The instinct which detects danger in the
absence of any apparent evidence of its existence is a faculty developed
in some men by an adventurous life. This faculty Whitson possessed in a
high degree.
"Did you keep awake all the time I slept this afternoon?" he asked.
Langley feared Whitson and felt inclined to lie, but something impelled
him, almost against his will, to speak the truth now.
"No," he replied; "I slept for a few minutes."
Whitson drew his revolver and opened the breech.
"By God!" he said, "the cartridges are gone!"
Langley took his weapon out of the leather case and opened it. He found
the cartridges were there right enough.
"Have you any spare cartridges?" asked Whitson.
Whitson had already loaded his revolver with the five cartridges
which he had removed in the afternoon, but he again took these out and
replaced them in his waistcoat pocket, and then he reloaded with some
which Langley passed over to him with a trembling hand.
"Look here," he said, in a hoarse whisper, "we are in a trap of some
kind. When that old scoundrel comes back, do not let him know that we
have found out anything.
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