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Baseball Joe in the Central League

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVI THE TRAMP RENDEZVOUS</h2> “Come on!” cried Joe to Reggie Varley, not giving that astonished young man a chance to greet him. “Come on! Got plenty of gas?” “Gas? Yes, of course. But where? What is it? Are they after you?” “Not at all. We’re after them!” laughed Joe. He could afford to laugh now, for he felt that he was about to be vindicated. “But I—er—I don’t understand,” spoke Reggie, slowly. “Where is it you want to go?” “After the tramp who rifled the valise you suspected me of opening in that way-station some time ago,” answered Joe quickly. “We’re after him to prove I didn’t do it!” “Oh, but my dear Matson—really now, I don’t believe you took it. Sis went for me red-hot, you know, after you told her. She called me all kinds of a brute for even mentioning it to you, and really——” He paused rather helplessly, while Joe, taking[207] the situation into his own hands, climbed up beside Reggie, who was alone in his big car. The young pitcher motioned for Pop to get into the tonneau, and the veteran did so, still wondering what was going to happen. “It’s all right,” laughed Joe, more light-hearted than he had been in many months. “If you’ll take us to Shiller’s Woods you may see something that will surprise you.” “But still I don’t understand.” Joe explained briefly how Hogan, the railroad tramp, had boasted of robbing a valise corresponding to Reggie’s. Hogan was now within five miles of Pittston, hiding in a tramps’ camp, and if he was arrested, or caught, he might be made to tell the truth of the robbery, clear Joe, and possibly inform Reggie where the watch and jewelry had been disposed of. “I don’t suppose he has any of it left,” said Reggie, simply. “There was one bracelet belonging to sis that I’d like awfully much to get back.” “Well, we can try,” answered Joe, hopefully. “Sometimes,” broke in Pop, “those fellows can’t dispose of the stuff they take, and then they hide it. Maybe we can get it back.” “Let’s hope so,” went on Reggie. “And now, where do you want to go? I’ll take you anywhere you say, and I’ve got plenty of gas.” [208] “Shiller’s Woods,” returned Joe. “Do you know where it is, Pop?” “Yes. I’ve been there—once or twice.” “And now,” went on Joe, as he settled back in the seat, still in his baseball uniform, as was Pop Dutton, “how did you happen to be here?” and he looked at Reggie. “Why, I had to come up in this section on business for dad, and sis insisted that I bring her along. So we motored up, and here we are. Sis is at the Continental.” “Our hotel!” gasped Joe. “I didn’t see her!” His heart was beating wildly. “No, I just left her there,” returned Reggie. “She is wild to see these final games——” “I hope she sees us win,” murmured Joe. “But about this chase,” went on Reggie. “If we’re going up against a lot of tramps perhaps we’d better have a police officer with us.” “It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” agreed Pop. “We can stop and pick up a railroad detective I know. They’ll be glad of the chance to raid the tramps, for they don’t want them hanging around.” “Good idea,” announced Joe, who was still puzzling over the manner in which things fitted together, and wondering at the absurdly simple way in which Reggie had appeared on the scene. The car sped away from the ball field, purring on its silent, powerful way. Pop Dutton gave[209] directions as to the best roads to follow, and a little distance out of Pittston he called a halt, in order that a railroad detective might be summoned. They found one at a small branch freight station, and this man called a companion, so there were five who proceeded to the rendezvous of the tramps in Shiller’s Woods. It is not a difficult matter to raid the abiding place of the men, unfortunates if you will, who are known as “hoboes,” and tramps. They are not criminals in the usual sense of the term, though they will descend to petty thievery. Usually they are “pan-handlers,” beggars and such; though occasionally a “yegg-man,” or safe-blower, will throw in his lot with them. But for the most part the men are low characters, living as best they can, cooking meager meals over a camp fire, perhaps raiding hen-roosts or corn fields, and moving from place to place. They have no wish to defy police authority, and usually disappear at the first alarm, to travel on to the next stopping place. So there was no fear of any desperate encounter in this raid. The railroad detectives said as much, and expressed the belief that they would not even have to draw their revolvers. “We’ll be glad of the chance to clean the rascals out,” said one officer, “for they hang around[210] there, and rob freight cars whenever they get the chance.” “But we’d like a chance to talk to them—at least to this Hogan,” explained Joe. “We want to find what he did with Mr. Varley’s jewelry.” “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[211] 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. <hr class="chap" /> [212] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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