"There! Do you fellows reckon you want Mr. Reade to bump in here and shake
you out?" sounded the warning voice of Evarts.

As Tom and the motor boat's engine tender reached the little, box-like
shack from which Evarts's tones proceeded, four men, seated on the floor,
were seen to be lacing their shoes by the dim light of a lantern.

"A nice lot you are!" called Tom crisply. "How many hours does it take you
to get awake when you're called in the middle of the night?"

"This overtime warn't in the agreement," sleepily retorted one of the men.

"You're wrong there," Reade informed him, vehemently. "Overtime _is_ in
the agreement for every man in this camp when it's wanted of him---from
the chief engineer all along the line. Now, you men oblige me by hustling.
I don't want to wait more than sixty seconds for the last man of you."

"I've a good mind to crawl back into my bunk," growled another of the men.

"All right," retorted Tom Reade, with suspicious cheerfulness. "Try it and
see what kind of fireworks I carry concealed on my person. Or, just lag a
little bit on me, and you'll see the same thing. Men, do you realize that
there's foul play afoot out on the retaining wall? We've got to go out
there in time to stop anything more happening. Now, you've got your shoes
on; grab the rest of your clothing and hustle it on as we make for the
beach. Come along!"

Tom fairly got behind the men and pushed them outside. They would have
liked to complain, but they didn't. Some of them were larger and heavier
than the chief engineer, but they knew quite well that, at sign of any