Old Mr. Crispen was never in very much of a hurry. He had been the cobbler, or shoemaker as most Oakdale folk called him, for many years. But Mr. Crispen no longer made shoes. He only repaired them. And he took his own time about doing that.

If Teddy or any of his chums brought their own shoes, or those of any member of their families, to Mr. Crispen’s shop, they were often told the shoes would be ready in a day or two.

“Next Tuesday or Wednesday,” Mr. Crispen would say as he marked some mysterious characters in chalk on the sole.

But when Tuesday or Wednesday came, nearly always the shoes would not be ready.

“Had more work than I expected,” Mr. Crispen would report. “I’ll have your shoes tomorrow,” he would say, or it might be the next day.

So Teddy and his chums, as well as nearly everyone else in Oakdale, never went for their shoes on the day they were promised. They waited one or two days after that and usually then the shoes would be ready.

So it was no surprise to the deer hunters to hear Mr. Crispen say, after he had fumbled about his bench, counter and shelves:

“Sorry, boys, but those shoes won’t be ready afore tomorrow.”

“But,” said Teddy with a wink at his chums, “we didn’t come here for shoes.”

“What did you come for, then?”

“Heel-plates,” prompted Joe.

“With a star on,” added Dick.

“Oh, yes. I remember now. I sold them to a man, sort of a cowboy with a lasso. I was going to give you his name, wasn’t I?”

“Yes,” Teddy answered, “you were, Mr. Crispen.” “Well, I’m sorry, but that name won’t be finished afore day arter tomorrow. I’ve been sort of rushed with work lately, and—”

“But this wasn’t work,” explained Teddy. “You were just going to look for the name of the man you sold one pair of star heel plates to, and who wanted another pair. Just his name, you know.”

“Oh, yes, that’s so, the name. You only want his name. I thought you wanted shoes. Well, let me see now, what did I do with his name? I wrote it on a piece of paper and then I put the paper away some place. I can’t just remember where. But it’ll come to me in a day or two, I dare say. Come back then.”

“Don’t you think you could find it now?” asked Dick.

“No, I don’t,” said Mr. Crispen as he took up a hammer and began pounding a leather sole. “I can’t remember.”

“Maybe you could if we helped you,” suggested Joe. “What’s that?” exclaimed the old man, looking up through his thick, bushy eyebrows at the chums. “Let you lads go all over my place looking for a paper with a name on? No, sir-ee! You’d mix everything all up. I wouldn’t be able to find a waxed end in a month. It can’t be done! Give me, say a week, and I’ll find that paper.”

“That might be too late,” said Teddy.

“Look here!” exclaimed the shoemaker, getting up from his bench. “Why are you so anxious to have that man’s name? What’s all this about my star heel plates?”

Teddy Benson took a sudden resolve. It might be a good idea to have Mr. Crispen in their confidence. If they told him part of the mystery he might help them solve it. Anyhow they were getting nowhere by waiting a week to get on the trail of the man with the star heel plates.

“What’s it all about?” asked Mr. Crispen again. He seemed suspicious, as though he feared some trick might be played on him. “I’m going to tell him,” Teddy whispered to his chums. Then he added: “We think those star heel plates may be a clue.”

“A clue to what?” asked the cobbler.

“To a mysterious deer,” Teddy said.

“Say, what are you, fellows? Boy detectives?” asked Mr. Crispen with a laugh.

“Not exactly,” Teddy replied. “But we are on the trail of a mysterious deer and we want to find the man who lassoed me with star heel plates.”

“Lassoed you with star heel plates?” cried Mr. Crispen. “Land sakes, I never heard of such a thing!”

“I mean,” went on Teddy with a laugh, “a man lassoed me with a rope. We think he did it by mistake. Then he ran away but we saw where he had been standing. And he had star heel plates. So we thought maybe you could give us the clue to the man.”

“And you could,” put in Joe, “if you could find his name.”

“Oh, I can find his name, once I put my mind to it,” said the old cobbler. “But what has this got to do with a mysterious deer?”

“I’ll tell you about that,” Teddy said. He and his chums related the story, including the last episode of the lassoing of Teddy.

“So what you really want to do,” said Mr. Crispen, “is to catch that deer, isn’t it? The deer that ate up Mrs. Traddle’s garden. You want the deer.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Teddy and his chums.

“Well,” said the cobbler as he again sat at his bench, “I can tell you a better way to catch the deer than by looking for a man with star heel plates.”

“How?” asked the three boys together.

“Get him in a trap,” said Mr. Crispen. He snapped the gnarled thumb and finger of his right hand sharply, as if the mysterious deer had already been caught. “A trap’s the thing for deer!”

“A trap?” questioned Teddy. And his chums also murmured:

“A trap?” “Certainly,” went on the cobbler. “Easiest thing in the world. You set the trap, catch the deer and that’s the end of the mystery. What do you want to bother about heel plates for?”

“But the man with the star heel plates lassoed Teddy,” said Joe.

“That’s all right,” said the cobbler. He stopped to peel a little rubber cement from his left thumb nail. “You can trail that cowboy later. I don’t believe he had anything to do with the deer. But if you want to catch the critter that ate up Mrs. Traddle’s garden, a trap’s the thing.”

“But we don’t want to hurt the deer,” objected Teddy. “It might be a valuable animal and we could get a reward if we took it to the owner.”

“True enough,” murmured Mr. Crispen. “True enough and fair enough. I hope you get the reward. But I didn’t say anything about harming a deer you caught in a trap.” “I thought traps always hurt the wild animals caught in them,” said Joe.

“So did I,” added Dick.

“We mustn’t hurt the deer,” declared Teddy. “I wouldn’t want the sharp teeth of a steel trap to snap on one of his legs.”

“I’m not talking about that kind of a trap,” said Mr. Crispen. “What I mean is a box trap. The deer will go in, a door will close behind him and he’ll be nicely caught in a box trap. You can use the box trap to ship that deer wherever you want to send him to get the reward.”

“It sounds easy,” Joe said. “But we don’t know how to make a box trap. Do you, Mr. Crispen?”

“Of course I do. When I was a boy I used to catch all sorts of wild animals in traps—box traps, too. I’ve caught foxes, bobcats, weasels, muskrats.”

“Did you ever catch a deer?” asked Teddy. “Don’t know’s I did,” admitted the cobbler. “Never had no reason to. But catching the deer in a box trap would be just the same as catching a bear, I guess. Only easier.”

“Did you ever catch a bear?” asked Teddy, his eyes shining. The other boys were equally excited. “A real bear?”

“Of course I did!” chuckled Mr. Crispen. “Wouldn’t be any fun catching a make-believe bear. I caught real bears out in the West when I was younger. And if I can catch a bear I can catch a deer.”

“Will you help us?” asked Teddy, somewhat shyly.

“Of course I will!” exclaimed the cobbler. “It will be like old times for me. I haven’t done any trapping in a long time. It will be fun.”

“When can you do it?” asked Joe.

“Tonight after I close my shop here.”

“And how will we get the trap by that time?” asked Dick.

“I’ll attend to that. All I need is a strong, heavy box, and I have that. Yes, boys, we’ll set a trap for that deer tonight. And, what’s more we’ll catch him!”

Again Mr. Crispen snapped his gnarled finger and thumb as if he had shot off a small gun.

The boys were delighted. It seemed as if the mystery of the deer would soon be solved.