There was not a sharp jar, but he
felt an invisible pressure against his body, taking his breath. The sound
of the explosion was dull, muffled, thick. The door of the safe crushed
into the flooring.
Terry had nerved himself for two points of attack--Lewison from the front
of the building, and the guard at the rear. But Lewison did not yell for
help. He had been dangerously close to the explosion and the shock to his
nerves, perhaps some dislodged missile, had flung him senseless on the
sand outside the bank.
But from the rear of the building came a dull shout; then the door beside
which Terry stood was dragged open--he struck with all his weight,
driving his fist fairly into the face of the man, and feeling the
knuckles cut through flesh and lodge against the cheekbone. The guard
went down in the middle of a cry and did not stir. Terry leaned to shake
his arm--the man was thoroughly stunned. He paused only to scoop up the
fallen revolver which the fellow had been carrying, and fling it into the
night. Then he turned back into the dark bank, with Red and Pat cursing
in frightened unison as they cowered against the wall behind him.
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