"War is never so bad," retorted Tom Reade, his jaws setting, "as a disgraceful peace!"
CHAPTER XII
AN ENGINEER'S FIGHTING BLOOD
Just at half-past eight that evening Tom, Harry, the superintendent and the foremen entered camp.
They went, first, to a shack which they knew to be occupied by orderly, respectable blacks.
"Come, men," said Tom, halting in the doorway. "I've an idea we may need you."
Six negroes rose and came forward.
"There are gambling and bootlegging going on in this camp to-night, aren't there?" Reade inquired.
"Ah doan' rightly know, boss," replied one of the negroes cautiously.
"But you suspect it, don't you?" Tom pressed.