he lumber
shares into money as soon as he got ashore, for he could easily do
that."

"Then with the money due on the note he has about two thousand dollars
belonging to----"

"Belonging to Nat!" interrupted Mr. Clayton, "and I'll see that the
boy gets it. Come on, don't lose any time. Bumstead may skip out. I
didn't like the man when I was in the same crew with him, but I never
supposed he was a thief."

"This explains why he did not want Nat to come aboard to work," said
the pilot. "He was afraid Mr. Morton's son would discover something."

"And I _did_, too," put in Nat. "I saw him have my father's wallet."

"That's so; I forgot about that for the moment," cried Mr. Weatherby.
"Do you recall that pocketbook, with Mr. Morton's name on it in gold
letters?" he asked, turning to Mr. Clayton.

"Indeed, I do. Jim thought a lot of that. Has Bumstead got it?"

"We have every reason to think he has."

"He's a thorough villain," commented Mr. Clayton. "Now don't let's
delay any longer, or he may skip out. Let's get a policeman, or a
detective, and have him locked up. I'll be a witness against him."

"I guess that's our best plan," assented the pilot. "Well, Nat, you're
better off than you thought you were. Two thousand dollars is a neat
sum for a lad like you."

"I haven't got it yet."

"No, but we'll see that you do get it," replied Mr. Weatherby's
friend. "We'll have the law on that rascally mate. No wonder he wanted
his nephew to have your place."

"Shall we go down where the _Jessie Drew_ is tied up, and see if the
mate is aboard before we get an officer, or stop at the police station
first?" asked Mr. Weatherby, as he, Nat and Mr. Clayton left the
hotel.

"Let's get a policeman, or a detective, first," was Mr. Clayton's
answer. "We can't take any chances with a man like Bumstead. To think
of him having that money more than two years, since poor Jim was
drowned, and Nat suffering for what was really his own!"

"Oh, I didn't suffer so much," was our hero's answer. "I managed to
get along, and Mr. and Mrs. Miller were very good to me. Then I had a
good friend in Mr. Weatherby."

"No better than I had in you," replied the pilot, who had told his
friend of the plucky rescue.

A stop at the police station, and a recital of part of the story to
the sergeant in charge, readily procured the services of a detective.
In order to excite no suspicions, it was arranged that the officer and
Mr. Clayton should go on