Front matter (continued 3)

He found his first difficulty was in getting out of the wigwam without pulling it down about him. This might attract attention and defeat his plan of escape. But Jesse finally accomplished it by going out head first, wriggling along like a clumsy snake on a frosty morning. His burns tortured him excruciatingly, but the great desperado shut his teeth together savagely and began to roll.

His two Indian guards lay directly in his path. Jesse with some misgivings and a greater effort, rolled over them as the quickest way to get on.

The Indians grunted but did not wake up, which he was positive would be the case in their condition. But the feel of their bodies against his had stirred the blood lust within him and suggested a new idea to the great desperado.

"If my hands only were free," he growled. "Ah, I have it. I'll try it," he gritted, with blazing eyes.

Quickly the outlaw rolled back to them. Now he was bent on a terrible revenge. And he forgot for the moment his own deadly peril in his ferocious desire to be revenged on Great Bear.

With as much speed as his manacled condition would permit, the great outlaw worked his head along the body of the Indian nearest to him. Not finding what he sought at first, he braced his feet with great difficulty and putting forth an almost superhuman effort, pushed and pushed against the redskin with his head, until the savage had been rolled over. The deed, however, had required a supreme effort.

The Indian squirmed and muttered surlily, but to the desperado's intense relief, did not awake.

Jesse searched at the side he had just turned up, and with a savage exclamation of delight, bit hard at the Indian's waist.

The desperado's face came away with the redskin's bowie between his teeth.

The outlaw could have shouted, so great was his joy. After laborious effort he succeeded in setting the keen-edged blade more firmly between his teeth, so that only the hilt was held by them.

Cautiously he squirmed and wriggled until his head and shoulders were over the body of the redskin whom he had again rolled over on his back.

The great desperado, still holding the knife in a vice-like grip between his teeth, twisted his head at right angles to his body and set the needle-like point of the blade, on the Indian's abdomen.

The cruel blood-thirstiness of what he was about to do made no impression on him, for Jesse was bent on a terrible vengeance. And it was a moment of supreme ecstasy for the bandit-chieftain, bound and manacled and helpless as he was.

Suddenly throwing the weight of his body on his toes and neck, the deadly bowie, by the sheer force of the outlaw's own weight, was driven into the Indian's bowels while the blood in a sudden red sheet, spurted into his mouth and eyes.

The redskin sprang almost clear of the ground, then settled back with a heavy groan, his stupor too heavy to resist the work of the vengeful blade.

With a fiendish light in his eyes the desperado gloated over the death throes of the unconscious savage, whose writhings, whose agonized twistings and muscular contractions, sent the outlaw into an ecstasy of delirious joy.

After a little, the Indian stiffened out and lay still.

"One!" snarled the desperado.

Once more the avenging outlaw crawled laboriously to his victim. And that despite the fact that every moment's delay placed his own life more and more in jeopardy.

Now came the most difficult part of his task. The bowie, driven in to its keen-edged limit, was tightly wedged in the body of the dead savage.

With feverish haste, the world's greatest desperado again buried his face in the awful pool of blood.

His teeth closed over the slippery hilt of the blade.

But it stubbornly resisted all his efforts.

The knife was too firmly embedded in its human sheath, to come away at his command.

The cords of the outlaw's neck swelled to enormous proportions from the fearful strain he was subjecting them to.

He sought to accomplish his ends, in another way. Biting the hilt as if he would sever it in twain, Jesse pushed against it with all the weight of his body. The keen edge, under his irresistable pressure, cut its way into the Indian's flesh at right angles to his body, thus widening the wound and making its sheath less binding.

Back and forth did the blood-thirsty outlaw work the blade.

He pushed and he pulled like a dog wrestling with a bone. He shook it like a rat. Then he gave it a long, vicious tug.

The bloody blade came away with a sickening sound.

And the desperado fell backward with a terrible curse. Yet, withal, his grip on the bloody hilt did not relax.

Now came the most arduous task of all, that of crawling over the body of his victim and rolling to the remaining savage, without losing the knife from his teeth. The feat was not so easy as it would seem, and he could accomplish it only by keeping his head from touching the ground over every inch of the way.

He struggled desperately.

Minutes elapsed.

But the second redskin died more speedily than had the first, Jesse having given him a terrible thrust with the deadly blade. And with eager, fascinated eyes he watched the death agonies of his victim. In a moment all movement ceased. The man was dead.

Jesse's work of vengeance, for the time, was ended. And now to roll for safety, if that were possible. Should he be caught, he knew that this time his punishment would be swift and sure. Great Bear would take no chances with him after this.

But just as the outlaw was about to start on his unequal journey, he suddenly espied the figure of an Indian standing a few paces away, in the gloom, gazing intently in his direction.

The desperado fairly held his breath. He wished now that he had brought away the bowie from his second victim. But it was too late to rectify his mistake.

Still, defenceless as he was, the great bandit devoutly hoped the savage redskin would throw himself upon him. Jesse believed that, with a well directed kick he could silence the fellow and put an end to him afterwards, for his thirst for blood had not yet been satisfied.

Though it would be a desperate chance he was willing and anxious to take it. But he was not given a chance to put his foolhardy plan into operation. The redskin emitted a sudden grunt, and dropping into a long lope, sped noiselessly toward the main part of the village, that lay some twenty rods to the west.

Jesse was off like a flash.

His one supreme object now was to put as much distance as possible between himself and his savage enemies.

But the laborious rolling process was too slow for him.

He had rolled himself clear of the bodies of his victims, when all at once, acting upon sudden impulse, he adopted a new and unique method of facilitating his progress. With a tremendous effort he raised himself on his manacled feet.

Despite the fact that his hands were tied behind him, the desperate man threw himself head first to the ground. None but the toughest skull could have survived the impact when his head struck the hard ground.

Jesse's object was now obvious.

The instant he sensed the feel of the ground under his head, by a sudden twist of the body, using his head as a pivot, the desperado threw himself to his feet again, thus finishing as pretty a head spring as ever a trained performer in a circus had done.

With movements so lightning-like that the eye, in the uncertain light, would scarcely have been able to follow them, the great bandit hurled himself into a mad whirl of somersaults that carried him away from the scene of his recent exploits almost as fast as his legs could have done had they been free.

He heard a loud commotion in the Indian village behind him. But whether the savages had learned of the death of the two men or that they simply had been told by the Indian who came upon him so suddenly, that the sentinels were asleep, he neither knew nor cared.

