"Hang you, you hound!" ground out Tom, in a rage, as he threw himself
athwart of the ex-foreman. Within the next thirty seconds Evarts received
a swift, fearful pummeling.
"Let up, Mr. Reade! Let up!" cried the wretch. "I'll behave myself."
"I'll wager you will," retorted the young engineer grimly, as he gripped
Evarts by the coat collar and drew him to his feet.
Dick was up and had run ahead some distance. But the time that had been
gained for the black man had proved sufficient. Sambo, was now out of
sight, nor did he send back any sound to guide his pursuers.
"It may have to be a long hunt for the negro," remarked Tom Reade when
Lieutenant Dick stepped back to state the case. "Stand by me and shoot
this fellow down in his tracks if he tries to get away."
"Why, what are you going to do to me?" quaked the ex-foreman.
"It's back to jail for yours," Tom informed him crisply.
"Then the laugh will be on you," jeered Evarts. "I'm out on bail---all in
regular form."
"You're not on bail on the latest charge against you---attempted murderous
assault," Reade rejoined. "Nor will any court allow you out on bail again
when Mr. Prescott and I testify to hearing you tell the negro that you
were going to jump your bail.
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