ed up a stone that lay
at his feet, and whirled about.

Tom Reade hadn't devoted years to ball-playing without knowing
how to throw straight. The stone left his hand, arching upward,
and flew straight toward Bad Pete, who had advanced steadily as
he fired.

Whiff! Though Pete tried, too late, to dodge the stone, it landed
against his sombrero, carrying that away without injuring the
owner.

"Kindly clear out!" called Tom coolly. "You and your noise annoy me
when I'm trying to do a big afternoon's work."

Snatching up his sombrero, Bad Pete vanished into a clump of brush.

Jack Rutter leaped up from his haven of safety, advancing swiftly
to his cub assistant.

"Reade," he exclaimed, with ungrudging admiration, "you're the
coolest young fellow I ever met, without exception. But you're
foolhardy, boy. Bad Pete is a real shot. One of these days,
when you're just as cool, he'll fill you full of lead!"

"If he does?" retorted Tom, again bending over his transit, "and
if I notice it, I'll throw a bigger stone at him than I did that
time, and it'll land on him a few inches lower down."

"But, boy, don't you understand that the days of David and Goliath
are gone by," remonstrated Rutter. "It's true you're turned the
laugh on Pete, but that fellow won't forgive you. He may open
on you again within two minutes."

"I don't believe he will," replied Tom, with his quiet smile.
"At the same time, I'll be prepared for him."

Bending to the ground, and rummaging about a bit, Reade selected
three stones that would throw well. These he dropped into one
of his pockets.

"Now, let the bad man trot himself on, if he has to," added the
cub engineer, waving a signal to the rodman, who had just halted
at the next stake.

"Well, of all the cool ones!" grunted Rutter, under his breath.
"But, then, Reade's a tenderfoot. He doesn't understand just
how dangerous a fellow like Pete can be."

The chainman started away to measure the distance. From up the
hillside came sounds of smothered but very bad language.

"There's our friend Peter again," Tom chuckled to Rutter.

"Yes, and the ruffian may open on you again at any moment," warned
Jack, keeping an anxious glance turned in the direction whence
came the disturbing voice of Bad Pete.

"Oh, I don't think he will," drawled Tom, making a hand signal
to the leading chainman to step a little more to the left. "I
hope not, anyway, for the noise of revolver shots takes my