First of all Tom gazed curiously at the four men, who glared back at him with looks full of hate.

“Who are you, anyway?” demanded the spokesman of the sullen four.

“I might be the sheriff,” Tom replied placidly.

“Huh!” retorted the spokesman.

“But I’m not,” Tom went on, rather genially.  “I’m just an inquisitive tourist.”

“Heard o’ Bald Knob?” demanded the leader of the four.

“No,” admitted Reade, opening his eyes with interest.  “Who is he, and how did he become bald?”

“Bald Knob is a place,” came the information.  “It’s the place where inquisitive tourists are buried in these parts.”

“I’ll look it up some day,” Tom promised, good-humoredly.

“You’ll look it up before dark if we have time to pack you there,” growled the leader of the men.  “Now, are you going to stand aside?”

Tom shook his head.

“Let’s shake hands all around and then sit down for a nice little talk,” the young engineer suggested.

“There’s been too much talk already,” snarled Tom’s antagonist.

The men of the automobile party were silent.  They had scented in Tom an ally who would help their cause materially.

“Then you won’t be sociable?” Reade demanded, as if half offended.

“Git out and go about your business,” ordered the leader of the four men.

“It’s always my business when women and children appear to be in danger,” returned Tom.  He turned on his heel, presenting his broad back as a target to the rifles as he stepped over to automobile party.

Oddly the four men, though they had the look of being desperate, did not offer to shoot.

Tom’s audacity had almost cowed them for the moment.

“I hope I can be of some use to you,” suggested Tom, raising his hat out of respect to the women.

“I reckon you can, if you’re a good hand with a gun,” replied the older of the two armed men with the motor party.  “Got any shooting irons about you?”

“Nothing in that line,” Tom admitted.

“Then reach under the cushion, left-hand front seat of that car,” returned the same speaker.  “You’ll find an automatic revolver there.”

Reade, however, chose to ignore the advice.  He had small taste for the use of firearms.

Seeing, the young engineer’s reluctance the younger of the two armed men went himself to the car, taking out the revolver and offering it to this cool young stranger.

“Thank you,” was Tom’s smiling reply.  “But that tool is not for me.  I’m the two-hundred-and-thirteenth vice president of the Peace Society.”

“You’d better fight, or hike,” advised the older of the two men.  “This isn’t going to be a safe place for just nothing but chin.  And, ladies, I ask you to get behind one of the cars, since you won’t leave here.  Throw yourselves flat on your faces.  We don’t want any good women hit by any such mean rascals as that crowd over there.”