Well, believe me, that trail was a cinch and I could follow it as easy as a clothes line. It went right up through River Lane where there isn’t any pavement and every footprint was plain. I was afraid it would go through Daws Place, because that’s the easiest way to get to Main Street, and I’d lose it there on account of the pavement. But it didn’t, and, oh, boy, wasn’t I glad! Instead of going that way the tracks went right up across the ball field, just as plain as print. That’s another way to get to Main Street, and it brings you out at Harvey’s candy store, but don’t ever go there for ice cream cones, because you get bigger ones down at Jack’s. Then I lost the trail on account of the pavements. Gee, that’s one thing I don’t like about pavements. So there’s where I did some deducing. Maybe you don’t know what _bridging a trail-gap_ means. You have only yourselves to blame for not being scouts. Bridging a trail-gap means stopping to think when you lose a trail. You have to decide where it most likely starts again. That’s what grown-up scouts call mental tracking. So I sat down on Ridgeway’s carriage step and thinked a couple of thinks. That’s right on Main Street, you know, and I had to decide if that person went up or down Main Street or across the street. Right across the street is the big bank building. I’ve got forty-two dollars and eighteen cents interest in that bank. Mr. Temple is the head of it, and he’s awful rich—he owns railroads and things. He started Temple Camp. He calls me “Curly” because my hair curls. I should worry. Right down alongside of the bank runs Barrel Alley. It reminds you of Fifth Avenue, it’s so different. That’s where Tom Slade was born, down there. Most every day somebody dies down there, but anyway there are paving-stones there now, that’s one good thing. Except for tracking. So you see how it was; that person, who ever he was, could have gone up Main Street or down Main Street, or over the stone crossing into Barrel Alley. I decided that he went across into Barrel Alley for several reasons. One was that he went across the ball field, and that meant that he’d have to get down and crawl under the fence, so I decided it was not a grown-up person, because most of them have stiff backs and they’d rather walk a mile than crawl under a fence. They’re all the time saying they’re not as young as they used to be. And if it was a boy he’d be most likely to go into Barrel Alley because, believe me, they have boys down there by the dozens, especially the kind that wear worn-out shoes that rich people give them. So that accounts for the good shoes all worn out. Smart boy, hey? So you see that’s the way I bridged that trail, though I couldn’t be sure I was right, I have to admit that. Anyway I went across the street and I saw by the clock in the bank that it was half past twelve. I knew I couldn’t go much farther because I wanted to get back to the house-boat by one.