n."

"Gridley must seem dull, after your life in the West," mused Cadet
Holmes.

"Oh, I don't believe there's any place where you get excitement
all the time," declared Tom. "And there's no place so dull that
it doesn't have a little excitement once in a while."

Bang! bang! bang! sounded several sharp explosions of firearms
out in the street.

"There's some, right now!" muttered Greg, jumping up. "Come along!"

Bang! bang! bang!

As they ran forward toward the door of the ice cream place the
young men saw people fleeing in frantic haste along Main Street.

Five or six of these fugitives darted into the ice cream place.
As they did so, Chief of Police Simmons backed into the same
doorway. He had his revolver in his right hand, while he called
back over his shoulder to the owner of the store:

"Granby, telephone the station for my reserves. The Indians and
cowboys of the Wild West Show are on a rampage, and shooting up
Gridley. Tell Sergeant Cluny, from me, to bring the reserves
on the run!"

Bang! bang! bang!

Up the street came a picturesque, dangerous looking group. Three
men in cowboy hats, flannel shirts and "chaps," with revolver
holsters dangling from their belts, and each with a pair of automatic
revolvers in his hands, came along. Just behind this trio were
two indians, painted and wearing gaudy blankets. The Indian were
armed like the cowboys. It was evident that all the members of
the wild band were partially intoxicated.

Bang! bang! bang!

"Get back into the store, you young men!" ordered Chief Simmons
crisply. "These heathen are pie-eyed and they'll shoot you up
quicker than a flash!"

"Who, That lot of freaks?" demanded Tom contemptuously. "Dick!
Greg! Indians are the specialty of the Army. You go after the
redskins, while Harry and I tame these bad men!"

Like a flash, ere Chief Simmons could interfere, the four young
men were off. Straight up to the "raiders" dashed the former
High School boys.

One of the Indians wheeled, firing a fusillade just over Prescott's
head.

"Oh, stop that noise!" ordered Dick dryly.

Before the Indian could guess it, Prescott had leaped in, had
grabbed the redskin by a famous old Gridley football tackle and
had sent the rampaging Indian to the ground Greg, equally reckless,
floored the other Indian and sat on his chest.

Tom Reade made a bolt for the fiercest-looking cowboy.

"Stop spoiling the pure air on a hot day, and give me those