. While he was thus
occupied Bad Pete slipped about, and now confronted Reade. The
muzzle of a revolver was pressed against the young engineer's belt.

"Hoist your hands!" ordered Pete warningly.

Tom obeyed, though he hoisted his hands only as far as his mouth.
Forming a megaphone, he gave vent to a loud yell of:

"Roo-rup! roo-rup! roo-rup!"

It was one of the old High School yells of the good old Gridley
days---one of the yells sometimes used as a signal of distress
by famous old Dick & Co., of which Tom Reade had been a shining
member.

On the still air of the mountain night that yell traveled far
and clearly. It was a call of penetrating power, traveling farther
than its sound would suggest.

"You do that again, you young coyote, and I'll begin to pump!"
growled Bad Pete savagely.

"I won't need to do it again," Tom returned. "Wait a few minutes,
and you'll see."

"Shall I drop him, Black?" inquired Pete.

'Gene Black was about to answer in the affirmative, when a sound
up the trail caught his attention.

"There's someone coming," snarled Black, using his keen powers
of hearing.

"Wait and I'll introduce you," mocked Tom Reade.

"We won't wait. Neither will you," retorted Black. "You'll come
with us. About face and walk fast!"

"I'm not going your way tonight," replied Reade calmly.

"If he doesn't obey every order like a flash, Pete, then you pull
the trigger and wind this cub up."

"All right," nodded Pete. "Cub, you heard what Black said?"

"Yes," replied Tom, looking at Pete with smiling eyes.

"Then come along," ordered Black, seizing Tom by one arm.

"I won't!" Tom declared flatly.

"You know what refusal means. Pete is steady on the trigger."

"Is he?" asked Reade coolly.

Watching like a cat through his sleepy-looking eyes, Reade suddenly
shot his right hand across his abdomen in such fashion as to knock
away the muzzle of the revolver. Bad Pete felt himself seized
in a football tackle that had been the terror of more than one
opposing High School football player.

Crash! Pete struck the ground, Reade on top of him.

'Gene Black darted to the aid of his companion, but shrank back
as he caught the glint of the revolver that Tom had twisted out
of the hand of the bad man.

"Duck, Black!" warned Tom, in a quiet tone that nevertheless had
a deadly note in it.

"Where are you?" called the voice of Harry Hazelton, not two hundred
yards up the trail now.

"Here!" cal