Then he started in to nose around the camp.
As he passed a clump of bushes there was a slight stir among them.
Then Tom Reade leaped forth.
In a twinkling Dolph Gage had been caught up. He was in the grip of a strong, trained football player.
"Drop me!" ordered Gage, with a slight quiver in his voice.
"I'm going to," agreed Tom, hurling the fellow fully a dozen feet.
With an oath Gage leaped to his feet. Before he was fairly Tom Reade's fist caught him in the left eye, sending him to earth once more.
"Is that the way you fight, you young cub?" roared Gage hoarsely.
"I can fight harder if you want me to," Tom retorted, as the other again got to his feet. "Now, put your hands up, and I'll show you."
Tom went at it hammer and tongs. He was a splendidly built young athlete, and boxing was one of his strong points, though he rarely allowed himself to get into a fight. Indeed, his usually abounding good nature made all fighting disagreeable to him. Now, however, he drove in as though Dolph Gage were a punching-bag.
"Stand up, man, and fight as though you had some sand in you!" Tom ordered. "Get up steam, and defend yourself."