"Are you going to wait for daylight?
Get the four men out---all Americans, mind you.

_Hustle_, man!" Evarts started away; toward the camp over to the left of them.

As he did so Tom darted in another direction.

Two minutes later Tom was back, piloting by one arm a man who was still engaged in rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

This was Conlon, engineer of the motor boat, "Morton." "Where's Evarts ?" Reade queried, impatiently.