Then he made his way down-stairs, opened a door, and found himself in a kitchen, confronted by a resolute old colored woman, who, after one glance at his strange face, let fly at it a ladle of hot water. This a.s.sault was immediately followed by such a well-directed shower of plates, pans, and culinary utensils as caused the intruder to utter howls of pain and make a blind dash for an outer door.

Even outside the house his troubles were far from ended, for shouting men were running towards him through the darkness, while at the same time a dog leaped at him.

Throttling the animal and flinging him off after a vigorous struggle, Connell had next to knock down a man who was attacking him on the opposite side, receive a blow from a broom-handle wielded by Aunty Nimmo, dodge several other a.s.sailants, and finally to run for his life.

When the poor fellow at length found himself alone and safe from present pursuit, he sat breathlessly on a log, over which he had just pitched headlong, and began to consider his situation.

"You may talk about your dynamite and gunpowder," he said, "but being blown up with aither of them isn't a patch to what I've gone through this night. What with being wracked on a rock in the sea, fighting smugglers, nagurs, and Polanders--to say nothing of dogs and other wild animals--beat and battered, torn and scalded, tripped up and lost in the wilderness, and all in the middle of a cruel blackness, is an experience that any man might be grateful to be done with. If I have a whole bone left inside of me skin, or a rag to me back, it's more than I'm hoping. Now what'll I do next?

"Will I go back to the house? Indade I will not. Will I make another try for the cave? Not so long as I have me right mind. Will I go back to Red Jacket?--and meet them as would ax me what had I done with Mister Peril? Not on your life. Where is Mister Peril at this blessed minute, anyhow? At sea on board the smuggler, or I miss me guess. How will I get to him? By taking a boat, of course. Where will I find one?

At Laughing Fish Cove, to be sure. That's the very place, bedad! and the sooner I'm getting there the better."

The tug _Broncho_ had reached Laughing Fish about an hour before Mike Connell arrived at this decision. She had come in search of the party of log-wreckers that she had brought to that place more than a week earlier, and now those on board were greatly troubled at not finding a trace of the missing men save their deserted camp. Nor could they obtain any information concerning them from the fisher folk of the cove.

On board the tug was Major Arkell, who had been led by curiosity to take the trip. He was curious to know what had become of the young man whom he had sent into that region to pick up wrecked logs, and he was also curious to ascertain what had become of a large number of those same logs that still remained unaccounted for. At the same time he would like to investigate certain reports that had reached him of the reopening of some old mine-workings in that neighborhood. He had hoped that his researches might not take him beyond Laughing Fish, where he antic.i.p.ated finding Richard Peveril prepared to answer all his questions. Failing to discover the young man, or any trace of him, the problems that he had set out to solve became more interesting than before, and he ordered Captain Spillins to start at daybreak on a cruise still farther up the coast.

Early on the following morning, therefore, everything was in readiness on board the tug, and its crew were getting up the anchor when their attention was arrested by the shouts and gesticulations of a man on the beach.

"Send a boat in and see what he wants," said the manager; and ten minutes later Mike Connell was on board, telling his story to a highly interested group of listeners.

Within an hour after receiving her new pa.s.senger, the _Broncho_, under full head of steam, was several miles to the northward of Laughing Fish, and well out to sea, in hot pursuit of a small schooner. The latter was slipping easily along before the fresh morning breeze that had recently set in after a night of calm. The water rippled merrily past her flashing sides, and she was making some six miles an hour. At the same time the _Broncho_, pouring forth great clouds of soft-coal smoke and heaping the smooth water into double white-crested billows as she rushed through it, was doing two miles to her one, and would soon overtake her.

"Whatever can that bloomin' teakettle want of us?" growled the captain of the schooner as he blinked with half-closed eyes at his pursuer.

"She ain't no revenue boat, as I can see. Tom, h'ist our ensign as a hint for 'em to keep away."

The sailor obeyed, and a minute later ran the crimson flag of Great Britain to the main peak, where it streamed out bravely in the freshening breeze.

"Got a flag aboard this boat, Captain Spillins?" asked Major Arkell as he watched the schooner from the _Broncho's_ pilot-house.

"Yes, sir, two of 'em."

"Good. We'll see that fellow and go him one better. Set 'em both."

In consequence of this order the Stars and Stripes were quickly snapping defiantly from both the forward and after jack-staffs of the on-rushing tug.

"Sheer off, blast you, or you'll run us down!" bellowed the captain of the schooner as the tug ranged close abreast.

"Is that your man?" asked the manager, of Mike Connell.

"He is. Sure I'd know him from a thousand by me own frescos on his purty face."

"Have you a man named Richard Peveril aboard your craft?" demanded Captain Spillins.

"None of your d----d business."

