THE TRAMP RENDEZVOUS
"Come on!" cried Joe to Reggie Varley, not giving that astonished young
man a chance to greet him. "Come on! Got plenty of gas?"
"Gas? Yes, of course. But where? What is it? Are they after you?"
"Not at all. We're after _them_!" laughed Joe. He could afford to laugh
now, for he felt that he was about to be vindicated.
"But I--er--I don't understand," spoke Reggie, slowly. "Where is it you
want to go?"
"After the tramp who rifled the valise you suspected me of opening in
that way-station some time ago," answered Joe quickly. "We're after him
to prove I didn't do it!"
"Oh, but my dear Matson--really now, I don't believe you took it. Sis
went for me red-hot, you know, after you told her. She called me all
kinds of a brute for even mentioning it to you, and really----"
He paused rather helplessly, while Joe, taking the situation into his
own hands, climbed up beside Reggie, who was alone in his big car. The
young pitcher motioned for Pop to get into the tonneau, and the veteran
did so, still wondering what was going to happen.
"It's all right," laughed Joe, more light-hearted than he had been in
many months. "If you'll take us to Shiller's Woods you may see something
that will surprise you."
"But still I don't understand."
Joe explained briefly how Hogan, the railroad tramp, had boasted of
robbing a valise corresponding to Reggie's. Hogan was now within five
miles of Pittston, hiding in a tramps' camp, and if he was arrested, or
caught, he might be made to tell the truth of the robbery, clear Joe,
and possibly inform Reggie where the watch and jewelry had been disposed
of.
"I don't suppose he has any of it left," said Reggie, simply. "There was
one bracelet belonging to sis that I'd like awfully much to get back."
"Well, we can try," answered Joe, hopefully.
"Sometimes," broke in Pop, "those fellows can't dispose of the stuff
they take, and then they hide it. Maybe we can get it back."
"Let's hope so," went on Reggie. "And now, where do you want to go? I'll
take you anywhere you say, and I've got plenty of gas."
"Shiller's Woods," returned Joe. "Do you know where it is, Pop?"
"Yes. I've been there--once or twice."
"And now," went on Joe, as he settled back in the seat, still in his
baseball uniform, as was Pop Dutton, "how did you happen to be here?"
and he looked at Reggie.
"Why, I had to come up in this section on business for dad, and sis
insisted that I bring her along. So we motored up, and here we are. Sis
is at the Continental."
"Our hotel!" gasped Joe. "I didn't see her!" His heart was beating
wildly.
"No, I just left her there," returned Reggie. "She is wild to see these
final games----"
"I hope she sees us win," murmured Joe.
"But about this chase," went on Reggie. "If we're going up against a lot
of tramps perhaps we'd better have a police officer with us."
"It wouldn't be a bad idea," agreed Pop. "We can stop and pick up a
railroad detective I know. They'll be glad of the chance to raid the
tramps, for they don't want them hanging around."
"Good idea," announced Joe, who was still puzzling over the manner in
which things fitted together, and wondering at the absurdly simple way
in which Reggie had appeared on the scene.
The car sped away from the ball field, purring on its silent, powerful
way. Pop Dutton gave directions as to the best roads to follow, and a
little distance out of Pittston he called a halt, in order that a
railroad detective might be summoned.
They found one at a small branch freight station, and this man called a
companion, so there were five who proceeded to the rendezvous of the
tramps in Shiller's Woods.
It is not a difficult matter to raid the abiding place of the men,
unfortunates if you will, who are known as "hoboes," and tramps. They
are not criminals in the usual sense of the term, though they will
descend to petty thievery. Usually they are "pan-handlers," beggars and
such; though occasionally a "yegg-man," or safe-blower, will throw in
his lot with them.
But for the most part the men are low characters, living as best they
can, cooking meager meals over a camp fire, perhaps raiding hen-roosts
or corn fields, and moving from place to place.
They have no wish to defy police authority, and usually disappear at the
first alarm, to travel on to the next stopping place. So there was no
fear of any desperate encounter in this raid.
The railroad detectives said as much, and expressed the belief that they
would not even have to draw their revolvers.
"We'll be glad of the chance to clean the rascals out," said one
officer, "for they hang around there, and rob freight cars whenever
they get the chance."
"But we'd like a chance to talk to them--at least to this Hogan,"
explained Joe. "We want to find what he did with Mr. Varley's jewelry."
"Well, then, the only thing to do is to surround them, and hold them
there until you interview them," was the decision. "I guess we can do
it."
Shiller's Woods were near the railroad line, in a lonesome spot, and the
outskirts were soon reached. The auto was left in charge of a switchman
at his shanty near a crossing and the occupants, consisting of the two
detectives, Joe, Pop and Reggie, proceeded on foot. They all carried
stout cudgels, though the officers had revolvers for use in emergency.
But they were not needed. Pop Dutton knew the way well to a little
hollow where the tramps slept and ate. He led the others to it, and so
quietly did they approach that the tramps were surrounded before they
knew it.
Down in a grassy hollow were half a dozen of them gathered about a fire
over which was stewing some mixture in a tomato can, suspended over the
flame on a stick, by means of a bit of wire.
"Good afternoon, boys!" greeted one of the officers, as he stood up, and
looked down on the men. It was apparent at first glance that Hogan was
one of them. Pop had silently indicated him.
The tramps started up, but seeing that they were surrounded settled back
philosophically. Only Hogan looked eagerly about for a way of escape.
"It's no go," said one of the railroad detectives. "Just take it easy,
and maybe you won't be so badly off as you imagine."
Hogan had been found at last. It developed that Pop had asked his former
"friends of the road" to keep track of him, and send word when located.
This had been done by the ragged man who accosted the old player on the
diamond that afternoon.