that crew, madam," spoke Tom Reade gently. "Those fellows will
be heard from again, and at no very distant hour, either. Mr.
Dunlop---I believe that is your name, sir?"

The stout man bowed.

"Mr. Dunlop," Reade went on, earnestly, "I urge you to get these
women and the child away from here as soon as you can. Also any
of the men who may happen to have no taste for fighting. I don't
believe you'll see those four men in the open any more, but there'll
be more than one shot fired from ambush. You surely won't expose
these women and the child any further!"

"But, Father," broke in one of the women, tremulously, "if we leave,
it will take one of your two fighting men to run the car. Think how
weak that will leave your defense."

"You forget, my dear," spoke Mr. Dunlop, gently, "that our newly-found
young friends have just sent for other men."

Tom smiled grimly as he thought of Jim Ferrers's "crowd"---consisting
of poor, frighten little Alf with the cigarette-stained fingers.

"At any cost or risk, sir," Tom went on, after a moment, "you must
get the women and the child away from here. But---why, where is
the child?"

There was an instant of dismay. The little girl had vanished.

"Gladys!" spoke Dr. Dunlop's daughter in alarm.