David Slosson awoke out of a heavy sleep with a sudden nightmarish start. He thought some one was calling him, shouting his name aloud in a terrified voice.
But now he was wide awake in the pitch-dark room: no sound broke the silence. He was on his back, and he made to turn over on to his side. Instantly something cold and hard encountered his cheek and a whispering voice broke the silence.
"One word and you're a dead man!" said the voice. "Just keep quite still and don't speak, and you won't come to any harm."
David Slosson was no fool, nor was he a coward, but, amongst his other many experiences on the fringe of civilization, he had learned the power of a gun held right. He knew that his cheek had encountered the cold muzzle of a gun. Shocked and startled and helpless as he was, he remained perfectly still and silent, awaiting developments.
They came swiftly. The curtains parted and a man, completely masked and clad in the ordinary prairie kit of the West, and bearing a lighted lamp in his hand, entered the room. His first assailant, holding the gun only inches from his head, Slosson could not properly discern. Out of the corners of his eyes he was aware that his face was masked like that of the other, but that was all.
The newcomer set the lamp down on a table and advanced to the other side of the bed. Instantly he produced a strap, enwrapped in the folds of a thick towel.
Slosson realized what was about to happen, and contemplated resistance.
As though his thoughts had been read the man with the gun spoke again—
"Only one sound an' I'll blow your brains to glory. Ther' ain't no help around that you ken get in time. So don't worry any."
The threat of the gun was irresistible, and Slosson yielded.