CHAPTER XII.
AN ENGINEER'S FIGHTING BLOOD Just at half-past eight that evening Tom, Harry, the superintendent and the foremen entered camp.
They went, first, to a shack which they knew to be occupied by orderly, respectable blacks.
"Come, men," said Tom, halting in the doorway.

"I've an idea we may need you." Six negroes rose and came forward.
"There are gambling and bootlegging going on in this camp to-night, aren't there ?" Reade inquired.
"Ah doan' rightly know, boss," replied one of the negroes cautiously.
"But you suspect it, don't you ?" Tom pressed.
"Yes; Ah done 'spec so, boss," grinned the negro.
"And I do, too," rejoined Tom.

"Come along.

We may need a little help." With this reinforcement---the negroes were wanted for work rather than for fighting---Tom now stepped off briskly through the camp.
Nor did he have to guess in which way to go through the darkened streets of this little village of toilers.

Shouts of laughter and the click of ivory dice and celluloid chips signaled the direction.
The largest shack in the village was closed tightly as to door and window, though light came out through the chinks.