“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. Appleby, and, unless I’m much mistaken, he also set fire to your hay ricks.  I’ve got the evidence for the first charge, and------”

“I’ve got the evidence for the other,” interrupted Ray.  “It’s all up, Jake.  You’d better confess right now and save yourself heavier punishment.”

“Good land!” gasped the farmer.  “Jake Crouse—­the feller who used t’ work fer me—­poisoned my horses—­sot fire t’ my hay?  It don’t seem possible!”