"And not a gun in the crowd," remarked Mr. MacAllister. "This is where we need our constable."
They had reached the lane now, and it was quite dark. Numbers of men, who had been taking a quiet evening smoke at their own doors joined in the "rounding up" as Mr. Ford called it.
"No Squire Sanders to help him out this time," some one remarked.
Then the men scattered—completely surrounding the place where the tramp had been last seen.
"The only way he could get away from us would be in a balloon," said
Mr. MacAllister.
"Or an airship," spoke up someone else.
With heavy clubs and every available weapon to beat down the brush they started out through the lane on the man hunt.
Surely twenty good men should be able to find the one "tramp" now.
But would they?