CHAPTER XIII.

THE FATE OF THE “WARRIOR.”

The passengers on board the ill-fated steamers turned pale with terror. Wild commands were shouted from both of the boats--commands no man could obey.

Jack Carboy did his best to avert the catastrophe, and the _Spray_ obeyed her master as only a perfect piece of mechanism could.

But Colonel Darringford seemed to have suddenly been changed to a madman. In spite of the iron-clad rule of navigation that he was breaking; in spite of the doom that awaited him and all on his steamer, he bore madly down across the path of the _Spray_.

In a moment a terrible crash sounded above the cries of human beings. A shock--a mighty plunge--a downward sweep of the bows of the _Warrior_ and a swift sheering off of the _Spray_, and the collision was over.

The prompt action of the officers and crew of the new steamer averted what at first seemed certain destruction to both boats. But as it was the older and weaker craft was soon struggling helplessly in the pathway of the other.

Some of the passengers on the _Warrior_ were flung headlong into the water; others jumped overboard in their alarm, while those who remained on the decks were thrown in heaps together.

Fortunately none was killed on the _Spray_, though many were injured to greater or less extent. The steamer had received a jagged rent in her port where the old steamer had struck. But it was nothing that could not be repaired so they could keep on their way.

But it was soon evident that the _Warrior_ would have to be overhauled before she could run on another trip.

Boats were lowered and lines dropped to those in the water, and so rapidly did the work of rescue go on that in less than half an hour after the shock of the collision all of the passengers on the _Warrior_ had been taken on the _Spray_.

As far as could be ascertained no lives had been lost.

It was decided to try and get the _Warrior_ into the dock at Landlock.

Rodney Darringford came on board the _Spray_, but his father, who showed that he had recovered from the influence of the liquor, did not. He was bitter in his denunciations of the rival boat.

“I’ll make you pay for this, Judge Oglesby, if there is law enough in the land to do it. You have ruined my boat.”

No reply was made to this threat, and after temporarily repairing the hole that had been made in the _Spray_, the steamer, with her double cargo of passengers, once more steamed on her way.

No one censured the conduct of the officers of the _Spray_. In fact, many tried to find Captain Mercer to extend their praise for his gallant conduct.

He was closeted in his cabin with Judge Oglesby and Mr. Montague, so that he was not to be seen for the present.

“You behaved nobly, Dean,” declared the judge, dropping the official form of address as he spoke.

“I do not see that I did anything unusual. If any praise is deserving it belongs to Jack Carboy. But for his prompt and intelligent action our steamer must have received more damage than she has, if not ruined entirely.”

“The old seadog is a diamond in the rough. We can trust him. This will probably make us an hour late at Springfield.”

“Better lose an hour than our lives,” said Mr. Montague, though he was as anxious to reach the city as his companions.

Nothing further occurred to mar the trip to Springfield. A short stop was made at Landlock, where the _Warrior_ would have to remain.

So, leaving the veteran steamer slumbering at her dock, the _Spray_, still carrying all of the through passengers, glided triumphantly on her way.

“It will be a month at least before the _Warrior_ can be made serviceable again, if she can be at all,” declared Judge Oglesby to the young commander. “Colonel Darringford, through his folly, has sealed his own ill fortune. Captain Mercer, you have a clear way now, and if this other matter can be settled satisfactorily, your success is assured.”

“I suppose I am foolish,” thought the young captain, “but somehow I wish Rodney Darringford had stayed with his father.”

Colonel Darringford meanwhile, having urged his son to go to Springfield and find Tim Downey, was devoting all of his time and energies to swallowing huge potations of fiery liquor.

As he drank he grew boisterous, so the men became alarmed. Near the close of day he was seen to emerge from his cabin and stagger across the deck to the gangway.

Then, drawing his heavy, gold watch from his vest pocket, he gazed unsteadily at its face for a minute or more, when he suddenly blurted out:

“Five o’clock and the steamer at her dock here! Where is the crew?”

One of the men who had been left to keep watch over the boat while the others were ashore upon one errand or another ventured to approach the delirious speaker, saying:

“I am sorry, Colonel Darringford, but there ain’t no crew here but me and the fireman.”

“No crew?” fairly roared the colonel. “And the steamer lying here with all those passengers waiting to come aboard for a start. Wake up, you idiot! summon the crew; let on the steam; ye gods! I’ll discharge every man of you at Springfield!”

The watchman looked upon the crazed speaker and then glanced toward the shore. A few boys were playing about the place, and in the distance he could see three or four men going about their duties. Further away he saw faintly the captain of the boat, but he was beyond his hail. There was not a passenger in sight.

Colonel Darringford glowered upon him fiercely, and then yelled:

“To your post, you lubber! Order the men to lower the staging so all those passengers can come aboard. They have paid their money, and they shall have passage to their journey’s end.”

Then, as if a new thought had come into his bewildered brain, he demanded:

“Where’s that new boat--that infernal----”

“You mean the _Spray_, Colonel? She’s gone on to Springfield.”

“And left the only decent boat on the lake here, with a thousand passengers waiting to come aboard, and--and--and not--a--not--a--man----”

His rage making him speechless, Colonel Darringford made an attempt to reach the watchman, muttering:

“I’ll choke the life out----”

In the midst of his incoherent speech he staggered to and fro, making a vain attempt to maintain his equilibrium, but a moment later he sank upon the deck unconscious. From thence he was carried to the cabin and left there to sleep off the delirium and stupor of his protracted debauch.

The whole scene would have been ridiculous had not its price been a ruined manhood.

Upon reaching Springfield, the first thing Judge Oglesby and Dean did was to arrange for the needed repairs of the _Spray_, after which they sought the bank officials to learn about the check that had been cashed there.

But that institution had been closed for over two hours, and the cashier had been called out of town, and would not be back until the afternoon of the following day.

Messrs. Brown and Sewall were found, but they could throw no light upon the situation. They had not sent a man to represent them and so it was evident some one had got possession of the check through deception.

“I assure you we are not worried about the money, Judge Oglesby,” said Mr. Brown.

But there was more than the loss of money at stake.

While the judge and Dean were trying to solve this mystery, Mr. Montague was meeting with keener disappointment elsewhere in his endeavor to find what had become of Marcus Ellison.

Late the following evening not a single clew had been found to settle either of these mooted questions.

Dean Mercer was fain to return to the steamer to spend the night, while the judge went to one of the hotels and Mr. Montague accepted the invitation of his colleague, Mr. Durand, to go to his home.

At the small hour of one only a few belated wayfarers were abroad, and a comparative silence lay upon the town.

Then the stillness was suddenly broken by the most startling cry that robs man of rest:

“Fire--fire--fire!”

The alarm had started down by the dock.