Blake's gaze never wavered. Silver Mask came toward him slowly.
"You heard me."
A scorching flame seared Blake's cheek as the electro gun exploded and part of its force burned his skin. Blake's face whitened with rage and he dove desperately forward. Smashing a hard fist into Silver Mask's face, he watched the fellow's body go limp. Two swift reflex actions, one savage and murderously threatening, the other desperately defensive, had brought lightning developments.
Blake heard Dauna scream in terror and turned like a flash. But the heavy butt of a new electro gun swept down on his head. There was a sudden sickening jolt and bright flashes of light went tearing into his brain. He pitched forward across the first bandit's limp body, and the car, spinning before his eyes, went blank.
When Blake came around, he was stretched out full length on the floor, a pillow under his head. He looked up into Dauna's eyes.
"If you're wondering about the silver masked man who struck you," she said, "There are dozens of them on the train. They have us all under guard."
He sat up a little weakly, felt his head clear. Ferrell and O'Toole sat across from his make shift bed.
"They won't let me make a dash for the door, Jeff," O'Toole said in an unhappy voice. "Once in the hall, I could clean up on a snag of those black devils."
"And get your head bashed in, like Jeff did," Ferrell added. "You're sitting right here with me, Mr. O'Toole until we find out what this is all about."