph!” exclaimed the engineer, who, while he pretended to be very busy rubbing down the machinery, was listening to every word of the conversation. “How could he live three days without a bite to eat or a drop to drink?”

“That’s easy enough done when one makes up his mind to it,” said Bob. “He’s on this vessel, and I know it. He is as deep in the mud as I am, and I don’t want to go back without him. Won’t you look for him, Mr. Officer?”

“No, I guess not,” answered the detective, who put more faith in the steward’s story than he did in Bob’s. “I’ll find him, sooner or later—you needn’t worry about that. We’d better go along now. Come on.”

Bob might still have continued to argue the matter, had not the detective taken him gently but firmly by the arm and led him down the gang-plank.

Guy, from his place of concealment, watched him until he disappeared in the darkness, and that was the last he ever saw of him.

And what became of Bob after that? His adventures would make a long story; but with them we have at present nothing to do. It will be enough to say that he went home with his father, who arrived in Chicago the next day; but he did not long remain with him. Although he heard nothing to induce the belief that the attempt he had made upon Mr. Harris’ safe was known, there were plenty who were acquainted with the fact that he had run away from home, and that made him very discontented. The war broke out shortly afterward, and Bob went into the service, enlisting as landsman in the Mississippi squadron.

In two years, by bravery and sheer force of character (it is not always the good who are prosperous, except in novels), he raised himself to the rank of acting ensign, and held the position of executive officer of one of the finest “tin-clads” in the fleet. But he was not satisfied with this. The evil in his nature was too strong to be kept down, and with his captain he entered into a conspiracy to surrender his vessel to the rebels for a large amount of cotton—some say four hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth.

Bob’s conspiracy was defeated through the vigilance of a young officer, whose name is known to but few, and whose exploit, as far as I have been able to learn, was never mentioned in the report of the Secretary of the Navy.

Their villainous plot being discovered, Bob and his commanding officer made their escape from the vessel one dark night, and that was the last that was ever seen of them.

Guy saw all that transpired, and listened to the conversation between Bob and the detective like one in a dream. He now looked upon the temporary loss of his money as a blessing in disguise, for had he paid his passage to Chicago his arrest would have been certain. But he felt comparatively safe, for Boyle had been put on a wrong scent. It would take him two or three days to go to Saginaw and back, and by that time, if the schooner was ready to sail, Guy and his friend would be miles on their way toward the Atlantic Ocean.

So fearful was he, however, that the detective might yet return and take him into custody, or that he might be waiting on the wharf ready to receive him when he came out, that Guy dared not leave his hiding-place.

He saw the steward go back up the stairs and the cabin passengers come down and go ashore, but he did not move until the engineer stepped up and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Look here, my friend,” said he, with some impatience in his tone, “we’ve done all we could for you, and now you’d better be making tracks. We don’t want you here any longer.”

The man’s looks indicated very plainly that, if he did not go off the boat of his own accord and at once, he would be helped off, so Guy lost no time in putting himself in motion. He caught up his valise, and without stopping to thank the engineer for his kindness in allowing him to use his locker for a hiding-place during the voyage, hurried down the gang-plank, and stopped in the shadow of a building on the opposite side of the wharf. There he was safe from observation, and there he remained until he saw the wheelsman come ashore with his dunnage slung over his shoulder.