Even as the man fought futilely and with hands held stiffly before him, Hilma recognized the features under the flapping hat brim. It was Zang Whistler. His hands were manacled.
With a gasp she leaped inside the door and her hands seized the heavy beamed barrier of slabs to slam it in the faces of the three. But before she could achieve her purpose Whistler was catapulted through the doorway. The man who propelled him with viselike grip, in shirt and trousers, was Original Bill. The third man, unknown to Hilma, leaped to the saddles and withdrew from their scabbards two short rifles; then he, too, was shouldering his way into the cabin.
Bang! went the door; the heavy beam was pushed through the staples. That instant a white splinter of wood leaped inward from the near side of the door and a tiny bit of blue sky peeked like an inquisitive eye into the cabin.
"Take that front window there, Timberline!" Original shouted, "an' hold 'em off while I fix up Zang here."
Beyond the first flash of recognition that had passed between the range inspector and the girl as he was rushing the outlaw through the door, Original had completely ignored her presence
