"You have the advantage of me," responded Tom. "I don't know your name."
"Hawkins is my name," replied the chief of the gamblers.
"Hawkins is a fine name," admitted Tom. "It will do as well as any other.
I won't annoy you, Hawkins, by asking you what your name used to be in
prouder and happier days."
"What are these men doing with our outfit?" insisted Hawkins, as the
negroes began industriously to clear the surfaces of the tables.
"You can see what they're doing," Tom rejoined.
"You blacks get out and leave our property alone," warned Hawkins, darting
among them.
The negroes drew back, in some alarm, for the gambler looked dangerous with
one hand at his hip pocket.
"Go get on with your work, men," counseled Tom. "I'm here to back you up."
"As for you, sir---" snarled Hawkins, facing Tom.
"Don't look at me like that," laughed Reade softly. "Save that face to
frighten children with."
The negroes had busied themselves until they had gathered up all the
implements of gambling and had stuffed them into their pockets.
Now Tom went up to the bootleggers. Both men he boldly searched, bringing
forth from their pockets bottles of liquor. These he threw down hard on
the floor of the cabin, smashing them.
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