I am about it all!"

"Never mind. It's all right now, and all can be explained, I guess."

"Of course it can."

"Say, when you fellows get through chinnin' maybe you'll tell me what
you're goin' to do with me?" snarled the tramp.

"We surely will," said Tom. "We're going to tie you up, and then send
for the police."

"You are! Not if I know it!" With an angry cry the man endeavored to
break from the hold of the two lads. But they were too much for the
fellow, though the struggle was not an easy one.

"We'd better fasten him in some way," suggested Ray. "Rip off his
coat, Tom, and tie his arms in it. Maybe we'd better call for help."

"Where could we get any?"

"At Appleby's house. I fancy the old man would be glad to meet Mr.
Crouse again," and Ray Blake laughed.

"Don't take me to him!" whined the tramp, now much subdued. "Take me
to jail, but not to that old skinflint."

"I'm afraid we haven't much choice," said Tom. "No more fighting now,
or we won't be so gentle with you."

It was a threat the tramp knew would be carried out, and he made no
further attempt to escape. The two lads took off his ragged coat, and
made it fast about the fellow's arms, tying them behind him. Then,
walking on either side, while Tom flashed the electric torch at
intervals, they turned back toward the farmhouse, our hero limping
along as best he could.

"Hello! Hello, there Appleby!" yelled Tom, when they came within
hailing distance of the building. It was still raining hard. "Hello
there, show a light!"

There was a pause, and then a door opened, letting out a flood of
illumination that cut the blackness like a knife. A voice demanded:

"What's th' matter? Who be ye, makin' a racket this time of night?
What right ye got on my land, anyhow?"

"That's all right, Mr. Appleby," put in Ray. "I guess you'll be glad
to see us. We've got a man you've been looking for."

The tramp said nothing, but he did not make an effort to escape.
Probably he realized that it was too late, now. His young captors
advanced with him into the lighted kitchen of the farmhouse.

"Jake Crouse!" exclaimed the farmer. "Good land, where'd ye git him,
boys? An' Ray Blake! Wa'al I never! Where'd ye pick him up?"

"In your lane," answered Ray. "We thought you'd be glad to see him."

"Me glad to see him?" exclaimed the puzzled farmer. "What for?"

"Because," answered Tom slowly, "he is the man who poisoned your
horses, Mr. A