Through the scene below was one of armed truce that might, at any moment, break into hostilities, with human lives at stake, Tom glanced coolly downward for a few seconds after his first startled, unheard remark.

“I’m going, to duck out of this,” whispered Alf Drew, whose slim little figure was shaking in a way suggestive of chills.

“Don’t be in a hurry,” Tom murmured.  “We may be of some use to some of these people.”

“Tote those guns away, friends,” spoke one of the revolver-armed men with the automobile party, “and march yourselves under the guns.  Remember, we have women here.”

“They can get away,” returned one of the sullen-faced men with rifles.  “We won’t hinder ’em.  We’ll give ’em two full minutes to get where it’s safe.  Then we’re going to turn our talking machines loose.”

From the top of the low cliff came Tom Meade’s drawling voice: 

“Oh, I say, friends!”

Startled, all below glanced quickly upward.

“There seems to be trouble down there,” Tom suggested.

“There sure is,” nodded one of the armed men with the automobile party.

“Now, it’s too glorious a day to spoil it with fighting,” Reade went on.  “Can’t we arbitrate?”

“The first move for you, young man,” warned one of the four men, raising his rifle, “is to face about and git outer here.”

“Not while there are women and children present who might get hurt,” Tom dissented, with a shake of his head.

“Git, I tell you!” shouted the man, now aiming his rifle full at Tom’s chest.  Git—–­before I count five.”

“Save your cartridge,” proposed Tom.  “I’m too poor game, and I’m not armed, either.  Surely you wouldn’t shoot a harmless orphan like me.”  Saying which the young engineer, having found a path down the cliff nearby, started slowly to descend.

“Get back there!  Another step, and I’ll put a ball through you!” roared the man who had Reade covered with his rifle.

“That wouldn’t prove anything but your marksmanship,” Suggested Tom, and coolly continued to descend.

“Going to get back?” howled the man behind the gun.

Without further answer Reade quickened his pace somewhat, reaching the flat bottom of the gully on a run.

Though he felt that the chances were eight out of ten that he would be shot at any second, Tom didn’t betray any outward fear.  The truth was that even if he wanted to stop, he would have found it somewhat difficult on that steep incline.

Where he landed, on his feet, Tom stood between the hostile parties.  Had hostilities opened at that moment he would have been in a bad position between the two fires.

“Great Scott!” gasped the frightened Alf, peering down.

That youngster had thrown himself flat on his stomach his head behind a bush.  He was trying to make himself as small as possible.  “Whew!  But Reade has the real grit!”