guns!"
commanded Reade, going straight at the fellow.

The big cowboy wheeled, aiming both weapons at Reade.

"Get back!" ordered the shooter. "If ye don't I'll pump ye full
of hole-makers! I'm bad! I'm a wolf, and this is my day to howl.
I'm a wolf---d'ye catch that, partners?"

"Then back to the menagerie for yours!" muttered Reade dryly.
"And first of all fork those guns over. You're making the air
smell of sulphur."

"Get back! I'm bad, I tell ye!"

"You, bad; you cheap Piute from Rhode Island!" sniffed Tom
contemptuously.

Reaching forward, quick as a flash, Reade twisted a revolver from
the fellow's left hand.

"Now, pass me the other," continued Tom. "If you don't I'll wring
that wooden head of yours from your neck! I'm coming, now!"

Having tossed the captured revolver in the street behind him,
Reade made a sudden leap at the "bad wolf."

"Hold on!" cried the fellow sheepishly. "Don't get excited.
Here it is; take it!"

Seeing how readily their companion had surrendered, the other
two headed Hazelton's demand for their weapons.

From the doorway Chief Simmons had looked on at this brief, bloodless
battle like one dazed.

From up and down Main street at respectful distances, crowds of
Gridleyites gazed in stupefied wonder.

"Come on out, Chief, and talk to these naughty boys!" called Tom
good-humoredly. "They didn't mean to be troublesome, but Fourth
of July had got into their blood."

The police reserves came running up now. First of all, the revolvers
of the five wild ones were gathered up. Then the officers turned
to the prisoners that had been captured by the West Point cadets
and the Young Engineers.

"These fellows are only medicine-show cowboys," Tom explained,
with a grin, to the chief of police. "I know the real kind---and
these sorry specimens are not it. Probably these fellows have
never been west of Ohio."

"You're an Indian, I'm pretty sure," said Cadet Prescott to the
painted redskin whom he now held by one arm. "But you're a tame
Indian. What part of Maine do you come from?"

"Yes, I'm an Indian," grinned Dick's captive "I own a farm on the
east end of Long Island."

"Humph! You've been through the pubic schools, too?" demanded
Dick.

"Yes, sir."

Greg's Indian was quite as docile. The police now had the weapons
of all the party, except one automatic weapon that Greg was examining.
"Yah!" grinned Holmes. "This gun is loaded with blank cartridges.
I g