"Start talking," he commanded softly of the men at the table.
"About what?" answered the red-haired man through his teeth. "About what, damn you!"
"Tell a joke," ordered Terry.
The other scowled down at his hand of cards—and then obeyed.
"Ever hear about how Rooney—"
The voice was hard at the beginning; then, in spite of the levelled gun which covered him, the red-haired man became absorbed in the interest of the tale. He began to labor to win a smile from his companion. That would be something worthwhile—something to tell about afterward; how he made Pat laugh while a pair of bandits stood in a corner with guns on them!
In his heart Terry admired that red-haired man's nerve. The next time
Lewison passed the window, he darted out and swiftly went the rounds of
the table, relieving each man of his weapon. He returned to his place.
Pat had broken into hearty laughter.
"That's it!" cried Lewison, passing the window again. "Laughin' keeps a gent awake. That's the stuff, Red!" A time of silence came, with only the faint noises of Denver at his rapid work.
"Suppose they was to rush the bank, even?" said Lewison on his next trip past the window.
"Who's they?" asked Red, and looked steadily into the mouth of Terry's gun.