Other workmen were now approaching, curious to know what was in the air.
Tom, glancing about him, suddenly, fastened his gaze on one man in particular. This was a lanky, sallow-looking chap of some thirty years.
"See here, just what is your errand in this camp?" Reade demanded, confronting the man.
"Is it any of your particular business?" demanded the fellow, with some insolence in his tone.
"Yes; it is," Reade assured him, promptly. "I'm chief engineer in this camp, and I've asked you what you are doing here!"
"Is it against any law for an outsider to come into camp?" argued the stranger.
"Answer me," Tom insisted, stepping closer. "What are you doing in this camp?"
"I won't tell you," came the surly retort.
"You don't have to," Reade snapped, as he suddenly ran one hand over the sallow man's clothing. Out of the fellow's hip pocket Tom briskly brought a quart-bottle to light. It was about half-filled with some liquid.
"Here, give that back to me!" growled the fellow. "It's mine."