“Why don’t you come in, then?”

“I will —­ as soon as I can find a policeman or a constable.”

“What! going to have a gent arrested?”

“The man inside knows all about a stolen watch.”

“You must be mistaken.”

“No, I am not.  Where can I find a policeman?”

“Down at the steamboat landing, most likely.”

“All right.  Sam, you stay here and see that that fellow don’t make tracks,” and Tom prepared to move away.

“See here, we don’t want any trouble in our place,” said the barkeeper.  “We run a respectable house, we do.”

“Then you ought to help me bag the pal of a thief,” retorted Tom.

“Hold on, Tom!” came from Sam.  “They’re gone!  They slipped through a back door!”

Tom ran up, to the window again.  It was true Baxter and the man with a scar had disappeared.

“Come on back!” he cried to his brother, and both ran to the rear of the tavern.  Here there was a yard, at the end of which stood a barn and a long, low carriage shed.  Only a negro hostler was in sight.

“Perhaps they haven’t come out yet,” began Sam, when he caught sight of a buggy on a road behind the barn.  It was going at a furious rate, the scarred man driving, and lashing his mettlesome horse at the same time.

“There goes the man!”

“That’s so.  Where is Baxter?”

“I don’t know.”

They ran after the buggy, but soon gave up the chase, as man and turnout disappeared around a bend leading to the woods bark of Cedarville.

“We’ve lost him!” murmured Tom, when he could get back his breath.  “Now who in the name of Old Nick can he be?”

“Evidently a friend to Baxter.  Perhaps he is Baxter’s father?” suggested Sam.

“Baxter’s father —­ Gracious!  He is!”

“How do you know?”

“I’m not positive, but when I met him and the thief in the woods, the thief, who was called Buddy, started to call that fellow Baxter, but the tall man wouldn’t have it, and made him call him Nolly.  His right name, I feel certain, is Arnold Baxter.”

“Then, if he isn’t Baxter’s father, he must be some close relative, otherwise he wouldn’t give Baxter that money.  Now it is easy to see where the bully gets all of his cash.  That tall man must be rich.”

“Yes, but who knows how he comes by his money?  He is the chum of a thief, that’s certain.”

A search was made for Dan Baxter, but he could not be found.  As a matter of fact, he had been in the buggy, hiding under the seat.  The boys hung around for quarter of an hour longer, and then resolved to return to Putnam Hall.

“No use of making a row about it,” said Tom.  “I remember that policeman at the steamboat landing.  He is a terribly fat fellow and evidently a hard drinker.  He couldn’t help us enough.  We had better try to work this out on our own account.  I’ll tackle Baxter the first chance I get.”