“Yes?” inquired the chief. “Did Pete show these young men his fighting front?”
Blaisdell repeated the dialogue that had taken place between Tom and Bad Pete.
The chief listened to his assistant in silence. Tom flushed slightly under the penetrating glance Mr. Thurston cast upon him during the recital.
When the assistant had finished, the chief merely remarked: “Blaisdell, I wish you could get rid of that fellow, Bad Pete. I don’t like to have him hanging about the camp. He’s an undesirable character, and I’m afraid that some of our men will have trouble with him. Can’t you get rid of him?”
“I’ll do it if you say so, Mr. Thurston,” Blaisdell answered quietly.
“How?” inquired his chief.
“I’ll serve out firearms to five or six of the men, and the next time Pete shows his face we’ll cover him and march him miles away from camp.”
“That wouldn’t do any good,” replied Mr. Thurston, with a shake of his head. “Pete would only come back, uglier than before, and he’d certainly shoot up some of our men.”
“You asked me, a moment ago, Mr. Thurston, what I could do,” Tom broke in. “Give me a little time, and I’ll agree to rid the camp of Peter.”
“How?” asked the chief abruptly. “Not with any gun-play! Pete would be too quick for you at anything of that sort.”