"So," guessed Reade shrewdly, "Evarts has been at the head of this game of unlawful liquor selling in this camp. There are other vendors here, too, are there?"
"You lie!" yelled the discharged foreman.
"You may prove that, at your convenience," Reade replied, without even a heightening of his color. "For the present, though, you're going to get out of camp and stay out."
"I called you a liar," sneered Evarts, "and you haven't the sand to fight about it."
"Fighting with one of your stripe isn't worth the while," Tom retorted, shortly. "Come along, Evarts. I'll show you the way out of camp."
As Reade spoke he took hold of the ex-foreman's arm gently.
"Leggo of me!" raged the foreman, clenching and raising one of his fists.
"Don't make the mistake of touching me," urged Tom, quietly, "but come along. This way out of camp!"
Evarts swung suddenly, driving a fist straight at Reade's face. But the young chief engineer was always alert at such times. One of his feet moved in between Evarts's feet, and the ex-foreman flopped down on his back.
"Come on, now!" commanded Tom, jerking the fallen foe to his feet. "This time you'll hurry out of camp."