Bump! smash! sounded, though not directly overhead.

Then from the hallway above came the noise of the treading of many feet,
while a voice roared hoarsely:

"Spread through the house, boys! If they've done anything to Mr. Reade,
then break the necks of every white-livered rascal you can find!"

"Fine!" chuckled Tom, while the masked faces in the cellar turned even
whiter than the cloths covering them. "That voice sounds familiar to
me, too."

Over the hubbub of voices above sounded some remonstrating tones, as
though others were urging a less violent course.

"It's the workmen from the camp!" guessed Hotelman Ashby, in a voice
that shook as though from ague.

"Sounds like it," chuckled Tom. "Cheer up, Ashby. If it's our railroad
crew I'll try to see to it that they don't do more than half kill you!"

Then, raising his voice, Tom called gleefully:

"Hello, there! You'll find us in the cellar."

"Why don't you kill that fool!" muttered Jim Duff, who, still dazed,
struggled to sit up.

"Hush, man, for goodness sake!" implored the badly frightened Ashby.