“There’s our friend Peter again,” Tom chuckled to Rutter.

“Yes, and the ruffian may open on you again at any moment,” warned Jack, keeping an anxious glance turned in the direction whence came the disturbing voice of Bad Pete.

“Oh, I don’t think he will,” drawled Tom, making a hand signal to the leading chainman to step a little more to the left.  “I hope not, anyway, for the noise of revolver shots takes my thoughts away from my work.”

Jack Rutter said no more after that, though through the rest of the afternoon he kept an alert lookout for signs of Pete.  There were none, however.  Rather earlier than usual, on account of the distance back to camp, Rutter knocked off work for the entire party and the start on the return to camp was made.

Harry Hazelton was considerably excited when he heard the news of the firing on his chum.  Reade, however, appeared to be but little interested in the subject.

Pete was not in camp that evening.

Rutter went at once to the tent of the chief, to tell him how well the “cubs” had done during the day.  Nor did Jack forget to relate the encounter with Bad Pete.

Just as the underlings of the staff were seating themselves around the table in their mess, Mr. Thurston thrust his head in at the doorway.

“Reade,” called the chief engineer, “I have heard about your trouble with Pete today.”

“There wasn’t any real trouble, sir,” Tom answered.

“Fortunately for you, Reade, Pete didn’t intend to hit you.  If he had meant to do so, he’d have done it.  I’ve seen him shoot all the spots out of a ten of clubs.  Don’t provoke the fellow, Reade, or he’ll shoot you full of fancy holes.  Of course it showed both grit and coolness on your part in keeping steadily on with your work all the time the fellow was firing at you.  Still, it was unwise to expose yourself needlessly to danger.”

“I didn’t consider Bad Pete particularly dangerous,” Tom rejoined.

“A lawless man with a loaded revolver is hardly a safe person to trifle with,” retorted Mr. Thurston dryly.

“I see that I shall have to make a confession,” smiled Tom.  “It was this way, sir.  When Hazelton and I were on our way west Harry insisted that we were coming into a dangerous country and that we’d need firearms.  So Harry bought two forty-five six-shooters and several boxes of cartridges, too.  I was provoked when I heard about it, for we hadn’t any too much money, and Harry had bought the revolvers out of our joint treasury.”

“I felt sure we’d need the pistols,” interrupted Hazelton.  “Today’s affair shows that I was right.  Tom, you’ll have to carry one of the revolvers after this.”

“I’m no gun-packer,” retorted Tom scornfully.  “Young men have no business carting firearms about unless they’re hunting or going to war.  Any fellow who carries a pistol as he would a lead pencil is either a coward or a lunatic.”