Jesse reasoned shrewdly that in any event the Indians would be delayed a few moments in their surprise at finding their companions murdered, and then the search for him in the wigwam and its immediate vicinity following, all of which would give him a fair start.

Still he knew his trail was as plainly marked as if it had been made by a log-rolling gang, a trail which they would have no difficulty in following at top speed. Therefore haste was all imperative if he hoped to keep his scalp fitted in its proper place. And the world's greatest bandit was not ready to part with that portion of his anatomy just yet.

On dashed the desperado, his movements resembling the evolutions of a cart wheel down a mountain road. And so rapid was his flight that he was unable to take note of either direction or location.

The savages were now hot on his trail.

He could hear their shouts as they discovered it. Like the bay of the hounds when close upon their prey they came rushing down upon him.

Jesse redoubled his efforts. Bending every nerve to the tremendous task before him, the terrible outlaw sprang far up into the air to increase the reach of his next leap.

He stiffened his nerves to meet the impact when his feet should next touch the ground.

But to his intense surprise, the feet did not touch at all. They were kicking wildly in empty space.

All at once the great desperado realized that he was falling through space.

Like a rock, hurled with terrific force, he had thrown himself over a sheer precipice whose rocky bottom lay two hundred feet below him.

Chapter XIV.

JESSE TAKES A TERRIBLE REVENGE.

"Danged queer about Jess," declared Comanche Tony.

"Something sure has happened to him and I for one am going to look for him," returned Frank.

The bandits were gathered on a broad, shelving rock looking down into the canyon, where they had remained when Dew Drop left them after conveying them to safety after the explosion in the cave.

Acting upon her advice they had remained there until she should have gone to the village to learn if Jesse had been taken prisoner or killed, perhaps, by the savages. She had promised them a speedy return, but hours had elapsed since her departure and the men were getting restive. Little had been said by them, they being too full of the thoughts of the lively incidents that had happened since they first set foot in the mountains of Southern Colorado.

"Better not try it till the moon comes up," advised Wild Bill who knew the treacherous nature of the country where they were. "I calkerlate you'd break yer danged neck tryin' to git out of here in the dark without a guide. When it gits lighter we'd better all vamoose. We'll find Jesse if we can, and if not we'll mosey over to tother side of the gulch and make camp in a place I know of. From there we kin scout for him. The gal said we was to stay here—"

"Sure, she did," added Texas. "I reckon she knew what she was doing. We'd better bide here a bit I reckon."

Under their urging, Frank gave a reluctant consent, for he knew that Jesse would expect him—would expect every one of them to come to him at once, had they reason to believe he was in trouble.

So they waited. One hour, two hours, and three passed, and the men had finally decided to make an investigation, provided they could discover the trail that led up the mountain side. They had only a general idea of where the Indian village lay, but reasoned that they could easily locate it by the camp fires that surely would be burning. They decided that it would be safest to start in single file, the leader holding to the hand of the next to him, and so on, making a human chain, the last man to at all times make sure that he had firm hold of a tree or rock.

"Hark," warned Frank after they had decided upon the direction in which they would make their first attempt.

"What is it?" asked Tony.

"I didn't hear anything," returned Texas.

"Keep still," commanded the elder of the James boys, listening intently. "I am sure I heard a yell."

"Mebby 'twas a cat," suggested Bill. "There's a lot of them in these hills, and they're a danged tough proposition to run into when a fellow's afoot."

"There it is again," cried Frank in a suppressed voice.

They all heard the cry this time and it seemed to be drawing near them.

"Indians agin," breathed Tony.

"By the great jumpin' cats," exclaimed Texas. "What do you suppose they're up to?"

"They are chasing somebody," declared Wild Bill confidently, knowing the ways of the savages thereabouts as he did. "The question is, who or what is it."

"Dew Drop, mebby," suggested Harry.

"Yes, mebby the skunks have got wise to her," added Texas. "But if the cutthroats do her dirt they'll have to reckon with me. She's been the squarest little pard that a bunch ever come up with. She's got some white blood in her, I'll bet my spurs on that."

The outlaws listened in awed silence as the yells grew louder, increasing steadily in volume.

"More of 'em joined in the chase," nodded Bill. "Guess the whole village is out on the warpath."

"And they're coming this way," asserted Frank.

"Mebby we'd a better git back in the cave," urged Texas. "We can watch out from there."

"No, we'll stay right here," returned Frank, savagely. "We may have to take a hand in this. Perhaps they are after Jess."

"After Jess?" replied Comanche Tony laughing sardonically. "You haven't heard any shooting going on, have you? You don't suppose Jesse James would let a lot of dirty Indians chase him out of their village without potting a few of them in the meantime, do you?" he demanded.

His reasoning appealed to them.

"I guess you are right," agreed Frank. "But squeeze up closer to the rocks. They may take it into their heads to roll a few more boulders down on us. Bowling with hard-heads seems to be a favorite occupation with these copper-colored curs."

"Yes, it's a heap o' fun for the chap on top, but it's hell for the feller down below," agreed Homely Harry humorously. "Excuse me from the job of settin' up the pins in this alley."

"Silence," commanded their leader. "We may have to do some shooting pretty soon."

Not a word was spoken and for several minutes they waited with bated breaths.

Every man sensed danger and every man felt instinctively that they were on the verge of a sudden and unexpected explosion.

And, indeed, it did come, but in a manner totally unexpected by them.

There occurred a sudden rattle of fine stone from above that pelted down on the rocks like a volley from a gatling gun.

"Crash!"

A heavy body landed in a broad-topped tree that grew out of a deep fissure in the rocks some twenty paces to the south of them. Then sudden silence in the tree.

Up above them they could hear the Indians chattering volubly, but so far away were they that the outlaws could make nothing of what they were saying, nor could any of the men have understood them if they had heard them.

"What the—" began Texas.

Frank pushed his elbow viciously into the outlaw's ribs, to silence him.

"What do you make of that?" whispered Tony.

"Somebody's gone over the cliff. Or something has—I don't know."

"In that tree?"

"Yes. Wait till they go away up there."

For several minutes the savages continued their talking, then their receding voices told the anxious outlaws on the ledge far below, that they were retracing their steps.

"We must find out what's in that tree," spoke up Frank with emphasis, after assuring himself that all the savages had left.

"Hadn't we better wait till daylight," suggested Comanche. "We'll break our necks or worse in this blackness."

