In his bewilderment the one whom Tom had named Sambo glared around him. His eyes gleamed with a phosphorescence like that which one sees on the water on a lowering night. What Reade did not know was that this black man possessed eyes that were a little keener in the dark than a bat's.
With a sudden "Woof!" Sambo went up in the air, moved sideways, and came down on the startled Tom Reade with the force of a pile driver.
"Wha' yo' doing heah?" demanded the negro, gripping Reade by the coat collar and dragging that hapless engineer to his feet.
Tom did not answer. To save his life he couldn't have answered just then, his breath utterly gone.
"Wha' yo' want heah, anyway?" insisted Sambo, giving the youth a vicious shake.
There was blood before the negro's eyes, or he would sooner have recognized his victim. But at last he did see.
"So, I'se gwine cotch Mistah Reade himself!" snorted Sambo. "An' Ah reckon I'se gwine foun' de differculty wid my magernetto at de same time! Huh?"
Again he shook Tom, with an ease and yet a force that further drove the breath from the young engineer's body.
"Why doan' yo' talk!" glared the negro, holding Tom out at arm's length with one hand.
Tom could only groan. Yet that method of communication carried its own explanation to the big black.