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.
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