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 find it a tough job, men!" Tom called, warningly. "I won't die
easily, and I'll take a few men along with me when I go. Now, stand out
of the way! I shall consider any man an enemy who blocks my path!"
Tom hit resolutely out, at first. Soon the men crowding about him began
to realize that they had taken a large contract on their hands in
attempting to cow this young engineer.
Then, too, another element entered into the fight. While there were some
wild and troublesome men in camp, there were also many straightforward,
excellent fellows among them. There were church-going negroes there,
Italians who were thrifty and law-abiding, and Portuguese who loved nothing
better than law and order.
The better element among the men came thronging forward, willing and ready
to fight under such excellent generalship as they knew they would find with
Tom Reade.
Other men, of both stripes, came pouring forth from shanties and tents.
The yells and the shot had alarmed the foremen, who now came along on
the run.
"Dill, Johnson!" Tom called, as he saw some of the foremen trying to push
or punch their way through the throng. "Help me to run Evarts and this
other trouble-hunter out of the camp!"
The menacing yells grew fewer and fainter as the cheers of loyal laborers
rose.
The foremen seized both trouble makers and began to run them along with
more skill than gentleness.
Tom ran along, keeping his glance on the enraged men of the camp, many of
whom followed on the outskirts of the crowd. Harry Hazelton occupied
himself in similar fashion.
"Now, you get out of this---and stay out!" ordered Foreman Dill, giving
Evarts a shove that sent him spinning across the boundary line of the
company's property.
"You, too!" growled Foreman Johnson, giving the bootlegger a kick that sent
him staggering along in his efforts to keep on his feet.
It was rough treatment, but Tom's course, all through, had been of the only
sort that could break down the threatened riot.
"Now, see if that Italian can be found who fired the shot in my face," Tom
called. "I'll know him if I lay eyes on him."
There was a prompt search, but the Italian could not be found.
"If he has left camp, and keeps away, perhaps he'll be safe," Tom
announced. "But, if I run across him again I'll seize him, hold him for
the officers of the law, and see to it that he's sent to prison for
attempted murder."
"Here are two men we want!" called Hazelton.
Tom ran to his chum, who was holding an American by the arm. Mr. Prenter
had hold of another.
"Two more of Evarts's bootleggers, eh?" muttered Reade. "Let me see."
On one of the men he found a bottle of liquor. On the other no liquor was
discovered.
"Did Evarts pay you fellows a salary, or commission?" Tom demanded.
"Commiss---" began one of the bootleggers, then stopped himself with a
vocal jerk. "Evarts? I don't even know who he is."
"Yes, you do," chuckled Tom Reade. "You were on the point, too, of telling
us that he paid you a commission on your sales, instead of a weekly wage.
Now, my men, I've looked you well over and shall know you again. If I find
you in camp, hereafter, you'll be dealt with in a way that you don't like.
Savvy? Comprenay? Understand? Now---git!"
"Now, men, get back to your camp," shouted Tom. "To-morrow I'll try to
find time for a good and sociable talk with all of you. Try to enjoy your
few leisure hours all you can, but remember that the men who can't get
along without liquor and gambling are the kind of men we don't want here.
Any man who is dissatisfied can get his pay from Mr. Renshaw tonight or
to-morrow morning. For those who stood by us I have every feeling of
respect and gratitude. Those who thought to fight us---or some of
them---will have better sense by tomorrow. We don't want to impose on
any man here, but there are some things that we shall have to stop doing.
Good night, men!"
Engineers, superintendent and foremen now left the men, going towards their
barracks.
"I've a little job for you, Peters, if you don't mind going back into the
camp," suggested Tom.
"It's not to go back and fight, single-handed, is it?" Mr. Peters asked,
with a smile.
"Nothing like it," Tom laughed. "Peters, we have plenty of really good men
among our laborers, haven't we?"
"Scores and scores of 'em, sir---among all three kinds of the men, negroes,
Italians and Portuguese."
"I wish you would go back, then, and pick out two of each race---six men
in all. They must be honest, staunch and able to hold their tongues."
"Do you want them for fighting, sir?" asked Peters.
"Not a bit of a fight in it. I want them to use their eyes and report
to me."
"Going to employ spotters on the camp?" asked Mr. Prenter, quickly.
"Not a single spot!" Tom declared with emphasis. "I haven't any use for
information turned in by spotters."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Reade," nodded the treasurer.
"What I want the men for, Peters, is something honest and manly, and with
no fighting in it," Tom continued. "I want information, and I'll pay the
man well who can bring it to me. Now, go and get your six men. Bring them
up to the house within half an hour."
Nodding, Peters turned and strode back.
When the others gained the house where the engineers and superintendent
lived the foremen took leave of their chiefs.
As Tom, Harry and Mr. Prenter went up the steps to the porch the front door
opened to let out Mr. Bascomb.
