ON LAKE HURON
“Somebody’s hurt!” cried Fenn.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” replied Captain Wiggs, coolly. “There generally is when an explosion occurs in a boiler room.”
“Aren’t we going to help them?” inquired Frank.
“I’ll give them any aid they need,” said the commander. “We’ll see how much the damage amounts to. I’ll steam back toward ’em.”
He gave the necessary orders, and soon the Modoc was slowly approaching the disabled craft. The clouds of steam had somewhat dispersed, but that something was wrong was evident from the manner in which men were hurrying about the deck of the recent pursuing yacht.
“I guess it wasn’t as bad as I thought,” remarked Mr. Wiggs. “They seem to have stopped the leak in the pipe. I hope none of the men are badly scalded. I’ll offer ’em help, and they can take it or leave it. They’ve made enough trouble for me as it is.”
But the strange craft evidently did not desire any aid, nor did the commanders of it seem to court any investigation of what had happened. As the Modoc approached the other boat’s whistle sounded, and then it slowly started off, like a lame dog running away from a fight with a superior antagonist.
“Had enough, eh?” remarked the captain. “I thought so. Well, I’m not sorry that I don’t have to get to close quarters with them. It looks as if it was coming on to blow, and it’s no joke to have to tow a disabled boat on Lake Erie in a storm.”
Seeing that his proffered offer of help was declined Captain Wiggs changed the course back to his original one. As the other craft turned about, and steamed slowly away, Fenn watched through the glass, and the last thing he could see was the man with the ugly face, standing at the stern, gazing at the Modoc through a telescope.