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The Young Engineers on the Gulf, a fiction by H. Irving Hancock |
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Chapter 12. An Engineer's Fighting Blood |
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_ 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. Tom stepped over there boldly, not turning to see whether his following were close behind him. Stepping up to the closed door the young chief engineer placed his shoulder against it. He gave a sturdy push, and the barrier flew open. There were about fifty of his men crowded into one large room. A half dozen gambling games were in full blast. At two tables stood bootleggers, each with a bottle of liquor and glasses. Tom stalked boldly in, still without turning to look at his own following. Reade's face bore such a mild look that the leader of the visiting gamblers was wholly deceived as he glanced up. "The chief!" called one workman, in dismay, and a dozen men made a break for the door. But Harry and the others prevented their getting out. "Oh, it's all right," cheerily announced the leader of the gamblers. "Mr. Reade has just come here to look on and make sure that everything is being conducted above board and on the square. Isn't that so, Reade?" "Yes," Tom assented, pausing near the central table at which gambling was going on. At that assurance the panic-stricken gamblers breathed more easily. Several men who had jumped up from their seats went back to their chairs. "Reade is a good friend of ours," called the leader of the gamblers, mockingly. "He isn't going to interfere with any amusements that are properly carried on---eh, Reade?" The fellow stared boldly into Tom's eyes, a look of insolent mockery on his features. "Certainly I'm not going to interfere with any proper amusements in this camp," Tom nodded, easily. "What did I tell you, boys?" laughed the leader of the gamblers. "Go on with your play, boys!" "But gambling isn't a proper amusement for poor men, who have to toil and sweat for every five-cent piece they get," Tom Reade continued calmly. "Neither is the trade of bootlegging a decent one, or one that provides decent amusement. I have already warned you that gambling and liquor selling are things of the past in this camp." There was another stir in the room. The leader of the gamblers rose, fixing his gaze on Tom's eyes and trying to stare the young engineer out of countenance. "What do you mean, Reade?" he demanded. "Isn't my meaning clear enough?" Tom insisted, with a chilly smile. "Man, haven't you come to your senses yet?" snarled the gambler. "Do you mean to ask whether I was scared by the cowardly, unsigned letter that I received this evening?" Tom fired back at the fellow, with another taunting smile. "I don't know anything about any letter," muttered the gambler sullenly, "but I heard that you had come to your senses." "Whether I have or not," retorted Tom, "you are pretty sure to come to your proper senses to-night. Men---I mean workmen, not gamblers or bootleggers---you are at liberty to pass out of this building." "Don't you go," shouted the gambler, as some two dozen men started toward the doorway where Harry and the rest were on guard. Some of them halted. "I must have made a mistake in calling some of you 'men,' since you take orders from such disreputable characters as these gamblers and bootleggers," Tom taunted them mildly. "Now, all I will say is that those of you who wish to do so may pass outside. The rest may remain here, though they'll be sorry, afterwards, that they stayed. All who want to get outside must do so at once." "Don't you do anything of the sort," shouted the gamblers' leader. "Stay here like men and assert your rights! Come on! I'll lead you, and show you how to throw these meddlers out." "You'll do it---just like this, eh?" demanded Tom Reade. He made a leap for the leader of the gamblers, catching the fellow by the throat and waist. Lifting him, Tom hurled the fellow a dozen feet. The gambler fell on one side, but was up in a moment, his right hand traveling toward a hip pocket. "Don't draw," mocked Tom, with another smile. "Probably you haven't a pistol there. If you have, you can never make me believe that you have sand enough to draw and shoot before as many witnesses as I have on hand." "I've a good mind to drill you with lead!" scowled the gambler, still resting his hand behind him. "But you're a wise man," mocked Reade, "and wise men often change their minds." However, the very move of the gambler to draw a pistol had had one effect that Tom ardently desired. Most of the workmen present were now in frantic haste to get out before any shooting began. The two bootleggers also sought to make their escape. "Get back there! You fellows can't get out!" Harry shouted, himself seizing and hurling the bootleggers back into the room. They rose, glaring sullenly at Hazelton. But they didn't know how many more men he might have behind him out there in the dark. Tom Reade now had the six gamblers and the two bootleggers in the room with him. "You're a nice crew, aren't you?" he jeered, gazing at them scornfully. "We're making our living," retorted the leader of the gamblers, with what he meant to be a fine tone of scorn. "Making your living off of human beings! You're some of the parasites that infest honest workingmen. I've drummed you out of this camp before, and you have the cheek to come back. Now, I'll try to teach you another lesson. Harry, send in our workmen, will you?" Hazelton stepped aside, to let in the half dozen honest negroes they had brought along with them. These men entered, then stood looking at their young