“You’ll find the foothills back near Denver or Pueblo,” replied the Colorado youth coldly “You’re up in the mountains now.” “Well, are there many like Peter Bad in these mountains?” Tom amended. “Not many,” admitted their driver. “The old breed is passing. You see, in these days, we have the railroad, public schools, newspapers, the telegraph, electric light, courts and the other things that go with civilization.” “The old days of romance are going by,” sighed Harry Hazelton. “Do you call murder romantic?” Reade demanded. “Harry, you came west expecting to find the Colorado of the dime novels. Now we’ve traveled hundreds of miles across this state, and Mr. Bad wore the first revolver that we’ve seen since we crossed the state line. My private opinion is that Peter would be afraid to handle his pistol recklessly for fear it would go off.” “I wouldn’t bank on that,” advised the young driver, shaking his head. “But you don’t carry a revolver,” retorted Tom Reade. “Pop would wallop me, if I did,” grinned the Colorado boy. “But then, I don’t need firearms. I know enough to carry a civil tongue, and to be quiet when I ought to.” “I suppose people who don’t possess those virtues are the only people that have excuse for carrying a pistol around with their keys, loose change and toothbrushes,” affirmed Reade. “Harry, the longer you stay west the more people you’ll find who’ll tell you that toting a pistol is a silly, trouble-breeding habit.” They drove along for another hour before a clattering sounded behind them. “I believe it’s Bad Pete coming,” declared Harry, as he made out, a quarter of a mile behind them, the form of a man mounted on a small, wiry mustang. “Yep; it is,” nodded the Colorado boy, after a look back. The trail being wider here Bad Pete whirled by them with a swift drumming of his pony’s hoofs. In a few moments more he was out of sight. “Tom, you may have your doubts about that fellow,” Hazelton remarked, “but there’s one thing he can do---ride!” “Humph! Anyone can ride that knows enough to get into a saddle and stick there,” observed the Colorado boy dryly. Readers of the “_Grammar School Boys Series_” and of the “_High School Boys Series_”, have already recognized in Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton two famous schoolboy athletes. Back in old Gridley there had once been a schoolboy crowd of six, known as Dick & Co. Under the leadership of Dick Prescott, these boys had made their start in athletics in the Central Grammar School, winning no small amount of fame as junior schoolboy athletes. Then in their High School days Dick & Co. had gradually made themselves crack athletes. Baseball and football were their especial sports, and in these they had reached a degree of skill that had made many a college trainer anxious to obtain them.