"I ain't interested in what you fellers got to say," flared Tip,
sullenly. "And I don't like your company, neither. So jest skate
along."

"We're not going to linger with you, Tip, any longer than seems
absolutely necessary," promised Dave, coolly. "But what I want
to say is this: If you make any more attempts to do Dick Prescott
any harm our crowd will get you, no matter how far we have to
go to find you. Is that clear?"

"I s'pose it is, if you say so," sneered young Scammon.

"We'll get you," pursued Dave, "and we'll turn you over to the
authorities. One citizen like Dick Prescott is worth more than
a million of your stamp. If we find you up to any more tricks
against Dick Prescott, or against any of us, for that matter,
we'll soon have you doing your second 'stretch,' as you have learned
to call a term at the penitentiary. Tip, your best card will
be to turn over a very new leaf, and find an honest job. Just
because you've been in jail once don't go along with the notion
that it's the only place where you can find your kind of company.
But whatever you do, steer clear of Dick Prescott and his chums.
I think you understand that. Now, go!"

Tip tried to brazen it out, but there was a compelling quality
in the clear, steady gaze of Dave Darrin's dark eyes. After a
moment Tip Scammon let his own gaze drop. He turned and shuffled
away.