"Yes, sir," piped the faltering voice of Alf.
"Drew, run to camp as fast as you can. Tell Ferrers to bring the whole crowd over at once."
Alf was astounded by this staggering command, which sounded like an order to rush an army to the spot. Yet he managed to gasp:
"Yes, sir."
"Now, go! Make fast time. Don't let any of this outfit catch you and hinder you."
"No, sir!"
This time Alf Drew's voice sounded faintly, over his shoulder from a considerable distance, for the boy was running fast, fear lending speed his feet.
"You see," Tom went on coolly, standing so that he could face both factions in this quarrel, "I don't know much about the merits of the case, and I'm a stranger here. I don't want to be accused of being too fresh, so I've sent for some of the natives. They'll know, better than just what to advise here. It won't take 'em long to get here."
Tom wound up this last statement with a cheerful smile.
"So Jim Ferrers is over in your camp, is he?" demanded the leader of the four men.