"No. That's what the redskins are going to do. At the first touch of dawn the whole pack and parcel of them will be up on the edge of the cliff there peering down. We've got to act now and quickly for it's near morning."

"Yes, the dawn breaks all of a sudden up here," added Wild Bill.

But how to reach the tree was another matter. A wall of smooth perpendicular rock lay between them and the tree whose outlines they could only faintly make out in the darkness.

"A fly couldn't walk that," averred Harry with his usual facetiousness.

"No, we must find another way," agreed Frank.

"Anybody got any suggestions to make?"

"Not bein' a bird I don't know how I'd git over there," replied Harry.

"We might cast a lariat and the lightest of us go over," suggested Texas.

"No, it is too far, and besides no lariat would hold us that way. You've got to think of something better. Perhaps we can—"

"I say, I've got an idee," interrupted Wild Bill. "I remember that when we first came out, it being lighter, I seen a shelf of rock right above that tree. It was twenty feet wide I opine. Now if we can manage to git up on the rock we can turn the trick."

"Now you are talking," commented their leader. "Bill supposing you make the try for it. Be careful, and don't send any rocks rolling down or you'll have the Indians back on us. Give the owl call if you make it and then we'll try to follow you. Or better still, come back here and show us the way. It will be safer."

Anxious to be off, Bill threw off his coat, tightened his belt and disappeared in the shadows silently. With cat-like movements he scaled the jagged side of the mountain without a sound or so much as disturbing a particle of shale from the rocks over which he was creeping.

To the waiting bandits down below him it seemed an age, as they stood with strained ears to catch the signal agreed upon.

Suddenly Wild Bill appeared before them. So quietly had he approached that not a man of them had heard or seen him. They clutched their guns instinctively.

"It goes," was Bill's succinct summing up of the result of his trip. "You've got to crawl. A snake couldn't get over that trail without falling off," he concluded.

"Could you make out anything in the tree?" demanded Frank impatiently.

"Nary a thing. Blacker'n an Alabamy coon down there. And about as slippery along the trail," he added.

"How we going to work it, Cap'n?" asked Comanche as the outlaws, with Wild Bill in the lead, began their perilous climb over the side of the mountain, a single misstep in which would precipitate them to the rocks more than a hundred feet below.

"We will see when we get there. Be careful there Harry. Do you want to pull the whole bunch of us down? Your feet are as clumsy as an elephant's."

At last the hardy outlaws stood upon the shelving rock peering down curiously into the dark abyss below them. It was not an inviting outlook, but Frank was determined to learn who or what it was down there in the tree top. After looking over the ground with a critical eye, he told the men to braid their lariats into one single rope. This done he tested its length by letting it down over the edge of the cliff. It reached the tree as nearly as he could make out, then he made an end fast around a projecting arm of rock on the ledge where they were standing.

"Well," he demanded, "who is going down? I am not going to ask any of you to take the risk. I would do it myself only I am afraid I shouldn't be much good with my game leg."

"Let me take a chance at this game, Captain," urged Comanche Tony.

"No, you're too heavy," objected Frank.

"I'll try it," said Texas.

"Very well, you will do."

They bound the rope tightly about his waist. All hands took strong hold of it and Texas sitting down on the edge of the cliff, boldly slipped off into space.

The end of the rope had nearly been reached when a short sharp whistle from below and a slacking off of the weight told them that he had gained the goal and found for himself a foothold.

"Hey, up there," he called softly after several minutes of aggravating silence.

"Yes," answered Frank quickly, lying down on his stomach and peering over the edge. "What is it?"

"I've made the lariat fast around his waist. Pull him up then send the rope down for me. He can't help himself—"

"Who can't—who is it—do you know him?"

"It's Jess," came the answer faintly from the dark pit below.

"Pull boys, it is Jesse," exclaimed Frank springing up more excited than they ever had seen him before.

"Is—is he dead?" asked Comanche apprehensively.

"I don't know. Don't stop to ask questions now, but pull."

Their new burden was a dead weight and it was all the outlaws could do to get him up to the edge, where the body awkwardly caught under the shelf of the ledge.

"Make it fast around the rock!" commanded Frank, sharply. "Bill, you get your arm around the rock and all join hands. All lie down."

Quickly was the human chain forged, and with Harry holding him by the feet, Frank leaned far out over the dizzy height and exerting every ounce of strength that he possessed pulled the body of the great bandit over onto the rock.

"He's bound!" hissed Frank.

It was but the work of a moment to sever the thongs that held him. The elder brother already had slipped his hand over Jesse's heart and learned that he still lived.

"Bill where's that flask?" he demanded.

Wild Bill passed it over and a large draught was quickly forced down the throat of the great bandit.

The result was gratifying. He began to choke and at a signal from Frank they picked him up and carried him just within the mouth of the cave.

"Hey," hailed a voice from below. "Going to leave me down here all night? This tree's liable to give way and send me to kingdom come."

"Pull him up," directed Frank, redoubling his efforts to bring his brother back to consciousness.

In this he was aided by the wonderful recuperative power of his outlaw brother. And in a few moments Jesse sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking in the light of the fire they had started in the cave.

"Hello, boys," he greeted. "What's happened?"

"That is what we want to know," responded Frank without the suspicion of a smile, though the others were grinning broadly. "You fell off the mountain, that's all we know about it. We heard the redskins hitting the trail of some one, and the next thing you did a high dive and landed in the tree."

At the mention of the word "redskin" Jesse's face suddenly was filled with an expression of terrible, malignant rage. He swore a fearful oath, and rising, rather unsteadily paced back and forth in the narrow cave while he related all that had befallen him. Black were the faces of the hardy band and many were the curses that the men uttered under their breaths as they listened in strained silence.

"And I'm going back there and wipe the curs off the face of the mountain," concluded Jesse.

Frank objected emphatically, to any such proceeding. He argued that they all were worn out with the hardships they had been subjected to, and to such good purpose that Jesse began to lean toward the point of view of his men.

"Well," he began when a sudden thud outside the entrance caused him to wheel sharply, whipping out both his "Colts" as he turned. "What in—"

The desperado chieftain sprang out and was down on his knees in a flash. And the others followed just in time to hear him swear a blood-thirsty oath of revenge.

Without another word he picked up the object that had fallen in front of their hiding place and carried it into the cave. There he laid it down, kneeling beside it with his head bent low.

"Who—," began Texas drawing near.

"Why it's—" interrupted Harry.

"By the great pizen snakes, it is."

"It's a girl," marveled Frank, bending over the inanimate body.

