"Where to ?" "Anywhere, outside of this camp," Tom informed him.

"You can't stay here any longer, and you can't come here again.

If I catch you, again, on this company's property, I'll see to it that you're arrested, and locked up for trespass." "That's the way to talk!" nodded Treasurer Prenter, approvingly.
"I guess I'll go when I get good and ready," asserted the stranger.
In the front ranks of the crowd pressing around them, Reade now discerned the face of the Italian gang-master with whom he had talked recently.
"What's your name ?" Tom demanded, turning about on the gang-master.
"Scipio, sir." "Then, Scipio, take four men, and escort this fellow out of the camp.
Don't use any force unless you have to, but see to it that this fellow leaves camp as quickly as he can walk---or be dragged.

Start him now." Gang-master Scipio plainly didn't like the job, but he liked it better than he did the idea of being discharged.

So he spoke to four Italians about him, and the five surrounded the man.
"Hol' on dar, Boss Reade!" spoke up a negro.