chief. "Get hold of those cards, chips and dice!" ordered Tom. "Here, what are you trying to do?" demanded the leader of the gamblers. "You have the advantage of me," responded Tom. "I don't know your name." "Hawkins is my name," replied the chief of the gamblers. "Hawkins is a fine name," admitted Tom. "It will do as well as any other. I won't annoy you, Hawkins, by asking you what your name used to be in prouder and happier days." "What are these men doing with our outfit?" insisted Hawkins, as the negroes began industriously to clear the surfaces of the tables. "You can see what they're doing," Tom rejoined. "You blacks get out and leave our property alone," warned Hawkins, darting among them. The negroes drew back, in some alarm, for the gambler looked dangerous with one hand at his hip pocket. "Go get on with your work, men," counseled Tom. "I'm here to back you up." "As for you, sir---" snarled Hawkins, facing Tom. "Don't look at me like that," laughed Reade softly. "Save that face to frighten children with." The negroes had busied themselves until they had gathered up all the implements of gambling and had stuffed them into their pockets. Now Tom went up to the bootleggers. Both men he boldly searched, bringing forth from their pockets bottles of liquor. These he threw down hard on the floor of the cabin, smashing them. "I don't know why we allow you to do all this, Reade," fumed Hawkins, whose face was white with rage. "It's because you're afraid, and know that you can't help yourselves," Tom smiled. "I'll show you who's afraid!" yelled Hawkins, again throwing his right hand back to his hip pocket. This time Reade saw the unmistakable butt of a revolver. Without an instant's hesitation. Reade leaped at the fellow. In a moment Tom had the revolver, springing backwards. "Well---shoot!" jeered Hawkins. "You don't dare to." "You're right," assented Tom coolly. "I don't dare to. Assassination belongs to the lowest orders of human beings. An honest man seldom has any need of concealed deadly weapons." Tom stepped still farther back, breaking the revolver and dropping the cartridges into one hand. Hawkins made a move as though to spring upon him, but Harry leaped into the room, confronting the gambler. Thus shielded, Tom drew a combination tool-knife from one of his pockets, then coolly drew out the screw that held the trigger in place. Dropping the trigger into his own pocket, Tom tossed the weapon back. "Catch it, Hawkins," he called. "You may want this to frighten some children with over in Blixton. Now, Mr. Renshaw, I believe you know what you're to do." "Yes, sir," nodded the superintendent, from the doorway, and vanished. "We'll take our leave, now," sneered Hawkins, "unless you have some further humiliation in store for us." "Just one," Tom declared, "so you can't go just yet." "Oh, all right," Hawkins laughed fiercely. "You'll have to pay for this unlawful detention." "You can tell the officers all about that," Tom suggested tantalizingly. "Mr. Renshaw has just gone to telephone for them." "The officers? Police?" snarled Hawkins. "Yes. Did you imagine that you could keep on defying all the laws? You've just threatened me with a taste of the law. You may try a taste yourself, Professor Hawkins!" "Let us out of this place!" insisted Hawkins angrily. "Come on, friends!" He rallied his own force of seven men and started toward the door. "Of course you can try to get away," Reade warned the fellow. "But the effort will cost you all broken heads, to say the least. I have placed you all under arrest for breaking the laws of Alabama, and, before we'll let you go, we'll break a few bones for each of you." Outside the workmen of the camp were thronging by this time. Doubtless, had they dared, two or three score of these men would have fought in behalf of the gamblers and bootleggers, but far more than that number would have rallied under Tom Reade's banner, for it is human nature to flock to the banner of the leader who is resolute and unafraid. Besides, there were the foremen, all of them good, hard hitting men. "Oh, well," sneered Hawkins, "let it go at that, Reade. We'll have our day in court tomorrow, and then. I guess we'll find our innings." "Yes," chuckled Tom, "and when you get your innings you'll be wild to swap them for outings---for the innings will be in jail." "Don't push my temper too far," cautioned Hawkins with a scowl. "Let it go as far as you like, always being ready to take the consequences," Tom smiled genially. There followed a period of tense waiting. After nearly a half an hour of this a 'bus arrived, with four police officers from Blixton in it. Tom Reade preferred his charges against the gamblers and bootleggers. The officers had no choice but to take them, so the late troublemakers, now amid jeers and hoots from many of the workmen, were led outside and into the 'bus. "You'll hear from this!" hissed Hawkins, in the young chief engineer's ear. "I believe you," nodded Tom thoughtfully. After the police and their prisoners had gone Tom led his own party back to the house. "You'd better get to bed now, Harry," Reade advised his chum. "There can be no telling how soon I'll need to call you up, and you ought to have some sleep first." "You look for trouble to break to-night?" Harry asked. "Between now and daylight," said Tom simply. "Whee! I'd like to stay up with you." "You might find more fun that way, Harry, but the work to-morrow would suffer, and work is more important than mere fun," Tom answered. Nor was Tom to be disappointed in his expectation that the worst trouble yet experienced would break loose that night. _ |
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