The Young Engineers on the Gulf | Page 7

but
Americans on guard tonight, Evarts! What do you suppose has
happened?"
"Can't guess."
"No! You're still too sleepy. Evarts, some scoundrels have blown out a
good part of our wall yonder."
"Are you joking, Mr. Reade?"
"No, sir; I am not. Dynamite must have been used. Hazelton and I
heard the noise of the blast, but of course we got out there too late to
catch any miscreant at the job."
Evarts, at first, was inclined to regard the news with mild disbelief, but
he soon realized that something must have happened very nearly as the
young chief engineer had described.
"Well, what are you standing there for?" Tom demanded, impatiently.
"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. "Oh, Evarts! Where are
you, and what are you doing?"
"Trying to get four men awake," bawled back the voice of the foreman,

from the distance. "As soon as I get one man on his feet the other three
have sunk back to sleep."
"Wait until I get over there then!" called Tom, striding forward. "Come
along, Conlon! Don't you lag on me."
"There! Do you fellows reckon you want Mr. Reade to bump in here
and shake you out?" sounded the warning voice of Evarts.
As Tom and the motor boat's engine tender reached the little, box-like
shack from which Evarts's tones proceeded, four men, seated on the
floor, were seen to be lacing their shoes by the dim light of a lantern.
"A nice lot you are!" called Tom crisply. "How many hours does it take
you to get awake when you're called in the middle of the night?"
"This overtime warn't in the agreement," sleepily retorted one of the
men.
"You're wrong there," Reade informed him, vehemently. "Overtime is
in the agreement for every man in this camp when it's wanted of
him---from the chief engineer all along the line. Now, you men oblige
me by hustling. I don't want to wait more than sixty seconds for the last
man of you."
"I've a good mind to crawl back into my bunk," growled another of the
men.
"All right," retorted Tom Reade, with suspicious cheerfulness. "Try it
and see what kind of fireworks I carry concealed on my person. Or, just
lag a little bit on me, and you'll see the same thing. Men, do you realize
that there's foul play afoot out on the retaining wall? We've got to go
out there in time to stop anything more happening. Now, you've got
your shoes on; grab the rest of your clothing and hustle it on as we
make for the beach. Come along!"
Tom fairly got behind the men and pushed them outside. They would
have liked to complain, but they didn't. Some of them were larger and

heavier than the chief engineer, but they knew quite well that, at sign of
any trifling mutiny to-night, Reade would thrash them all.
"If any one is trying to blow up the wall, Mr. Reade, it's all your fault,
anyway," ventured Evarts, as the little party started at a brisk walk for
the beach. "When you've got a mixed crowd of men working for you,
you shouldn't interfere too much with their amusements. Yet you would
have the gamblers run out of camp just when our boys were getting
ready to have some pleasant evenings."
"I'll run out any one else who attempts to bring disorderly doings into
this camp," Tom retorted quietly.
"Then there'll be some more of your seawalls blown up," Evarts warned
him gloomily.
"If such a thing happens again there'll be some men hurt, and some
others breaking into prison," Tom answered with spirit. "Any evildoers
that try to set themselves up in business around here will soon wish
they had kept away---that's all."
"It's a bad business," insisted Evarts, wagging his head. "When you
have a mixed crowd of workmen---"
"I think you've said that before," Tom broke in coolly. "To-night we're
in too much of a hurry to listen to the same thing twice. Come on, men.
You can go a little faster than a walk. Jog a bit---I'll show you how."
"This is pretty hard on men in the middle of the night," hinted Evarts,
after the jogging had gone on for a full minute. "It ain't right to-----"
"Stop it, Evarts!" Tom cut in crisply. "I don't mind a little grumbling at
the right