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Updated: June 13, 2025
"Give us our orders, chief," begged Matt Rice, with a grin, when Tom joined the others over by the mess tent. "Wait a few moments," urged Reade. "I don't really know whether I am chief or a joke." "Great Scott! After lecturing me the way you did, you are not going to get cold feet, are you?" gasped Jack Rutter. "You'll know what I mean before long," Tom murmured. "I signaled to Dr.
Tell the dogs of Gringos that I laugh at them. Tell the Gringo, Reade, that, in these hills, I shall do as I please. That I shall let him pass safely, if I am so minded, or that I shall shoot at him whenever I choose. Assure him that I regard his life as being my property. Begone, you rascal!" Nor did Nicolas linger.
"Now, what's the programme?" asked Evarts. "You've seen the leader?" "Yah. Ah's done see de right man. De orders am simple." "What are they?" "Misto Reade am to be killed de fust time he show himself," declared Sambo Ebony. "He to be shot down ez soon ez Ah can lay eyes on him. Maybe Ah have to shoot from ambush, but in any case he must be daid befo' de sun go down to-morrow.
"Carrying a rifle and marching the lock-step -the route-step, I mean -has dulled your brain," growled Tom Reade. "Is Greg in Gridley?" "What scoundrel is taking my name in vein?" demanded Holmes, coming upon the trio. Then there were hearty greetings, all over again. But in the end Reade looked Greg over from head to foot. "Do they make you sleep on a stretcher at West Point?" Tom wanted to know.
"Of course I don't, sir," replied Dick, who knew full well that such a sturdy high school athlete as Tom Reade was in very little danger of being caught by any citizen runners to be found on the street at that time of night. "But what did Tom do, Dad?" "I don't just know," admitted the bookseller. "Reade told us there would be a smash of glass, but that it would be harmless.
I had sent for the police to find you, and now I must show them that you are already found." Together they went out on the porch. Tom explained the situation. "Then you don't need us, after all?" asked one of the policemen. "Not to find Nicolas," Tom Reade admitted. "But do you know Evarts?" "Used to be your foreman?" "Yes." "We know him," nodded the policeman.
I know just how you fellows feel. You hate to lose your fun." "We do hate to lose our fun," agreed Darry. "And yet you don't want to have an encounter with a dog that has hydrophobia." "We don't," approved Tom Reade. "Dick, you have a truly wonderful intellect when it comes to successful guessing." "There's a cloud of dust up the road to the west," discovered Greg Holmes.
Had Tom Reade received the blow he would have gone to the ground. But the young engineer's athletic training stood by him. He slid out, easily and gracefully, but was compelled to wheel and face his assailant. "Don't," urged Tom. "It's too hot." "I'm hot myself," leered the stranger, dancing nearer. "You look it," Tom admitted. "If you don't stop dancing, you'll soon be hotter.
Nor was it until Prescott and Reade were astir that Harry was fully enlightened as to the meaning of the words scrawled in pencil on the sheet of paper. "You boys call me Hazy, and I must look and act the part," laughed Hazelton shamefacedly, "when we can have such an invasion of the camp, and such an early get-away with a loaded wagon, and all without my stirring."
"Well," asked Harry Hazelton, with a grin on his face, as he watched the departing car, "are we going to be fired or praised?" "We're going to lay the track across the Man-killer," returned Reade resolutely. "How about the gambler and his bad crowd? Are we going to beat them?" "We're going to do whatever the general manager orders, just as long as we remain here," replied Tom.
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