“Now, you’ve done it!” exclaimed Tom.
“I haven’t quite finished,” snapped the stranger, rushing after Reade.
“I’m going to box your ears soundly, boy!”
“Are you, indeed?” demanded Tom, halting. He was still smiling, but there was a stern look in his eyes. Tom no longer retreated, but stood awaiting Black’s assault.
Blanks fist shot out straight, but Reade didn’t stop the blow. Instead, he ducked low. When he came up his arms enveloped Black’s legs in one of the swift football tackles that Tom had learned with the Gridley High School football team.
“You annoy me,” drawled Tom, and hurled the fellow ten feet away. Black landed on his back with an angry roar, followed by cursing.
“Profanity is always objectionable to a gentleman,” declared Tom dryly, running over ere the newcomer could regain his feet. Once more Reade bent and rose. As he did so, Eugene Black shot through the tent doorway, landing on the ground a dozen feet beyond.
Tom stood in the doorway, smiling. Black leaped to his feet.
“You puppy!” gasped Black, sending his right hand back to his hip pocket. Tom didn’t wait to see what he would bring out, but darted forward. This time he seized the stranger in a dead tackle, dropping him over on his back without throwing him.
“Now, roll over,” ordered Reade grimly. “I’m curious to see what you have in your pocket. Ah! So—-this is it! You’re another Peter Bad, are you?”