"Grab 'em! Be careful you don't hit Mr.Reade." In another instant the cellar was the center of a wild scene.

Railway laborers flooded the little place.

While some held dark lanterns that threw a bright glow over the scene, others leaped upon the masked ones, tearing the cloths from their faces.
"Serve 'em hot!" roared the same rough voice.
"Stop!" commanded Tom Reade, leaping forward where the light was brightest and into the thick of the struggling mass of humanity.
"Stop, I tell you!" His commands fell upon deaf ears.

It was impossible to restrain these men.
Here and there the lately masked men drew pistols, though not one of them had a chance to use his weapon ere it was wrested from him.
Pound! slam! bang! A medley of falling blows filled the air, nor was it many seconds later when cries of pain and fear, and appeals for mercy were heard on all sides.
Tom had recognized his own railroad workers, and was throwing himself among them, doing his utmost with hands and voice to stop the brief but wild orgy of revenge on the part of the workmen who idolized him.

In their present rage, however, Tom could not at once restrain them.