"Dew Drop," answered Jesse, in a strange voice of constraint.

He opened the child's mouth gently and peered within.

"The little Indian maiden's tongue has been cut out. She was then thrown over the precipice after me," announced Jesse in a voice that brought a chill to every human being within hearing of it.

All the great outlaw's bodily ills were forgotten now, and in the stress of the moment his strength had come back. He was the man of iron once more and vengeance was written in the stern lines of his face.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Frank.

Jesse pointed to the body of the child.

"There is your answer," he retorted.

"But," began his elder brother.

"Am I the master here or are you?" he demanded, an ugly glitter flashing into his eyes.

"I'll take it back; you are right, Jess," apologized Frank.

"Any of you got any dynamite? I left some in the cave, where is it?"

"I reckon we can't git that now," grinned Tony sheepishly, "But I 'low we can scare up a few sticks."

From various receptacles in their clothing, the desperadoes drew little white sticks of the harmless-looking, but deadly explosive, all of which they handed over to their chief. Next came a coil of fine copper wire and a small compact battery.

Jesse took the collection and examined it closely.

"Good," he exclaimed.

"Are we with you in this?" asked Wild Bill. "I allow the boys would like to pay off a little of your score," pointing to the livid marks on his shoulders, discernible through the bandit chieftain's torn shirt.

"I reckon we would," added Comanche Tony.

Jesse looked at them steadily for a moment, the lines of his face softening almost imperceptibly.

"No boys. This is my kettle of fish. And I'm going to fry them alone. If I should fail to get back in an hour and you don't hear anything doing, send Bill up to the Indian village to size things up. You will know what to do after he gets back."

"Be careful, Jess."

"Put the little one in a hole in the rocks some where hereabouts and block it up with stone so she can rest easy. We don't want any buzzards nosing around her tender little body," was the great desperado's parting injunction as he passed out from the circle of light and strode away on his mission of death.

Very tenderly they bore the body of Dew Drop, deeper into the cave. Finding a suitable place they laid her away, blocking the opening as directed by their chief. Then these hardy men—these men to whom murder was merely an incident in following their vocation of rapine and plunder, with one accord clutched their hats from their heads and stood bowed before the shrine of the child who had given her life to save them.

"I reckon she war no less'n twenty-four carat fine," opined Tony, turning away slowly.

"She war that," chorused the others solemnly, nervously crushing their sombreros in their awkward hands, and following slowly after him.

Just within the entrance they paused and with one accord squatted down on the hard rocks where they lighted their pipes.

Few words, were spoken, for the thought that was in the minds of all was not one to be lightly discussed, nor could they form the sentences to frame the thought itself.

"I reckon it's about time we heard something from Jess," suggested Tony after a long silence.

Frank consulted his watch anxiously.

The men relapsed into silence again. But somehow the deadly stillness seemed to get on their nerves and one by one they rose and began pacing back and forth on the narrow platform of rock that hung over the great canyon.

Suddenly the earth began to tremble beneath their feet.

They grasped the projecting rocks fearful that they would be thrown over the precipice.

A great sheet of flame lighted up the sky. And a report that seemed as if earth and sky had suddenly been rent asunder crashed on their expectant ears, and went thundering off from mountain peak to mountain peak.

"Get inside!" commanded Frank sharply.

They obeyed the summons in the nick of time, for in a few seconds more a rain of rocks and debris began to shower down on the ledge in front of them.

Comanche stepped out again, once the shower had ceased and curiously picked up an object that had caught his eye.

He brought it within the circle of light, holding it at arm's length and gazed at it with fascinated eyes.

What he held was a battered human head. The cruel, blood-thirsty, malignant eyes of a savage redskin were gazing out at him from the tangle of hair and lacerated flesh that he held in his hand.

"Bah!" exclaimed Tony in a tone of disgust as he threw the horrible object far from him over the precipice.

Tony wiped his hand gingerly on his trousers, holding the hand up to the light to see that no traces of his recent burden remained.

"Ugh! It makes me feel hollow under the belt," averred Harry, turning away and knocking the ashes from his pipe.

Chapter XV.

THE BATTLE OF THE BLADES.

"Well, boys," greeted Jesse suddenly appearing among them.

"That was a clean up for sartin," answered Texas, grinning. "One of 'em come down here and Tony here picked him up. He was going to kiss the fellow, but we wouldn't let him. Ha, ha."

Tony went outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Tell us about it, Jess," urged Frank.

"There isn't much to tell," informed Jesse.

"The fools didn't even have pickets out. I managed to shove a stick of the stuff under the chief's wigwam—"

"Who, Great Bear?" interrupted Wild Bill.

"Yes. The rest of the stuff I distributed around where it would do the most good and crawling under a rock back of the village I let 'er rip."

"I should say you did," interjected Frank. "How many of them do you think you blew up?"

"I'll gamble my pistols that there isn't enough of that community left, if patched together, to make six whole men—maybe even less than that. It rained Indians and pieces of Indians for ten minutes steady. And you know a lot of redskins could rain down in ten minutes. What's left of them will never trouble Jesse James again. Eh, boys?"

The gang nodded their approval of the sentiment.

"What are your plans now?" asked Frank.

"That's what I was coming to," answered Jesse. "First of all I want to corral a side of beef or a leg of mutton. It has been so long since I had anything to eat that my pipes have nearly growed shut. How is your appetite, Harry?"

"Me?" replied the homely one. "I could eat a sheep, from hoof to wool. I've drawed my belt so tight already that the end of it trips me up every time I try to walk. I'—I'm ready to be one of them fellers—what do they call them fellers that eat men?"

"Cannibals?" suggested Jesse.

"That's the breed. That's what I'd be if I had half a chance."

Jesse laughed good-naturedly.

"I move we get out of this place as soon as possible. We shall probably not be able to get a meal before morning, but as soon as we decide on what direction we shall take, we can be on our way and out of the canyon before morning. The first thing for us to do, it seems to me, is to get some horses. Ours have gone. Either the soldiers or the Indians got them. Most of the Indian ponies went up in my little explosion, and those that did not, ran away.

"I know where there was some ponies yesterday," spoke up Comanche. "I saw a whole bunch of them grazing on the mountain on the other side of the canyon over there."

"We'll see about that later," replied Jesse. "The question is, what direction shall we take? It won't do to go north, for we are liable to run into more of the troops. The fort is off in that direction, and they would be glad to see us.

