As he gave the warning he lifted his hand, and Matt saw the sun glimmer on a piece of blued steel.
"Git over thar ter whar yer friend is," ordered Jacks, from the top of the stone pile. "We mean bizness right from the drop o' the hat, young feller, an' if that red skelp o' your'n is of any valley to ye, ye'll jump mighty prompt whenever I tune up!"
Chub held his ground, however, and Matt continued to come on.
"You're a pack of thieves," clamored Chub, "that's what you are! You're trying to steal this claim away from my father, but we're going to fool you."
"Ye're McReady's son, aire ye?" yelped Jacks. "Waal, now, McReady tried ter steal this claim away from me, an' when I git back, along comes you an' makes a similar kind o' break. Git away from here! My mad's up, an' I'm li'ble ter do ye damage. What's that ye got in yer hand? Grab it away from him, Bisbee, then kick him off'n the claim."
Bisbee executed a rush in Chub's direction, but Matt was close enough by then to push out a foot and throw the ruffian heavily.
Bisbee, swearing furiously, arose to his knees and leveled the weapon he still clutched in his fingers. Before he could use it, Jacks had scrambled down from the rock pile and caught his wrist.
"None o' that, Bisbee!" said Jacks. "So long as the young whelps don't try ter interfere with us."
Matt and Chub ran back a few steps.
"It's the location notice, Matt," Chub whispered, "that I wanted you to take to town."