Part 10 (1/2)

”You'll find out! Jump---like a flash, boy!”

Tom went calmly on tinkering with the mechanism of his instrument.

Bang! sounded up the trail. Tom's fingers didn't falter as he adjusted a small, bra.s.s screw.

Bang! came the second shot. Tom betrayed no more annoyance than before. Bad Pete was aiming to drive bullets into the ground close to the young engineer's feet, making him skip about. The sixth shot Pete was saving for clipping Reade's hat from his head.

The shots continued to ring out. Tom, though he appeared to be absorbed in his instrument, counted. When he had counted the sixth shot Reade dropped suddenly, picked up a stone that lay at his feet, and whirled about.

Tom Reade hadn't devoted years to ball-playing without knowing how to throw straight. The stone left his hand, arching upward, and flew straight toward Bad Pete, who had advanced steadily as he fired.

Whiff! Though Pete tried, too late, to dodge the stone, it landed against his sombrero, carrying that away without injuring the owner.

”Kindly clear out!” called Tom coolly. ”You and your noise annoy me when I'm trying to do a big afternoon's work.”

s.n.a.t.c.hing up his sombrero, Bad Pete vanished into a clump of brush.

Jack Rutter leaped up from his haven of safety, advancing swiftly to his cub a.s.sistant.

”Reade,” he exclaimed, with ungrudging admiration, ”you're the coolest young fellow I ever met, without exception. But you're foolhardy, boy. Bad Pete is a real shot. One of these days, when you're just as cool, he'll fill you full of lead!”

”If he does?” retorted Tom, again bending over his transit, ”and if I notice it, I'll throw a bigger stone at him than I did that time, and it'll land on him a few inches lower down.”

”But, boy, don't you understand that the days of David and Goliath are gone by,” remonstrated Rutter. ”It's true you're turned the laugh on Pete, but that fellow won't forgive you. He may open on you again within two minutes.”

”I don't believe he will,” replied Tom, with his quiet smile.

”At the same time, I'll be prepared for him.”

Bending to the ground, and rummaging about a bit, Reade selected three stones that would throw well. These he dropped into one of his pockets.

”Now, let the bad man trot himself on, if he has to,” added the cub engineer, waving a signal to the rodman, who had just halted at the next stake.

”Well, of all the cool ones!” grunted Rutter, under his breath.

”But, then, Reade's a tenderfoot. He doesn't understand just how dangerous a fellow like Pete can be.”

The chainman started away to measure the distance. From up the hillside came sounds of smothered but very bad language.

”There's our friend Peter again,” Tom chuckled to Rutter.

”Yes, and the ruffian may open on you again at any moment,” warned Jack, keeping an anxious glance turned in the direction whence came the disturbing voice of Bad Pete.

”Oh, I don't think he will,” drawled Tom, making a hand signal to the leading chainman to step a little more to the left. ”I hope not, anyway, for the noise of revolver shots takes my thoughts away from my work.”

Jack Rutter said no more after that, though through the rest of the afternoon he kept an alert lookout for signs of Pete. There were none, however. Rather earlier than usual, on account of the distance back to camp, Rutter knocked off work for the entire party and the start on the return to camp was made.

Harry Hazelton was considerably excited when he heard the news of the firing on his chum. Reade, however, appeared to be but little interested in the subject.

Pete was not in camp that evening.

Rutter went at once to the tent of the chief, to tell him how well the ”cubs” had done during the day. Nor did Jack forget to relate the encounter with Bad Pete.

Just as the underlings of the staff were seating themselves around the table in their mess, Mr. Thurston thrust his head in at the doorway.