“Reade, what you never understood about me is that I belong to the ranks of the square gamblers.”
“I didn't believe there were any such gamblers,” Tom replied in a voice of surprise. “It is still hard for me to believe. How can any man be square and honorable when he won't work, but fattens on the earnings of others? Has that idea any connection with honor?”
“Stop that line of talk, you young hound!” ordered Duff, striding up to this bold young enemy. All the slight veneer of polish that Duff usually affected had vanished now. His eyes blazed with rage as he doubled his fist and struck Reade full in the face, knocking him down. One of the bystanders jerked Tom to his feet.
“Speaking of the square deal,” Tom observed, “I now insist upon it. Duff, you knocked me down when my hands were tied. If you're not a coward I request that you order my hands freed—and then repeat your blow if you dare.”
“You'll stay tied,” retorted Duff grimly.
“I knew it,” sighed Reade. “What's the use of talking about honor and square dealing where a gambler is concerned? Loaded dice, marked cards or tying a man before you dare to hit him—it's all the same to your kind.”
“Shut up that talk, you hound, or I'll pound you stiff before we go on with what's been arranged for you!” raged the gambler, shaking his clenched fist in the face of the young engineer.
“Go slowly, Jim,” advised one of the men present. “Of course we know what we're to do to this young pup, and we all know what he thinks of you. But some of the rest of us have different ideas as to how a helpless enemy ought to be treated.”
“You, Rafe Bodson!” snarled Duff, turning on the last speaker. “Are you one of us? Do you belong to our side, or are you a spy for the other crowd?”
“Got your gun with you, Duff?” inquired Bodson calmly.