"A nice lot you are!" called Tom crisply. "How many hours does it take you
to get awake when you're called in the middle of the night?"

"This overtime warn't in the agreement," sleepily retorted one of the men.

"You're wrong there," Reade informed him, vehemently. "Overtime _is_ in
the agreement for every man in this camp when it's wanted of him---from
the chief engineer all along the line. Now, you men oblige me by hustling.
I don't want to wait more than sixty seconds for the last man of you."

"I've a good mind to crawl back into my bunk," growled another of the men.

"All right," retorted Tom Reade, with suspicious cheerfulness. "Try it and
see what kind of fireworks I carry concealed on my person. Or, just lag a
little bit on me, and you'll see the same thing. Men, do you realize that
there's foul play afoot out on the retaining wall? We've got to go out
there in time to stop anything more happening. Now, you've got your shoes
on; grab the rest of your clothing and hustle it on as we make for the
beach. Come along!"

Tom fairly got behind the men and pushed them outside. They would have
liked to complain, but they didn't. Some of them were larger and heavier
than the chief engineer, but they knew quite well that, at sign of any
trifling mutiny to-night, Reade would thrash them all.

"If any one is trying to blow up the wall, Mr. Reade, it's all your fault,
anyway," ventured Evarts, as the little party started at a brisk walk for
the beach. "When you've got a mixed crowd of men working for you, you
shouldn't interfere too much with their amusements. Yet you would have the
gamblers run out of camp just when our boys were getting ready to have some
pleasant evenings."

"I'll run out any one else who attempts to bring disorderly doings into
this camp," Tom retorted quietly.

"Then there'll be some more of your seawalls blown up," Evarts warned him
gloomily.

"If such a thing happens again there'll be some men hurt, and some others
breaking into prison," Tom answered with spirit. "Any evildoers that try
to set themselves up in business around here will soon wish they had kept
away---that's all."

"It's a bad business," insisted Evarts, wagging his head. "When you have
a mixed crowd of workmen---"

"I think you've said that before," Tom broke in coolly. "To-night we're
in too much of a hurry to listen to the same thing twice. Come on, men.
You can go a little faster than a walk. Jog a b