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!"
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.
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