"How about it, Bill? You know this country. Is there any place near here where we can lay up for a while and not get sold out—a good safe hang-out where the grub is plenty and not too many babblers around?"

Wild Bill considered the question carefully for a moment.

"I opine I could find such a shack," he answered with a grin. "I know a fellow who would take us in and be danged glad of the chance—"

"Is he all right?" demanded the desperado.

"Well, they'll all bear watchin', I reckon. He makes his living out of a stage coach now and then. When business is poor he catches a prospector or something of the sort. Guess he'll do though."

After long and laborious effort the outlaws succeeded in picking their way down the steep mountain side. Instead, however, of following on down the canyon toward its foot, they turned abruptly south, and the dawn was appearing in the eastern sky, when, foot-sore and weary, as well as ill-tempered, they finally ascended to the broad plateau to the west of the canyon, but as they looked across, nothing was to be seen of the Indian village where the stirring incidents of the previous day had occurred.

"Any almost-food places hereabouts, that you know of?" demanded Jesse of Wild Bill.

"No, but there's a ranch about two miles west of here. And the fellow used to have a fine bunch of Kentucky thoroughbreds. Probably stole them at that, but they were dandies—"

"Good. Me for the ranch," exclaimed the great desperado as the men settled down in a long lope with anticipations of a steaming breakfast at the end of their journey.

It was just sun-up when the bandits finally approached the ranch, and Jesse announced his intention of going to the rancher's cabin alone, while the others remained in the background. But upon second thought, he told Wild Bill to accompany him.

No sign of life was observable about the place, and the outlaws were of the opinion that the household had not yet awakened.

The great desperado struck the door of the cabin, several thunderous blows with the butt of his revolver. But there was no response to his noisy summons. Stepping back a few paces he gave vent to a roar that should have awakened the soundest sleeper.

"Hullo the house!" he shouted several times, but without result.

Having failed to bring any response at all, the outlaw adopted a more drastic method of arousing the inmates of the place. He heaved a rock through an upper window, then set to with a will kicking the door with his heavy boots.

Then a most surprising thing happened.

The door suddenly flew open. A brawny hand grasped the outlaw by the collar and jerked him violently inside. Then the door was slammed to behind him.

At the instant of the occurrence, Bill's attention was directed in another direction. He had observed a bunch of likely looking horses grazing in a large corral on beyond the cabin. He was watching them with envious eyes. And his surprise was therefore great, when, upon turning he found that Jesse had suddenly disappeared. Not twenty seconds had elapsed since he first turned his attention to the horses, and he had heard no sound of voices nor the opening and closing of doors.

Bill did not like the look of things, and dodged behind a tree to wait further developments, though just what he expected might occur, he was unable to define to himself. There had been no commotion within the cabin so far as he had been able to observe. He could not relieve his mind of the feeling, however, that his chief was inside and that he was in difficulty of some sort. But what to do under the circumstance, he did not know. Perhaps the bandit-chieftain was working out some suddenly laid plan of his own, and to interfere with which would be fully as serious for Bill as would be the leaving of his chief in danger.

Wild Bill finally made up his mind to hurry back for consultation with his companions. Acting upon this impulse he turned and ran swiftly back, dodging in among the trees to screen his movements as much as possible, from any prying eyes that might be about. Seeking out the men he quickly made known to them the strange situation.

Frank's keen perception reached a solution of the problem instantly.

"Of course Jess is inside. They opened the door and pulled him in. That's what there is to it. You heard no shots?"

"Nary a shot."

"Then there is a bunch of them in there," he emphasized conclusively. "Can we get near the place without being seen from the cabin?"

"Yes, the trees run down pretty close to it on one side. At the back they are further away. The corral is in back and there is a bunch of fine nags there too."

"Ah," exclaimed Frank, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Come on boys, we have got some more work on hand."

"And danged little grub," added Homely Harry ruefully.

"I calkerlate we'll corral some of that too," grinned Comanche Tony.

"Yes, but we will be lucky if we don't get a belly full of lead," warned Frank with his customary pessimism.

By this time they had come within sight of the cabin, but still, no sign of life was discoverable to their keen eyes. The place might have been deserted for aught they could observe.

The leader decided to wait, and, placing a man on either side of the clearing so that no one could leave the place without being seen by one of them, the bandits settled down as patiently as their empty stomachs would permit. They were well supplied with rifles and ammunition, provided for them by Dew Drop, and so far as fire arms were concerned were in position to do effective work.

"Why not give 'em a volley?" suggested Comanche Tony.

"Yes, and probably kill Jess," growled Frank. "That would be a fool thing to do for sure."

"I've got a plan," suggested Wild Bill. "If there's any duffers inside, it'll smoke 'em out sure enough, I reckon."

"Quick, out with it," commanded their leader. "We must do something."

"It's this. Supposing one of us goes over to the corral there and cuts out a hoss. Let him bring the critter along and tether him out here somewhere in the bushes. I reckon they'll show their hand about that time if there's anybody there," grinned Bill.

Frank appreciated the force of the argument.

"I should imagine they would," he agreed. "Better leave your rifle here, but see to it that your side arms are in working order. We will support you from the bushes with our rifles if necessary."

Wild Bill, skirting the clearing, kept well within the line of trees until he had arrived opposite the corral. The latter now being between him and the cabin, effectually screened his approach to the horses.

There still was no movement about the place, and the bandit, crouching low, roped a fine, rangy thorough-bred and led it out through the rear of the corral where saddles and bridles were hanging in a row on the fence.

"This is like gittin' money from home," muttered Bill as he saddled and bridled the supple-limbed animal.

All being in readiness, the hardy desperado swung himself into the saddle. But instead of adopting the safer course and cutting into the forest at his right, Bill dug the rowels of his spurs into the sleek sides of his mount, and with a wild whoop dashed straight across the clearing to where his companions were waiting with guns trained on the cabin.

To their surprise and mystification, however, not a word nor protest was raised from the mysterious cabin.

"Well, I'll be—" began Bill, pulling up and surveying the clearing in perplexity.

"Try it again," suggested Frank.

"We have got a good horse, anyhow. Go back the way you went before, don't hurry. If they see the performance is not to be repeated they will turn their attention this way."

The desperado's plans had been laid with savage cunning, but the fruition of them seemed as far away as when they began.

Again had the clever outlaw reached the corral without being detected. And as before, he made a choice of the best animal in it, which he quickly roped, led out and mounted. But before setting out on his journey to the other side of the clearing, he drew one of his trusty "Colts," grasped the reins firmly and dug in the spurs.

