Bad Pete was aiming to drive bullets into the ground close to the young engineer's feet, making him skip about.

The sixth shot Pete was saving for clipping Reade's hat from his head.
The shots continued to ring out.

Tom, though he appeared to be absorbed in his instrument, counted.

When he had counted the sixth shot Reade dropped suddenly, picked up a stone that lay at his feet, and whirled about.
Tom Reade hadn't devoted years to ball-playing without knowing how to throw straight.

The stone left his hand, arching upward, and flew straight toward Bad Pete, who had advanced steadily as he fired.
Whiff! Though Pete tried, too late, to dodge the stone, it landed against his sombrero, carrying that away without injuring the owner.
"Kindly clear out!" called Tom coolly.