shortly. "Come along, Evarts. I'll show you the way out of camp."

As Reade spoke he took hold of the ex-foreman's arm gently.

"Leggo of me!" raged the foreman, clenching and raising one of his fists.

"Don't make the mistake of touching me," urged Tom, quietly, "but come
along. This way out of camp!"

Evarts swung suddenly, driving a fist straight at Reade's face. But the
young chief engineer was always alert at such times. One of his feet moved
in between Evarts's feet, and the ex-foreman flopped down on his back.

"Come on, now!" commanded Tom, jerking the fallen foe to his feet. "This
time you'll hurry out of camp."

"Are you going to stand for it, men?" yelled Evarts, his face aflame with
anger. "Come on---all of you! Show that you're not a pack of cowards and
slaves!"

From more than a hundred throats came an ominous yell. The crowd surged
around Reade and Hazelton. Mr. Bascomb, seeing his chance, dodged and ran
out of the crowd. But Mr. Prenter, with a spring, placed himself at Tom
Reade's side.

"Come on, men!" yelled the sallow-faced fellow.

"Run dem w'ite slave-drivers outah camp!" yelled a score of negroes. Yells
in Italian and Portuguese also filled the air.

In an instant it was plain that Tom Reade had stirred up more than a
hornet's nest.

"Come on, Harry," spoke Tom, firmly. "Let's run this pair out of camp.
Then we'll come back and look for more trouble-makers and trouble-hunters!
Make way there, men!"

One excitable Italian rushed through the crowd, brandishing a revolver. As
alarmed men fell back, the Italian confronted Reade, holding the revolver
almost in the latter's face and firing.

CHAPTER X

THE NIGHT IS NOT OVER

Tom winced slightly, as the pistol was discharged, for some of the powder
burned his face.

Mr. Prenter, who stood beside him, had knocked up the barrel so that the
bullet sped over the heads of the crowd.

In a twinkling Tom had hold of the Italian's arm. He wrenched the pistol
away, spraining the Italian's arm. Instantly Tom "broke" the weapon,
dropping the cartridges out into his pocket. Then he hurled the weapon as
far as he could throw it into the shadows of the night.

"You breaka my arm!" snarled the Italian, showing his white teeth.

"Your face is next!" Tom retorted, letting his fist drive. It caught the
Italian on the nose, breaking that member.

"Kill him! Kill Reade!" came the hoarse yell on the night air.

"You'll fi