This time, however, the outlaw rough rider adopted a different plan acting on his own initiative. He drove the animal first straight over the course previously followed, but when almost opposite the cabin, suddenly whirled toward it, passing within a rod of it at express train speed.

As the desperado swept by a rifle crashed from an upper window, but Wild Bill's sudden and unexpected change of course had destroyed the marksman's aim and his bullet flew harmlessly over the rider's head.

Like a flash, Bill threw down his gun on his assailant who stood in plain view up there in the window, with rifle poised for another shot.

Rising in his stirrups the outlaw took a quick pot shot back at his adversary, uttering a savage yell of triumph and challenge as the man lunged head first from the window with a bullet through his heart.

Still, the outlaws off under the trees, divining his purpose, held their fire, and Wild Bill made safe cover with his second capture.

A shout of triumph from the assembled outlaws was quickly suppressed by Frank's stern command.

It was his purpose to leave those in the cabin, if persons there were there, in ignorance of their presence until the moment for action should have arrived.

It came too, unexpectedly. Two men, who somehow had managed to leave the place unobserved, were driving toward them on fleet horses that they had quickly taken from the corral.

"Well, of all the tarnation fools," exclaimed Wild Bill as he observed them coming.

"This simplifies matters," breathed Frank.

"Halt!" he commanded stepping to the edge of the clearing.

A fusilade of revolver shots greeted his order.

"Then take your medicine," he snarled.

The desperado's Winchester crashed twice. The two foolhardy horsemen toppled from their mounts dead. And to complete the coup, Wild Bill dashed from cover and skillfully roped the two animals, leading them in triumph to the outlaws' hiding place.

"If we wait long enough things will come right to us," he laughed tethering the horses in the bushes.

"Know that bunch?" demanded the leader.

"Never sot eyes on 'em before. They don't belong in these parts. I shouldn't be surprised if they was in here on a raid of some sort. And I'll gamble too that the fellow what own's the place ain't there. If he is he ain't takin' any part in this ruction."

"Well, what do we do next? Want some more nags?"

"Yes, better go back. We'll draw the rest of them out, if there are any more in the place. I would charge it, but it would be sure death to Jess and suicide for the rest of us. We must draw them out without showing our hand if possible. Failing in that we shall have to wait until night. Jesse is a captive and—"

"But what's the game?" asked Texas. "I never see such a queer one in my time."

"We will find that out later. Mebby the answer won't please us and mebby it will," was Frank's enigmatic reply.

Suddenly Wild Bill held up his hand for silence, his head extended forward in front of his body in an intense listening attitude.

"By heavens they're shooting!" he cried.

"To horse, all that have them!" roared the leader. "The rest jump on behind. Unsling your rifles as you go.

"Half go to the rear and the other half to the front. Smash the door in and shoot quick and fast."

By this time they were half way down the clearing. But those within were too busily engaged with their own affairs now to notice the bandits sweeping down upon them.

"You fellows in the rear duck and look out for our bullets if we get in first. If you break in before we do, we'll lay low!" was Frank's parting injunction to his men as they separated.

Leaping from their saddles the outlaws rushed on the door which went crashing in under their combined weight.

The room was so full of powder smoke that at first they were unable to distinguish a single object.

"Here I am over in this corner," roared Jesse. "Shoot the other way!"

And they did.

A volley of rifle shots rang out from both sides, but the bandits had dropped to their knees and fired up at their adversaries, whose bullets had whistled over the newcomers' heads and buried themselves in the logs of the cabin.

"Once more!" thundered Jesse.

Again the outlaws poured their deadly fire into the ranks of their enemy. And just then the door of the cabin at the rear crashed in and Wild Bill and the rest of the bandits rushed in.

With them came the sunshine and the gentle morning breeze that swept away the smoke.

Seven men lay dead and groaning on the floor.

"Jess, where are you?" cried Frank, peering over the ghastly array of faces.

"Here," answered Jesse. "Come and release me." And sure enough the notorious outlaw lay over in one corner. His hands were free, but his feet were securely bound, and in this condition he had been holding his desperate adversaries at bay, after surreptitiously freeing his hands.

Wild Bill's revolver cracked spitefully, and one of the fellows who had scrambled to his feet and sought to sneak away, went down with a bullet in his leg.

"Get him Bill!" roared the desperado chief. "He's the leader of this gang. But don't kill him."

And while Frank was releasing his brother, the others turned their attention to the men on the floor, all of whom were dead save two, besides the fellow Bill had winged in his attempt to escape.

Jesse's face was stern and those of his followers who chanced to observe the expression knew that the blood lust was once more strong upon their leader.

"Bring that fellow here! He seems to be the leader of this gang."

Tony jerked the cowering wretch to his feet and turned his face so the full morning light shone upon it.

"Hello, Sam," greeted Wild Bill with a grin.

"Know him, do you?" questioned Jesse.

"Know him? I should say yes. He's Sagebrush Sam, one of the orneriest coyotes that ever pulled a trigger."

"He is the fellow that laid me out with an iron bar when they jerked me into this place," announced Jesse grimly. "Now Mr. Sam, I reckon you'll answer a few questions."

"I ain't answerin' questions for the likes of you," snarled the captive.

"There is a ring up there in the joist boys, trice him up by his thumbs."

They did so, so that only the fellow's toes touched the floor. In a few moments he was writhing in agony.

"Did you know me when you saw me coming up to the cabin?" demanded Jesse.

No answer.

"Trice him up higher!" commanded the great desperado. "He'll come around in a minute or two."

Great beads of perspiration were rolling from the victim's face and signs of weakening were already noticeable in his agonized features. Jesse grinned appreciatively.

"Let me down! Kill me! I can't stand this!" groaned the unhappy wretch, his head dropping forward listlessly.

"Let him down. He's fainted," announced Jesse.

They forced a draught of whiskey down the man's throat after having laid him on the floor.

"Now get up!" commanded Jesse administering a vicious kick as Sam came back to consciousness. "Where is the man who owns this joint?" was his first question.

Sam pointed to the floor. "Down cellar."

"Dead?"

"No. We tied him up and left him there yesterday."

"What for?"

"We allowed we'd take his money and his horses. He sorter didn't take to the notion, so we put him away—"

"Wait a minute. Texas, go down cellar. Now go on. What next?"

"That's all."

"You lie!" roared Jesse striding forward and pressing his bowie against the fellow's throat. "You wanted those horses—what did you want them for? Quick!"

