“Well, then, the only thing to do is to surround them, and hold them there until you interview them,” was the decision. “I guess we can do it.”
Shiller’s Woods were near the railroad line, in a lonesome spot, and the outskirts were soon reached. The auto was left in charge of a switchman at his shanty near a crossing and the occupants, consisting of the two detectives, Joe, Pop and Reggie, proceeded on foot. They all carried stout cudgels, though the officers had revolvers for use in emergency.
But they were not needed. Pop Dutton knew the way well to a little hollow where the tramps slept and ate. He led the others to it, and so quietly did they approach that the tramps were surrounded before they knew it.
Down in a grassy hollow were half a dozen of them gathered about a fire over which was stewing some mixture in a tomato can, suspended over the flame on a stick, by means of a bit of wire.
“Good afternoon, boys!” greeted one of the officers, as he stood up, and looked down on the men. It was apparent at first glance that Hogan was one of them. Pop had silently indicated him.
The tramps started up, but seeing that they were surrounded settled back philosophically. Only Hogan looked eagerly about for a way of escape.
“It’s no go,” said one of the railroad detectives. “Just take it easy, and maybe you won’t be so badly off as you imagine.”
Hogan had been found at last. It developed that Pop had asked his former “friends of the road” to keep track of him, and send word when located. This had been done by the ragged man who accosted the old player on the diamond that afternoon.