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.