"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. "Why, them that wants my money. Money that I slaved and worked for all my life! Oh, I know they's a lot of crooked thieves that would like to lay hands on it. But I'm going to fool 'em, Red. Never lost a cent of money in all my born days, and I ain't going to form the habit this late in life. I got too much to live for!" And he went on his way muttering. "Ready!" said Denver. "Red," whispered Terry, "how's the money put into the safe?" The big, red-haired fellow fought him silently with his eyes. "I dunno!" "Red," said Terry swiftly, "you and your friend are a dead weight on us just now. And there's one quick, convenient way of getting rid of you. Talk out, my friend. Tell us how that money is stowed." Red flushed, the veins in the center of his forehead swelling under a rush of blood to the head. He was silent. It was Pat who weakened, shuddering. "Stowed in canvas sacks, boys. And some paper money." The news of the greenbacks was welcome, for a large sum of gold would be an elephant's burden to them in their flight. "Wait," Terry directed Denver. The latter kneeled by his fuse until Lewison passed far down the end of his beat. Terry stepped to the door and dropped the bolt. "Now!" he commanded. He had planned his work carefully. The loose strips of cords which Denver had put into his pocket--"nothing so handy as strong twine," he had said--were already drawn out. And the minute he had given the signal, he sprang for the men at the table, backed them into a corner, and tied their hands behind their backs. The fuse was sputtering. "Put out the light!" whispered Denver. It was done--a leap and a puff of breath, and then Terry had joined the huddled group of men at the farther end of the room. "Hey!" called Lewison. "What's happened to the light? What the hell--" His voice boomed out loudly at them as he thrust his head through the window into the darkness. He caught sight of the red, flickering end of the fuse.