The tunnel was opened for work, but there were no workers. The morning after the investigation, when the starting whistle blew there was no line of Indians ready to file into the big, black hole. The huts where they slept were deserted. A strange silence brooded over the tunnel camp.
"Where are the men, Serato?" asked Tom of the Indian foreman.
"Men um gone. No work any more. What you call a hit."
"You mean a strike?" asked Tom.
"Sure—strike—hit—all um same. No more work—um 'fraid!"
Chapter XIX
A Woman Tells
"Well, if this isn't the limit!" cried Tom Swift. "As if we didn't have trouble enough without a strike on our hands!"
"I should say yes!" chimed in Job Titus.