, and then propping the board back with a chair he reached
through and slowly shoved the box on the other side back far enough to
admit his body. Crawling through, he rose on the other side, crossed the
floor carefully, kneeled at the drawer where Judge Lindman had concealed
the record, pulled it out and stuck it in the waistband of his trousers,
in front, his eyes glittering with exultation. Then he began to back
toward the opening in the partition. At the instant he was preparing to
stoop to crawl back into the bank building, the deputy in the chair
yawned, stretched and opened his eyes, staring stupidly at him. There was
no mistaking the dancing glitter in Trevison's eyes, no possible
misinterpretation of his tense, throaty whisper: "One chirp and you're a
dead one!" And the deputy stiffened in the chair, dumb with astonishment
and terror.

The deputy had not seen the opening in the partition, for it was partly
hidden from his view by the box which Trevison had encountered in
entering, and before the man had an opportunity to look toward the place,
Trevison commanded him again, in a sharp, cold whisper:

"Get up and turn your back to me--quick! Any noise and I'll plug you!
Move!"

The deputy obeyed. Then he received an order to walk to the door without
looking back. He readied the door--halted.

"Now open it and get out!"

The man did as bidden; diving headlong out into the darkness, swinging the
door shut behind him. His yell to his companions mingled with the roar of
Trevison's pistol as he shattered the kerosene lamp. The bullet hit the
neck of the glass bowl, a trifle below the burner, the latter describing a
parabola in the air and falling into the ruin of the bowl. The chimney
crashed, the flame from the wick touched the oil and flared up
brilliantly.

Trevison was half way through the wall by the time the oil ignited, and he
grinned coldly at the sight. Haste was important now. He slipped through
the opening, pulled the chair from between the board and wall, letting the
board snap back, and placing the chair against it. He felt certain that
the deputies would think that in some manner he had run their barricade
and entered the building through the door.

He heard voices outside, a fusillade of shots, the tinkle of breaking
glass; against the pine boards at his side came the wicked thud of
bullets, the splintering of wood as they tore through the partition and
embedded themselves in the outside wall. He