—–­“I said his coat was all torn,” repeated Mrs. Terrill, pleased to find a listener who appeared to be sympathetic.  “You know how ’ternal careless he is, Mr. Thompson, and how much trouble he gives me.”

“I do, I do indeed.”  The constable slowly drew out of his pocket the clews Tom had given him.  “Could this be a piece out o’ Bill’s coat?” he asked in an offhand manner calculated to avert suspicion.

“That’s it!” exclaimed Bill’s long-suffering wife.  “What of it?” she added quickly.  “Anything wrong?  I guess he must’ve got into a fight, his face was so battered, but I hope-----”

“Hold on, Mrs. Terrill!  Enough said!” interposed the constable, who felt sorry for the way he had led her into a trap.  “I made a bet about these rags, and now I’m going to put it up to Bill.  Do you know where I can find him?”

“No, I don’t, but I guess you know,” the woman replied sharply.  “What’s your bet?”

“I’ll tell you bye and bye, if I win,” said Thompson, with a forced laugh, as he and Tom walked away.  “Now, boy, you heard what she said,” he continued, when they were out of earshot.  “You witnessed when she identified these rags.  I reckon Bill Terrill’s our man.”

As quickly as possible they returned to the corner, where Thompson dived into the saloon, only to reappear after a few minutes—–­alone.

“Friend William has skipped out,” he declared grimly.  “His pals are in there, but our naughty little bird has flown!  Never mind; I’ll get him.  He’s either skulking around town somewhere or he’s made tracks to the station, hoping to get the 2.10 to New York.  You said you were on your way to the station, didn’t you?  I’ll go there first with you.”

Sure enough, when the train pulled in at the station, there was Bill Terrill waiting to board it!  He had not counted on such quick work on the constable’s part, and was not aware of the assistance his own wife had unwittingly rendered, so he had merely tried to get away before he was “spotted” among the crowd of idle men and boys gathered on the station platform.  When he felt Thompson’s heavy hand on his shoulder, he started, tried to dodge him and escape, and, failing to do that, broke into a torrent of vile oaths and half-drunken protests as he was escorted away to the village jail.

Meanwhile, having told Thompson where he and Ralph and Art could be found if wanted later, Tom saw the Scout Master and four boys making their way over to the side of the platform, where a bus was waiting to take them to the hotel.  He was just in time to join them, and soon he was telling his story to Denmead.

“That’s a good idea of yours, Tom,” said the Chief, when Tom had finished.  “I’ll find out how many of the boys know anything about surveying, and then I’ll go and see Mr. Brett, one of the railroad officials, and learn what can be done.  I’d like to help your friend Ralph Kenyon.  I was sorry to hear that he met with an accident lately.  It’s a shame he killed those splendid eagles!  Professor Whalen showed them to me.  Why, I’d have been only too glad to pay the lad well for the privilege of studying the birds in their wild state.  He ought to have protected them, as a Scout would do, not killed them!  But Dr. Kane told me it was his suggestion to Ralph.”