"Do as I tell you," retorted Tad sharply. "Be quick about it, too."
A cowboy aimed a gun at Phil Simms.
"Try it, if ye want ter git touched up," he warned. "Bob, sail into the fresh kid," he added, nodding his head toward Tad Butler.
"I'm not looking for a fight—I don't want to fight, but if that loafer comes near me I'll have to do the best I can," answered Tad bravely. "I don't expect to get fair play. I'll——"
"You'll git fair play and you'll git more besides," called the previous speaker. "Go to him, Bob."
Bob lowered his head, sticking out his chin and assuming a belligerent attitude with eyes fixed on the slender figure of his opponent.
Tad was observing the mountain boy keenly, measuring him mentally, while young Simms, pale-faced and frightened, was leaning against his pony, which he had caught and was preparing to mount when he was stopped by the gun of the cowboy.
"See, you've got him rattled already, Bob," shouted a cowman triumphantly. "He'll be running in a minute."
"Come away, Tad," begged Philip.
"Keep quiet. Don't speak to me," answered the lad, without turning his head toward his companion. Tad Butler's whole being was centered on the work that he knew was ahead of him.