“I don’t carry a pistol, and don’t wish to do so,” Tom retorted. “In my opinion only a coward carries a pistol.”
“Then you think Bad Pete is a coward, young man?” returned the chief.
“If driven into a corner I’m pretty sure he’d turn out to be one, sir,” Tom went on earnestly. “A coward is a man who’s afraid. If a fellow isn’t afraid of anything, then why does he have to carry firearms to protect himself?”
“I don’t believe that would quite apply to Pete,” Mr. Thurston went on. “Pete doesn’t carry a revolver because he’s afraid of anything. He knows that many other men are afraid of pistols, and so he carries his firearms about in order that he may enjoy himself in playing bully.”
“I can drive him out of camp,” Tom insisted. “All I’ll wait for will be your permission to go ahead.”
“If you can do it without shooting,” replied the chief, “try your hand at it. Be careful, however, Reade. There are plenty of good natural lead mines in these mountains.”
“Yes—-sir?” asked Reade, looking puzzled.
“Much as we’d like to see Pete permanently out of this camp, remember that we don’t want you to give the fellow any excuse for turning you into a lead mine.”
“If Peter tries anything like that with me,” retorted Tom solemnly, “I shall be deeply offended.”
“Very good. Take the young men along with you, Blaisdell. I’ll hear your report on them tomorrow night.”