“Good evening,” said Harry, politely. “Good evening, lad, what can I do for you?” questioned the farmer, gazing at both boys curiously. He saw that they had guns, but no game, and concluded they were hungry and wanted supper. “Will you tell us where we can find a constable, or some other officer?” “Want a constable, eh? Did somebody steal your game?” And the farmer smiled, quizzically. “No, we want the constable to arrest three tramps who are wanted for stealing.” “Shoo! You don’t say!” Farmer Libby was all attention. “Where are the tramps?” “Over to Ike Slosson’s house. They have taken full possession.” “Where is Slosson?” “We don’t know. The tramps must have done something to him.” “I always said somethin’ would happen to Ike,” put in the farmer’s wife. “It hain’t human for him to be a-livin’ alone as he does. Samuel, you must help in this.” “Guess I must,” said Samuel Libby. “But I’ll have to tell Constable Peabody, and big Jim Bowman, too. Jim’s a powerful fellow when there’s trouble to be met.” The farmer wanted the two boys to tell their tale, and they did so without delay. While they talked he put on his overcoat and got down his shotgun; and five minutes later all three were on their way to where Constable Peabody resided, in the center of the village. CHAPTER XXVIII THE LAST OF THE TRAMPS The constable was found in the village store, comfortably fixed on a soap box, and narrating for probably the fiftieth time how he had once caught two lumber thieves on the lake single-handed. The crowd had heard the tale many times, but as the constable always added fresh particulars at each telling, they were willing to listen again. “So you want me, do you?” he said to Samuel Libby and the two young hunters. “All right, I’m your man. What is it, fire away?” When he was told what was desired he looked grave. “This ain’t no ordinary case,” he argued. “Them tramps must be des’prit characters. I’ll have to take a posse along.” “No posse needed, Peabody,” said Farmer Libby. “Take Jim Bowman and myself. Remember, old Joel Runnell is a-watchin’ ’em with four young fellows. Ten men and boys ought to be enough to capture three good-for-nothing tramps.” “Are you going back with us?” asked the constable of Bart and Harry. “Certainly we are,” answered Harry. “My brother and I want to learn what became of his watch, if we can.” It was not long after this that big Jim Bowman was found, a lumberman reputed to be the strongest fellow for miles around. He said he would go willingly, and took with him a stout club. “Don’t much need it,” he said to the young hunters. “When I get in a mix-up I like to use my fists.” “Well, it’s a good thing to know how to use your fists sometimes,” answered Bart.