“Hurry, you men!” Gage roared after them.

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.”

“I have had enough,” Gage gasped.  Indeed, his face looked as though he had.

“Are you a baby?” Reade demanded contemptuously.  “Can’t you fight with anything but your tongue!”

“You wait and I’ll show you,” snarled the badly battered man.

“What’s the need of waiting?” Tom jeered, and swung in another blow that sent Gage to the ground.

“Eh!  Josh!” bellowed Gage, with all the breath he had left.  “Hustle o-o-o-over here!”

“Let ’em come!” vaunted Reade.  “You’ll be done for long before they can get here.”

“I’ll have you killed when they get here with the guns!” cried Gage hoarsely.

Tom continued to punish his opponent.  Then Dolph, on regaining his feet, sought to run.  Tom let him go a few steps, then bounded after him with the speed of the sprinter.  Gage was caught by the shoulders, swung squarely around, and soundly pummelled.

“Let up!  Let up!” begged Gage.  “I’m beaten.  I admit it.”

“Beaten, perhaps, but not punished enough,” retorted Tom.  As Dolph would no longer stand up, Reade threw himself upon the fellow and pummelled him fearfully.

“This is no fair fight,” protested Gage, now fairly sobbing in his pain and terror, for good-humored Reade seemed to him now to be the impersonation of destroying, fury.

“Fair fight?” echoed Reade.  “Of course it isn’t.  This is a chastisement.  You villain, you’ve done nothing but annoy us and shoot at us ever since we’ve met you.  You’ve got to stop it after this; do you understand?”

“I’ll stop it—–­I’ll stop it.  Please stop yourself,” begged Gage, now thoroughly cowed.