Captain of a queer crew was Tom Reade, and Harry was his lieutenant. Of
the laborers, seven hundred in number, some four hundred were negroes;
there were also two hundred Italians and about a hundred Portuguese. Many,
of each race, were skilled masons; others were but unskilled laborers.
There were six foremen, all Americans, and a superintendent, also American.
There were a few more Americans and two or three Scotchmen, employed as
stationary engineers and in similar lines of work.

A touch of the old Arizona trouble had invaded the camp. There had
recently been a pay-day, and gamblers had descended upon the camp of tents
and shanties. Once more Reade had driven off the gamblers, though this
time with less trouble than in Arizona. At Blixton, Tom had merely sent
for the four peace officers in the town of Blixton, and had had the
gamblers warned out of camp. They had gone, but there had been wrathful
mutterings among many of the workmen.

The camp was a half mile back from the water's edge, on a low hillside.
Here the men of the outfit were settled. There had been mutinous
mutterings among some of the men, but so far there had been no open revolt.

Tom, however, who had had considerable experience in such matters, looked
for some form of trouble before the smouldering excitement quieted. So did
Harry.

On this dark night Tom had proposed that he and his chum take a stroll down
to the shore front to see whether all were well there. Soon after leaving
camp behind, the young engineers had started on a jog-trot. Just before
they reached the water's edge the wind had borne to their ears the faint
report of what must have been an explosion out over the waters of the gulf.