The stranger muttered unintelligible
threats, then he turned to the laborers pressing about him.
"Men," he demanded, "are you going to be free, or are you going to allow
yourselves to be treated like a lot of slaves by this boy?"
"If that's all you've got to say," Tom warned "you may as well start now."
"Start?" scoffed the sallow-faced one. "Where to?"
"Anywhere, outside of this camp," Tom informed him. "You can't stay here
any longer, and you can't come here again. If I catch you, again, on this
company's property, I'll see to it that you're arrested, and locked up for
trespass."
"That's the way to talk!" nodded Treasurer Prenter, approvingly.
"I guess I'll go when I get good and ready," asserted the stranger.
In the front ranks of the crowd pressing around them, Reade now discerned
the face of the Italian gang-master with whom he had talked recently.
"What's your name?" Tom demanded, turning about on the gang-master.
"Scipio, sir."
"Then, Scipio, take four men, and escort this fellow out of the camp.
Don't use any force unless you have to, but see to it that this fellow
leaves camp as quickly as he can walk---or be dragged. Start him now."
Gang-master Scipio plainly didn't like the job, but he liked it better than
he did the idea of being discharged.
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