Ah, but this was information, indeed! It was the heart of Jimmy Lee, of Charlottesville, that thrilled with delighted admiration when he heard of this daring feat of his idol; but it was Old Ferret, the detective, who muttered, “He cannot escape me, for I’ll not rest night or day till he is in the toils!” And he was referring to Cunningham, not Frank Merriwell, when he muttered those words.
Sometimes the trailer paused to examine with a critical eye the tracks on the dusty road, and the look of wisdom on his charcoal-mustached face would have done you good to see. When he met a wayfarer, he turned his collar still higher, pulled his hat still lower, and so, safe in his disguise, passed on. Perchance the wayfarer smiled at him; but what of that so long as he was not recognized as the great detective, Old Ferret!
And so, at last, he came to the strip of timber in which he had learned was the home of Ben Shannon, standing at a considerable distance from the public road. And in due time he arrived at what he knew without doubt was the private road that led to Shannon’s, the lair of the outlaw.
Even a great detective must be cautious, and so Old Ferret slipped into the woods at a distance from the private road, the course of which he pursued without venturing into it.
At times he stopped and crouched in the shelter of some shrubbery bushes or behind the bole of a tree, while he peered through the forest and listened. Being satisfied with his investigations, he went on till he saw through the trees the ramshackle resort of the outlaw.
What was to be done now? Already midday was long past. The sun was in the western sky. Old Ferret had not eaten since early morning, but little cared he for that. His iron frame gave no heed to fatigue or hunger while he was on the trail.
Should he wait in hiding until night and see what he could do then? Night! Why, that would be too late, for then the base design of the outlaw would be accomplished. Beyond a doubt that design was to keep Frank Merriwell from the ball-field that afternoon. There could be no delay. Onward, Old Ferret, to the rescue!
The house looked silent and deserted. There were not even dogs around it, for which the great detective was thankful enough, for dogs always raise a rumpus at the wrong time.
However, while Old Ferret was meditating on the next move, a colored man came out of the house, leaving the front door open as he did so. He was singing thickly to himself, and his steps were not quite steady as he walked toward some distant sheds. Before he reached the sheds he paused, took a bottle from his pocket, and drank from it.
“Ha!” hissed the watchful sleuth. “Methinks I smell something!”