"Waiting for you, Mr. Bascomb," called Evarts.
"I guess you'd better go," called the president, rather shamefacedly, after
his talk with Mr. Prenter. "I guess maybe Reade is right. At all events
his contract places him in charge of this camp."
"Humph, Evarts, a lot of good you can do us here, can't you?" sneered the
sallow-faced fellow.
Tom looked first at one, and then at the other of the pair.
"So," guessed Reade shrewdly, "Evarts has been at the head of this game of
unlawful liquor selling in this camp. There are other vendors here, too,
are there?"
"You lie!" yelled the discharged foreman.
"You may prove that, at your convenience," Reade replied, without even a
heightening of his color. "For the present, though, you're going to get
out of camp and stay out."
"I called you a liar," sneered Evarts, "and you haven't the sand to fight
about it."
"Fighting with one of your stripe isn't worth the while," Tom retorted,
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.
Pages:
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107