“But you’re a wise man,” mocked Reade, “and wise men often change their minds.”

However, the very move of the gambler to draw a pistol had had one effect that Tom ardently desired.  Most of the workmen present were now in frantic haste to get out before any shooting began.  The two bootleggers also sought to make their escape.

“Get back there!  You fellows can’t get out!” Harry shouted, himself seizing and hurling the bootleggers back into the room.  They rose, glaring sullenly at Hazelton.  But they didn’t know how many more men he might have behind him out there in the dark.

Tom Reade now had the six gamblers and the two bootleggers in the room with him.

“You’re a nice crew, aren’t you?” he jeered, gazing at them scornfully.

“We’re making our living,” retorted the leader of the gamblers, with what he meant to be a fine tone of scorn.

“Making your living off of human beings!  You’re some of the parasites that infest honest workingmen.  I’ve drummed you out of this camp before, and you have the cheek to come back.  Now, I’ll try to teach you another lesson.  Harry, send in our workmen, will you?”

Hazelton stepped aside, to let in the half dozen honest negroes they had brought along with them.  These men entered, then stood looking at their young chief.

“Get hold of those cards, chips and dice!” ordered Tom.

“Here, what are you trying to do?” demanded the leader of the gamblers.

“You have the advantage of me,” responded Tom.  “I don’t know your name.”

“Hawkins is my name,” replied the chief of the gamblers.

“Hawkins is a fine name,” admitted Tom.  “It will do as well as any other.  I won’t annoy you, Hawkins, by asking you what your name used to be in prouder and happier days.”

“What are these men doing with our outfit?” insisted Hawkins, as the negroes began industriously to clear the surfaces of the tables.

“You can see what they’re doing,” Tom rejoined.

“You blacks get out and leave our property alone,” warned Hawkins, darting among them.

The negroes drew back, in some alarm, for the gambler looked dangerous with one hand at his hip pocket.

“Go get on with your work, men,” counseled Tom.  “I’m here to back you up.”

“As for you, sir—–­” snarled Hawkins, facing Tom.

“Don’t look at me like that,” laughed Reade softly.  “Save that face to frighten children with.”

The negroes had busied themselves until they had gathered up all the implements of gambling and had stuffed them into their pockets.

Now Tom went up to the bootleggers.  Both men he boldly searched, bringing forth from their pockets bottles of liquor.  These he threw down hard on the floor of the cabin, smashing them.

“I don’t know why we allow you to do all this, Reade,” fumed Hawkins, whose face was white with rage.