CHAPTER XXII
The crash of the shattered lamp chimney brought Whistler broad awake, and the instinctive prick of danger sent him sprawling out of his bunk before ever his eyes could comprehend its nature. His stockinged feet plumped down upon the broken glass, even as Original had designed, and with an oath the big outlaw leaped clear.
"Hist 'em, Zang," came the cold voice out of the streaked shadows beyond the table. "An' not a peep from you or you 're a dead man."
Up went Whistler's hands. His face in the smoky light was a study in abysmal surprise. His mouth, opened to vent a yell, remained a swallow hole in the frozen stump of his countenance when the round eye of Original's .45 commanded silence.
A noise of scrabbling feet from the other side of the room. Without so much as turning his