"Is that revolting row all over?" demanded the president of the Melliston
Company.
"What row?" asked Mr. Prenter, innocently.
"That riot back in camp," shivered Mr. Bascomb. "I simply abhor all
fighting."
"So I noticed," commented Mr. Prenter, dryly. "Yes; I believe the trouble
is over, unless our young chief engineer intends to stir up something new
before bedtime. Do you, Reade?"
"I haven't anything in mind," Tom answered with a smile. "Gentlemen, I am
afraid you may think I do things with a high hand. But I have been at this
engineering business just long enough to know that I must banish all
serious vices from a camp of laborers if I hope to get the best results in
work out of the men. So I must tackle some problems rather stiffly, and
use my fists when I'm driven to a corner."
"I am not thoroughly satisfied of the wisdom of your course," said Mr.
Bascomb slowly.
"Sorry to disagree with you, Bascomb," broke in the treasurer, "but I've
had some experience in handling what is called wild labor, and I believe
that Reade goes at it in just the right way. I don't believe there are
really fifty really wild or troublesome men in that camp. The few bad ones
usually start trouble going, and then the good ones are driven into it.
Let Reade stop the vices over yonder, in the way that he wants to, and the
worst of the crowd will call for their time and leave camp. We shall then
have a thoroughly good lot of men left, who'll do more and better work."
"That is," almost whined President Bascomb, "if Reade, in doing what he
wants, doesn't stir up so much enmity that we have the rest of our wall
blown out into the gulf."
"Mr. Bascomb," put in Tom, "while I must have control of the men and their
camp I don't wish to do anything to cast reflection on yourself as the head
of the company. May I therefore ask, sir, if there is any especial reason
why Evarts should be allowed in this camp?"
President Bascomb fidgeted in the porch chair on which he was sitting.
"I---I don't know of any reason, Mr. Reade, why Evarts should be allowed
in camp if his presence prevents you from keeping order as you wish."
"Then you approve, sir, of my intention to keep him out?"
"I---I won't question your right to handle the matter as you wish, Mr.
Reade," was the president's evasive reply.
"Thank you, sir."
Peters was soon back with the six men---two each of the negroes, Italians
and Portuguese. All of them understood English.
Harry described the negro who had attacked him on the retaining wall, after
which Tom asked:
"Have any of you men ever seen that negro? Have you any idea who he is,
and where he can be found?"
None of the six admitted any knowledge of the mysterious black man.
"Then I want you to keep his description in mind," continued Tom. "Keep
your eyes open, at all times, for any chance glimpse of him. The man who
brings me information leading to the capture of that big negro will
receive a reward of one hundred dollars in gold." "Keep your eyes open,
won't you? You may find him prowling around the wall at any time. He
may walk out on the wall, or he may be found hiding near in a boat. Watch
for him."
All promised eagerly that they would do all in their power to earn the
hundred dollars.
"That's what I call good business!" cried Mr. Prenter approvingly, as
soon as the foreman and the men had gone.
"Does the hundred dollars come out of the company treasury, Reade, or from
your own pocket?" inquired President Bascomb.
"Really I hadn't thought of the matter," answered Tom.
"The company can afford to pay its own bills," broke in Mr. Prenter, rather
gruffly.
"It's about time to turn in, isn't it?" asked Mr. Bascomb, striking a match
and glancing at his watch.
"I'm going to stay up a little longer, and talk with Reade about the dread
mystery of our million dollar breakwater, if he'll let me," hinted Mr.
Prenter.
Mr. Bascomb rose as though to go into the house.
"While we're talking about the matter, sir," suggested Tom, "wouldn't it
be a good idea for us to stroll down to the beach and look out along the
wall to see how Foreman Corbett and his gang are guarding the breakwater
to-night?"
"Fine idea," nodded the treasurer of the company.
"Then, if you're all going away, and intend to leave the house alone, I
think I may as well go with you," grunted Mr. Bascomb. "I don't exactly
like the idea of staying here alone in such troublesome times."
Harry walked beside Mr. Bascomb, while Tom led the way with the treasurer.
Mr. Renshaw brought up the rear.
As the party came in sight of the beach and glanced out seaward, they saw
many a little, dancing light out on the retaining wall. Each light showed
where a workman patrolled under the orders of Foreman Corbett. The latter
was aboard the motor boat, "Morton," which ran up and down near the wall,
throwing the searchlight over the scene.
"Reade," remarked Mr. Prenter, "I don't see that the enemy have any chance
to-night to run in and work harm to our property."
Hardly had the treasurer spoken when Tom, looking out seaward, saw a
sudden, bright flash of light upward. There was a brief pause---then the
sullen boom of an explosion reached their ears.
"Mystery of all mysteries!" choked Tom Reade. "There goes another section
of the wall---blown up under our very eyes!"