Jesse's keen mind had instinctively divined that the fellow had possessed some motive that he did not want to make known to them, and therefore, the desperado reasoned that this self-same information might prove useful to Jesse James.

"For to go to Silver City."

"Silver City? What for?"

"We 'lowed we'd stake out a claim thereabouts."

"String him up again boys," commanded the bandit chieftain. "He can't tell the truth any other way."

"I'll tell, I'll tell," cried Sam. "Kill me, for God's sake don't do that again."

"I am waiting. Go on."

"It was this way," began the captive hesitatingly. "They's been some big strikes in the mountains there and the bank we'd heard was keeping a lot of the dust and like, for a big shipment east in about a week."

"So, you were going to soar high—you were planning to rob a bank, eh?" sneered Jesse.

Sam nodded wearily.

"Where is this bank?"

"It's in the half of the building where they has the postoffice. It's an easy job if a fellow's got the nerve to go in in the daytime when the safe is open—"

"So you got a gang of cutthroats together and were going to steal the horses to go down there and try it, hey?"

"I could do it as well as Jesse James—"

"That will do," warned the notorious outlaw. "How many banks are there in Silver City?"

"Two. But I reckon the other one don't amount to much. It's in the back of a store about two streets down."

"What is the name of the first one?"

"The Silver City National. It's run by a man named Kemp from the east. But they do say he's stole more money by giving the miners underweight, than the whole pack of 'em has got out of it. I reckon it wouldn't do no harm to trim up that kind of a skunk."

"No, one skunk is as bad as another," returned Jesse significantly. "How much money or how much gold did you figure old man Kemp would have in his money bags?"

"We figured there'd be close onto fifty thousand," was the startling reply.

The bandits pricked up their ears and evinced a sudden interest in the conversation, but Jesse continued with his examination as carelessly as if the matter were of no moment to him at all.

"How do you happen to know all about this, Sagebrush Sam?"

"I wuz over there last week—"

"And of course you blabbed your plans to your cronies. Oh, you make me sick."

"No, no, honest to God, I didn't. I never told a living soul except—except a fellow that helps around the post office. He was to meet us when we got there and tell us how the wind blew—"

"And he was to get—how much?"

"We 'lowed we'd give him ten per cent of the rake off."

"H'm," mused Jesse. "What is the fellow's name?"

"Jake Fowler."

"Well, what next?"

"There ain't no next. I've told you all there is."

"I'll tend to you in a minute. Where's that rancher?"

"Here," answered Texas, leading in a very much bedraggled and sullen individual.

The notorious desperado related to him what Sam had just told them in so far as it concerned the rancher himself and asked the man if it were true. The latter said that it was.

"Then you haven't got any particular love for Sam here, eh?" chortled the desperado.

His men knew that their leader had some scheme in mind, but what it was they could not imagine.

The rancher's face suddenly filled with murderous hate.

"I'd like the chance to show you—and him," replied the other, turning a malignant look on their prisoner.

"Mebby we'll give you the chance. But first I want to make a little bargain with you. We want some horses. We're prospecting through here, and the Indians attacked us on the other side of the gulch, stampeding our ponies, and we barely got away with our lives."

The rancher nodded.

"I hearn them tell there was doings across the gulch."

"We will give you a thousand dollars for six, our own pick."

The owner started to protest.

"And here's your money," continued Jesse, without giving the fellow an opportunity to object. "Not a cent more. You've had one experience today and you'd better take the offer."

The rancher looked from one to the other of the stern faces about him.

"And besides we have saved your life, eh?"

"I'll take it," was the terse reply, as he reached for the roll of bills that the desperado extended in his open palm. "What about the pup over there?"

"Got a gun?" asked Jesse.

"They took 'em away from me."

"Here's mine. Use it if you want to," replied the outlaw carelessly.

"You, you mean—"

"Oh hurry up, or give me back the gun," retorted Jesse.

"You ain't goin' ter kill me be yer?" begged the miserable captive.

The rancher was fingering the gun at his side with convulsive fingers, his face growing more malignant with deadly hate from moment to moment.

"Bang!"

Sagebrush Sam wavered and plunged forward on his face, dead.

"Good job," commented the desperado.

The rancher had fired the fatal shot without so much as raising the revolver from his hip.

"You ain't no slouch on the trigger," commended the bandit chieftain. "There are two more fellows over there who haven't had enough medicine yet. I observe they are trying to crawl away now. Wait, don't shoot. Bill, straighten them up. Can they stand?"

"I reckon they can," grinned Wild Bill.

Jesse strode over to them and handed each a keen-edged bowie.

"Fight," he commanded tersely.

The horror of it sent a shiver down the spine of every man in the room.

The men were friends, and the hands bearing the knives settled slowly to their sides as they looked into each other's eyes.

Two guns in the notorious outlaw's hands barked viciously at the same instant and each of the unwilling combatants lost a portion of one ear.

"By Judas that was a shot," exulted the rancher. "Mine ain't in it with that. Fight, you measly spalpeens!" he roared and Jesse smiled as he noted that the blood lust had taken supreme possession of the man.

"Yes, fight," added Jesse, notching the ends of the arses of both men with another of his wonderful shots as if to emphasize his command.

In blind despair the unhappy wretches raised their knives and with tightly closed eyes struck blindly out into the air.

"Close in," commanded Jesse sternly, sending a bullet ploughing through the upper lip of either man.

And now in blind consuming rage the victims began to strike. Their eyes were wide and in the desperateness of the moment, friendship turned to un-dying hate.

Each proved an expert with the knife. Their blades flashed in the sunlight whose rays slanted down through window and door.

It was thrust and parry as they leaped from side to side, forgetful of the wounds that the bandits had inflicted on them in the earlier battle.

Now and then a bowie would come away stained half way to its hilt.

Not a word was spoken.

The labored breathing of the combatants and the chilling clash of blades, were the only sounds that broke in upon the sweet-scented stillness of the mountain morning.

The scene held the spectators breathless. Even the great outlaw found himself interested in the desperate battle.

Blood was over everything, but the desperadoes heeded it not. The rancher's eyes were strained and the eyelids, drawn far up against the forehead, never once closed in a wink.

The blade of one antagonist went through the other's scalp, and a crimson stream spurted half way across the room. The faces of each were scarred with crimson rivulets that were constantly fed from the blood springs above.

The blade of the other sheathed itself in the shoulder of his antagonist, and in the next second each was tugging at the hilt of a knife in his opponent's shoulder.

