"I can spare the time, if the chief can," laughed Harry. "Hello---look
who's here!"

Bad Pete, now on foot, had turned into the camp from the farther
side. Espying the boys he swaggered over toward them.

"How do you do, sir?" nodded Tom.

"Can't you two tenderfeet mind your own business?" snarled Pete,
halting and scowling angrily at them.

"Now, I come to think of it," admitted Tom, "it _was_ meddlesome
on my part to ask after your health. I beg your pardon."

"Say, are you two tenderfeet trying to git fresh with me?" demanded
Bad Pete, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing at
them out of flashing eyes.

Almost unconsciously Tom Reade drew himself up, showing hints
of his athletic figure through the folds of his clothing.

"No, Peter," he said quietly. "In the first place, my friend
hasn't even opened his mouth. As for myself, when I _do_ try
to get fresh with you, you won't have to do any guessing. You'll
be sure of it."

Bad Pete took a step forward, dropping his right hand, as though
unconsciously, to the butt of the revolver in the holster. He
fixed his burning gaze savagely on the boy's face as he muttered,