I decided that he went across into Barrel Alley for several reasons.  One was that he went across the ball field, and that meant that he’d have to get down and crawl under the fence, so I decided it was not a grown-up person, because most of them have stiff backs and they’d rather walk a mile than crawl under a fence.  They’re all the time saying they’re not as young as they used to be.  And if it was a boy he’d be most likely to go into Barrel Alley because, believe me, they have boys down there by the dozens, especially the kind that wear worn-out shoes that rich people give them.  So that accounts for the good shoes all worn out.  Smart boy, hey?

So you see that’s the way I bridged that trail, though I couldn’t be sure I was right, I have to admit that.  Anyway I went across the street and I saw by the clock in the bank that it was half past twelve.  I knew I couldn’t go much farther because I wanted to get back to the house-boat by one.

I started down Barrel Alley, watching the mud along the edge of the sidewalk, so I could tell if the fellow left the sidewalk to go into one of the houses.  Barrel Alley is a blind alley-that means it has an end to it and you can’t go any further.  It runs plunk into the end of Shad Row.  Norris Row is the right name, but old man Norris is named Shadley Norris, so us fellows call it Shad Row.  You can get through the end of Barrel Alley if you climb over old man Norris back fence, so it isn’t exactly a blind alley.  It’s just a little near-sighted, kind of.

Anyway I started through it and I knew if my quarry (that means the fellow you’re tracking) went down there, he most likely went into one of the tenement houses and I’d see that footprint as soon as he turned off from the sidewalk.

Well, pretty soon I did see it right alongside the sidewalk just where he started to go into one of the houses.  And oh, wasn’t I tickled!  If it hadn’t been for Westy Martin and the way he’d acted I would have felt as grand as the Grand Central Station.  But that was the thing I was thinking most about and when you’re thinking about something like that, you don’t have as much fun—­I know I don’t anyway.

But as long as I was there, I might as well find out who it was I had tracked and solve the mystery about the Indian head.  That’s the way Pee-wee would have said it, “Solve the mystery!” He gets that kind of talk out of books.  The next-chapter is going to be a dandy and I promised to let him give it a name, so don’t blame me whatever it is.

So long.

CHAPTER XVI

NOBLE RAGS

“Good night!” I said to Pee-wee, “what kind of rags do you call those?”

“Didn’t you ever hear of noble rags?” he yelled; “that shows how much you know about story writing.”

“Are they any relation to a dish rag?”, I asked him.

“You think you’re smart, don’t you,” he said; “do you know what a hero is—­a ragged hero?”