Brandon of the Engineers by Harold Bindloss

Twinkling points of light that pierced the darkness lower down the hill marked the colored laborers' camp, and voices came up faintly through the still air. The range cut off the land breeze, though now and then a wandering draught flickered down the hollow spanned by the dam, and a smell of hot earth and damp jungle hung about the veranda of Dick's iron shack. He sat near a lamp, with a drawing-board on his knee, while Jake lounged in a canvas chair, smoking and occasionally glancing at the sheet of figures in his hand. His expression was gloomily resigned.

"I suppose you'll have things ready for us in the morning," Dick said presently.