possible.
"Whew! But Reade has the real grit!"

First of all Tom gazed curiously at the four men, who glared back at
him with looks full of hate.

"Who are you, anyway?" demanded the spokesman of the sullen four.

"I might be the sheriff," Tom replied placidly.

"Huh!" retorted the spokesman.

"But I'm not," Tom went on, rather genially. "I'm just an inquisitive
tourist."

"Heard o' Bald Knob?" demanded the leader of the four.

"No," admitted Reade, opening his eyes with interest. "Who is he,
and how did he become bald?"

"Bald Knob is a place," came the information. "It's the place where
inquisitive tourists are buried in these parts."

"I'll look it up some day," Tom promised, good-humoredly.

"You'll look it up before dark if we have time to pack you there,"
growled the leader of the men. "Now, are you going to stand aside?"

Tom shook his head.

"Let's shake hands all around and then sit down for a nice little
talk," the young engineer suggested.

"There's been too much talk already," snarled Tom's antagonist.

The men of the automobile party were silent. They had scented
in Tom an ally who would help their cause materially.

"Then you won't be sociable?" Reade demanded, as if half offended.

"Git out and go about your business," ordered the leader of the
four men.

"It's always my business when women and children appear to be in
danger," returned Tom. He turned on his heel, presenting his
broad back as a target to the rifles as he stepped over to automobile
party.

Oddly the four men, though they had the look of being desperate, did
not offer to shoot.

Tom's audacity had almost cowed them for the moment.

"I hope I can be of some use to you," suggested Tom, raising his
hat out of respect to the women.

"I reckon you can, if you're a good hand with a gun," replied the
older of the two armed men with the motor party. "Got any shooting
irons about you?"

"Nothing in that line," Tom admitted.

"Then reach under the cushion, left-hand front seat of that car,"
returned the same speaker. "You'll find an automatic revolver
there."

Reade, however, chose to ignore the advice. He had small taste for
the use of firearms.

Seeing, the young engineer's reluctance the younger of the two
armed men went himself to the car, taking out the revolver and
offering it to this cool young stranger.

"Thank you," was Tom's smiling reply. "But that tool is not for
me. I'm the two-hundred-and