Tom demanded, dryly. "Every time you
open your mouth I smell the fumes of the stuff. There are other men in
this group, too, who have been drinking. I want you all to realize that
this sort of thing must stop in this camp. We don't want fights and
killings, nor do we want men who wake up so seedy in the morning that they
can't do a proper day's work. As I look about me I see at least eight men
who have been drinking this evening. That shows me that some one has been
bringing liquor into the camp."

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."

"I'm glad you admit it," rejoined Reade, drawing the cork and taking a
sniff as Hazelton slipped in front of him to protect him. "This is liquor.
So you're the bootlegger who is bringing this stuff into camp to sell to
the men? You won't come here after to-night if I can find any way of
keeping you out."

Reade finished his remark by re-corking the bottle and throwing it down
hard on the ground. The bottle was smashed to flinders, the liquor running
over the ground.

"Here, you! You had no right to do that!" roared the fellow. He made an
effort to reach Tom, but Harry gave the fellow a shove that sent him
spinning back. "You'll pay me for that stuff, Reade, since you destroyed
it."

"How much?" asked Tom, artlessly.

"A dollar and a half," insisted the stranger, coming forward as Reade
thrust one hand into trousers pocket.

Tom withdrew the hand, laughing.

"Much obliged, my friend," mocked the you