“Off the North Shoe,” said he; but he was not able wholly to conceal his vexation that I had seen him take the glass from his lips. “We shall be in Ruoara in half an hour, and I will send a sheriff after the villain. You say Christy went about ten miles, Wolf?”
“Yes, sir; as nearly as I could guess.”
“We’ll catch him yet,” added my father, confidently. “Have an eye to the engine, Wolf, while I go and see the captain about it.”
My father left the engine-room, which he would not have done if he had not supposed me entirely competent to run the machine. I determined to have an eye to something besides the engine. In my father’s present state of mind, I feared he would drink till he was helpless. I raised the lid of the seat and took out the strange bottle. It was about half full. There was mischief enough left in it to rob my father of all his senses.
Even as a boy I prided myself on my promptness in action. The present seemed to be a moment when it was my duty to cast out an evil spirit. I took the bottle to the gangway, where there was a large scupper-hole to let the water run off when the decks were washed down. Into this I emptied the contents of the “vial of wrath.” The fiery liquid ran through and mingled with the clear waters of the lake. Having no spite against the bottle, I returned it to the locker in the engine-room, rather to save my father the trouble of looking for it than because I had any regard for its preservation.
Presently my father returned with the captain of the steamer, who did not seem to relish the idea of leaving the engine in charge of a boy of fifteen. They talked about the lost money, and my father was tolerably cheerful under the influence of the dram he had taken. The captain said that Mr. Mortimer, the sheriff, was almost always on the wharf when the steamer made her landing, and that he would be glad to start instantly in pursuit of the robber. It was a kind of business which he enjoyed, and if any one could catch Christy, he could. I was quite satisfied with this arrangement, and so was my father.
When the boat touched at Ruoara, Mr. Mortimer was on the pier, as the captain had said he would be. He was more than willing to undertake the task of pursuing the thief, and the steamer was detained at the landing long enough for him to procure a warrant for the arrest of the fugitive. He was to cross the lake to the next port on the other side, from which he was to proceed, by private conveyance, to the town nearest to the point where Christy had left the locomotive. Mr. Mortimer came into the engine-room as the boat started, and we gave him all the information we possessed in regard to the robber.
“Now, Mortimer, won’t you take something before you go ashore?” said my father.
“Thank you, I don’t care if I do,” replied the sheriff. “I have had a cold for two or three days and a little of the ardent won’t hurt me, though I am not in the habit of taking it very often.”
“It will do you good; it does me good,” added my father, as he raised the lid of the locker and took out the queer bottle.