"You're not expected to stay up and watch over us as if we were babies, Nicolas," spoke Tom, in a gentler voice. "You'd better turn in now." "Senor Hazelton, where is he?" insisted Nicolas, anxiously. "Oh, bother! Never mind where he is," Tom rejoined. "We won't either of us be in for a little while yet. But you turn in now---at once---instanter!" Then Tom bounded over to the little porch before the foremen's barracks, where he pounded lustily on the door. "Who's there? What's wanted?" demanded a sleepy voice from the inside. "Is that you, Evarts?" called Reade. "Yes, sir." "Get on your duds and turn out as quickly as you can." "You want me?" yawned Evarts. "Now, see here, my man, if I didn't want you why on earth would I call you out in the middle of the night?" "It's late," complained Evarts. "I know it. That's why I want you to get behind yourself and push yourself," retorted the young chief engineer energetically. "Hustle!" Twice, while he waited impatiently, Tom kicked the toe of one boot against the door to emphasize the need of haste. Other drowsy voices remonstrated. "Hang a man who has to sleep _all_ the time!" grunted Tom Reade. After several minutes the door opened, and a lanky, loose-jointed, lantern-jawed man of some forty-odd years stepped out. "Well, what's up, Mr. Reade?" questioned the foreman, hiding a yawn behind a bony, hairy hand. "You are, at last, thank goodness!" Tom exclaimed. "Evarts, I want you to rout out four good men. Lift 'em to their feet and begin to throw the clothes on 'em!" "It's pretty late to call men out of their beds, sir," mildly objected the foreman. "No---it's early, but it can't be helped," Tom Reade retorted. "Hustle 'em out!" "Black or white?" sleepily inquired Evarts. "White, and Americans at that," Tom retorted. "Put none 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?"