"Oh, we don't feel ready for anything more festive than a lynching party," muttered Dave, hotly. "See here, you-----" "I s'pose ye think ye can do all ye wanter to me, jest because I've been doin' my stretch?" demanded Tip, aggressively. "But don't be too sure. Take yer hand offen my shoulder!" Dave didn't show any sign of immediate intention of complying. "_Take it off_!" insisted Tip. But Dave met the fellow's baleful gaze with a cool, steady look. Tip, muttering something, edged away from under Dave's extended hand. "Now, ye wanter understand," continued young Scammon, "that I can't be played with, jest because some folks think I'm down. If you come fooling around me you'll have to explain or apologize." "Tip," questioned Dave Darrin, sharply, "why did you just throw two brickbats at Dick Prescott's head?" "I didn't," retorted Tip, stolidly. "You _did_." "I didn't." "Tip," declared Dave, solemnly, "I won't call you a liar. I'll just remark that you and truth are strangers." "I ain't interested in what you fellers got to say," flared Tip, sullenly. "And I don't like your company, neither. So jest skate along." "We're not going to linger with you, Tip, any longer than seems absolutely necessary," promised Dave, coolly. "But what I want to say is this: If you make any more attempts to do Dick Prescott any harm our crowd will get you, no matter how far we have to go to find you. Is that clear?" "I s'pose it is, if you say so," sneered young Scammon. "We'll get you," pursued Dave, "and we'll turn you over to the authorities. One citizen like Dick Prescott is worth more than a million of your stamp. If we find you up to any more tricks against Dick Prescott, or against any of us, for that matter, we'll soon have you doing your second 'stretch,' as you have learned to call a term at the penitentiary. Tip, your best card will be to turn over a very new leaf, and find an honest job. Just because you've been in jail once don't go along with the notion that it's the only place where you can find your kind of company. But whatever you do, steer clear of Dick Prescott and his chums. I think you understand that. Now, go!" Tip tried to brazen it out, but there was a compelling quality in the clear, steady gaze of Dave Darrin's dark eyes. After a moment Tip Scammon let his own gaze drop. He turned and shuffled away. "Poor fellow!" muttered Dick. "Yes, with all my heart," agreed Dave. "But the fellow doesn't want to get any notion that he can go about terrorizing folks in Gridley!" CHAPTER V RIPLEY LEARNS THAT THE PIPER MUST BE PAID Scammon, however, knew one person in Gridley whom he thought he could terrorize. He started in promptly to do it. At three the next afternoon young Scammon loitered under a big, bare oak on one of the winding, little-traveled streets that led from Gridley out into the open country beyond.