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.

“Yes,” Tom assented affably.  “Do you know him?”

“Maybe.”

“Jim is a fine fellow,” Reade went on warmly.  “He knows all about Nevada, too, and he’s a man of good judgment.  He’ll be a lot of use to us in getting at the rights of this case.”

“There’s only one right side,” insisted the leader of the quartette.

“So my friend here has informed me,” answered Reade, nodding in the direction of the stout man in black.  “Yet there seems to be a good deal of difference in opinion as to which is really the right side.  But just wait until Jim and his friends get here.  They’ll be able to set us all straight and there won’t be any need for doing any rough work like shooting.”

“Dolph, we’d better shoot up the whole crowd, including the cheeky young one, before Jim Ferrers and his crowd gits here,” propose one of the quartette.

“Jim Ferrers will be awfully displeased, you do,” drawled Tom.  “Do you know Jim?  He has a reputation, I believe, for being rather sore on folks who shoot up his friends.”

“I’ll do it for you, anyway, kid!” growled one of the four, leveling his rifle.

But their leader struck the weapon up angrily just before the shot barked out.

“Who’s having Fourth of July around here?” called a laughing voice from some distance down the rising path at the rear of the quartette.  The four men turned quickly, but Tom had recognized joyfully the tones of Harry Hazelton’s voice.

“You keep out of here, stranger!” ordered one of the quartette gruffly.

“Don’t you do anything of the sort, Harry!” roared Reade’s voice.  “You keep right on an join us.”

“Did you hear my advice?” insisted the leader of the four, holding his rifle as though would throw the butt to his shoulder.

“Yes,” said Hazelton, calmly, “but I also heard my senior partner’s order.  He and I stick together.  Gangway, please.”

Harry was cool enough as he rode his horse at a walk past the men.  Hazelton will never understand how near death he was at that moment.  But there had been a few whispered words between the men, and they had allowed him to ride by.