"That's all, thank you," Tom assured him. "But, Ferrers, we'll
have to take young Drew in hand and try to win him back to the
path of brains and health."

"Say, I don't believe I'm going to like this job," muttered Alf
Drew. "I reckon I'll be pulling my freight outer this camp."

"Don't go until tomorrow, anyway," urged Tom. "You'll have to go
some distance to find other human beings, and grub doesn't grow on
trees in Nevada."

With a sniff of scorn Ferrers tramped away.

"I guess, perhaps, what you need, Drew is a friend," remarked Tom,
resting a hand on the boy's nearer shoulder. "Make up your mind
that you can't have a cigarette this afternoon, take a walk with me,
in this fresh air and the good old sunshine. Let's drop all talk of
cigarettes, and give a little thought to brains and a strong body.
They don't flourish where you find boys smoking cigarettes. Come
along! I'm going to show you how to step out right, and just how to
breathe like a human being. Let's try it."

Tom had almost to drag the boy, to make him start. But Reade
had no intention of hectoring the, dough-faced little fellow.

It was rough ground along this mountain trail in the Indian Smoke
Range of mountains, in Nevada. Soon the pulses of both began to beat
more heavily. Tom took in great breaths of the life-giving air, but
Alf was soon panting.