"Run him down!" ordered Major Arkell, sternly, and the words had hardly left his mouth before the two vessels came together with a crash.

CHAPTER XXV

A SEA-FIGHT ON LAKE SUPERIOR

As no other schooner was in sight, and as this one was standing off the coast when discovered, the _Broncho_ people had from the very first believed her to be the one they wanted. Her hoisting of British colors strengthened this belief, and it was finally confirmed by Connell's recognition of her captain. Until that moment, however, they had entertained serious doubts as to whether they should find Peveril on board; for it did not seem credible that even a smuggler, accustomed to running great risks, would dare abduct and forcibly carry off an American citizen. They did not know of the tempting reward promised to the schooner's captain for doing that very thing, nor of his determination to make this his last voyage on the great lake. So they anxiously awaited his answer to the question:

"Have you a man named Richard Peveril aboard your craft?"

When it came, although it was neither yes nor no, it so thoroughly confirmed their suspicions that they had no hesitation in attempting to rescue their friend by force, and the _Broncho's_ men gave a yell of delight as the two vessels crashed together.

On board the tug this moment had been foreseen and prepared for. Two small anchors had been got ready to serve as grappling-irons, and each man had been told off for special duty. The regular crew of four men had been materially strengthened by the addition of the two pa.s.sengers; but, as the engineer must be left on board under all circ.u.mstances, the available fighting force was reduced to five. As it happened, this was the exact number on board the schooner. So, as the _Bronchos_ scrambled to her deck, each singled out an individual and went for him.

The vessel had been thrown into the wind by the collision, her sails were thrashing to and fro with a tremendous clatter, which, combined with a roar of escaping steam from the tug, created such dire confusion among the smugglers as rendered them almost incapable of resistance. In fact, their captain was the only one who made a show of fighting; and, springing at him with a howl of delight, Mike Connell sent him sprawling to the deck with a single blow. Then the Irishman dove down the companionway, cast a hasty glance about the little cabin, and made for the only door in sight. A couple of vigorous kicks burst it open, and in another minute Richard Peveril was again a free man.

As the two friends reached the deck, Connell uttered a wild Irish yell of triumph, while the released captive, who now gained his first inkling of what had taken place, stared about him in bewilderment.

Then he burst into a shout of laughter at the spectacle of four men, one of whom was the dignified manager of the great White Pine Mining Company, calmly sitting on the prostrate bodies of four others, while a fifth, who had just struggled to his feet with a very rueful countenance, suddenly dropped to the deck again as he caught sight of Connell.

Greeting Peveril with a hearty cheer, and carrying him with them, the _Bronchos_ regained their ship and cast off the lines that held her to the schooner. As these were loosed her jingle-bell rang merrily, her screw churned the dimpled waters into a yeasty foam, and, with a derisive farewell yell from her exultant crew, she dashed away, leaving her recent antagonist enveloped in a cloud of sulphurous smoke. The whole affair had occupied just five minutes.

There was no lack of entertainment on board the good tug _Broncho_ as she again headed southward and ploughed her way briskly towards Laughing Fish, for every one had thrilling stories to tell or to hear.

"It seems to me," remarked Major Arkell to Peveril, after listening attentively to the young man's narration, "that you have managed to compress a greater number of desperate adventures and hair-breadth escapes into a short s.p.a.ce of time than any other man in the Copper Country. I, for instance, have been here for ten years, and haven't yet had an adventure worth the telling."

"Not even the one of this morning?"

"Oh, that was only an incident compared with what has happened to you.

How do you manage it? Do you always find such stirring times wherever you go?"

"No, indeed," laughed Peveril; "until very recently I have led a most quiet and uneventful life. Even now I would gladly exchange all my adventures, as you are pleased to call them, for the smallest sc.r.a.p of information regarding the mine that I came out here to find."

"Haven't you learned anything concerning your Copper Princess yet?"

"Not one word."

"That's strange! I wonder if it can be located in the Ontonagon region?"

"I had just about made up my mind to visit that section and find out,"

replied Peveril. "That is, if I have earned enough money while working for you to pay my travelling expenses."

"I guess you have," laughed the major; "but I can't let you go yet a while, for I shall want you to help me settle accounts with that old fellow who stole our logs. Besides, you have so aroused my curiosity regarding those prehistoric workings of yours that I should like very much to visit them. Do you think you could find the entrance again?"

"Which entrance--the hole down which I was thrown, or the one through which I crawled out?"

"The one by which you were introduced to them, of course. From your own account, the other is altogether too small for comfort, and the chances of being shot for trespa.s.s are altogether too great in its vicinity."

"I expect I could find the locality, but I hate the idea of ever going near it again. I don't think you can imagine what I suffered while down there. I am sure the place will haunt my worst dreams during the remainder of my life."