The shirts of the desperate combatants were hanging in ribbons where the keen blades had been drawn in hopes of finding a human path and through the rents livid streaks showed in strong relief against the white flesh.

Weak from exertion and loss of blood, the fighters staggered together and with arms thrown about each other's necks, hung resting each upon the other.

"Break away!" thundered Jesse.

His voice seemed to rouse them suddenly—to renew the hate that for the moment had been allowed to slip like a mantle from the hearts of the two friends.

Their movements were slower now and less certain.

Finally each with a hand upon the other's shoulder began swinging the free arm to give it momentum and even then their blades did not reach.

"Thrust!" roared the blood-thirsty bandit chieftain.

Exerting a supreme effort a hand swung away from each body and returning empty hung listlessly at its owner's side.

Each had buried his blade in the abdomen of the other.

For a full moment the antagonists stood with hand on each other's shoulders.

At last their bodies began to sway.

They toppled and fell.

The body of one lay sprawling upon that of his friend.

And neither man moved again.

"I guess that will be about all," said the notorious outlaw in a harsh rasping tone that chilled them through and through.

Chapter XVI.

THE FIGHT IN THE "GOLDEN ARROW."

Silver City lay at the base of two great mountain ranges.

It was, like most mining towns of that time, filled with a floating population of gamblers, prospectors, miners and bad men. However, a semblance of law and order had been established by the new sheriff, Ben Teall, whose courage and quickness on the trigger had gained for him no little respect among the gun-toters of that rough country. Some who had doubted both these qualities, were now occupying six-foot claims in Silver City's graveyard.

Ben never pulled a trigger unless convinced that his own life was in danger, and then he shot to kill. The fact that he still lived was evidence that he had never yet failed of accomplishing that much desired result.

Bill was standing back to the bar in the Golden Arrow saloon one evening two days after Jesse and his companions had departed from the cabin of the rancher, headed for Silver City.

The green baize door that was the pride of the Golden Arrow, swung in and two strangers entered, who attracted Ben's attention instantly. They were well set up, sharp-featured and clear-eyed fellows, and though there was nothing about their dress to distinguish them from the other habitues of the place, Ben mentally put them down as secret service men; but what mission they could possibly be bent on there, he could not understand.

The two sat down at a table and ordered whiskey with "rain water" on the side, and the keen-eyed sheriff noted that while they only took one sip of the fire-water, they took down the "rain water" with evident satisfaction. The rest of the whisky was dumped onto the floor. All this he noted under half-closed eyelids.

"If they ain't service men, they'll bear watching," was his comment.

After a little the newcomers and the sheriff's eyes met, and each saw in the other something of interest.

"That's the sheriff over there sizing us up, or I'm a goat," mumbled Jesse to his companion, who was none other than his elder brother.

"Is he next, do you think?" asked Frank.

"No, he don't know us. He's looking for somebody and he ain't sure whether we are the ones or not."

"Hadn't we better make believe we have finished and walk out? I don't like the idea of hanging around and letting the whole town spot us, anyway," growled Frank.

"You can go. You ain't tied," sneered Jesse. "But come on, let's be good-natured. There ain't no call for you and I being sore on each other."

"No, that's so," agreed Frank swallowing his resentment toward his brother for the time being. But try as he honestly did, not to hate his brother, at times the old feeling would come out. Yet on the other hand, between the two was a strong bond, perhaps due more to the strenuous scenes through which they had passed together, than to any tie of brotherly love.

"That man and I are going to mix it up some day," mused the sheriff.

"Say," said Jesse to his companion, "if that fellow don't quit boring into me with his eyes I'm going over and hand him something hotter than the fire-water he gits over the bar of the Golden Arrow. It's beginning to get on my nerves.

"But watch out. He's got something else on his mind now I reckon," warned Jesse suddenly.

The green baize door had swung in and the man who was entering let it close to behind him with a snap, as he quickly stepped inside. His hands fell to his holsters as he swept the room in one quick comprehensive glance.

"One of Silver City's bullies," decided Jesse under his breath.

"I know the breed. I believe the pup is going to shoot."

At that moment Jesse's glance alighted appreciatively on the sheriff. He was standing with folded arms gazing at the bad man with a challenge in his eyes.

"Steve," said the sheriff in a quiet voice, "I've told you to get out of town before sun-up tomorrow; I've told you to keep out of the gin mills tonight. If you're here five minutes from now I'll kill you."

With that the sheriff turned away.

"Jim," he said to the bartender, "give me a cigar."

But the move came near to being a fatal one for the little officer of the law.

The instant his back was turned, one of the bad man's guns came out with a flash and his eyes blazing with terrible rage he was throwing it down on the man who had given him his final notice to quit.

But he was not quick enough.

"Bang!"

The notorious outlaw's trusty "Colt" had spoken first, and the bad man's gun fell to the floor, as its owner uttered a howl of mingled rage and pain.

He reached for his other gun with the left.

"Hands up!" commanded the desperado in an even voice. "I reckon we don't 'low curs like you to shoot men in the back."

Instantly the room was in an uproar. There were those present who, though they had not deemed it wise to express their sentiments in the presence of the sheriff, were Steve's cronies on the side.

Their hands flew to their guns.

"Hands up, every mother's son of you!" roared the desperado in a terrible voice that thrilled every man in the room. "Come over here," he said jerking his head to one side for the sheriff to join them, and while Jesse's eyes swept the evil faces about them the sheriff calmly walked over to where the two outlaws were standing, and took his place beside them.

"Thanks, pard," he breathed. "You winged him. He won't use that hand again right away."

A gun flashed at the far end of the room.

Jesse's 44 barked viciously and the other's bullet buried itself in the wall behind him. But his assailant fared not so well. He sank to the floor with a dull red mark placed fairly between his eyes.

Now guns crashed everywhere. The sheriff worked his weapons with the rapidity of a gatling gun. But Jesse and Frank fired now slowly. They were at a disadvantage. They were unable to distinguish friend from foe, while the sheriff knew every man there. So the two outlaws kept their sharp eyes dancing from face to face and at the least sign of treachery, the man went down with a bullet well placed somewhere in his anatomy.

By now the battle was getting too hot for most of the miners and bad men and they took to the windows like a flock of frightened sheep. The temptation was too great for the notorious outlaw to resist. He was in a devil-may-care mood this night, and his recent exploits had whetted his appetite for more desperate deeds.

He discharged a quick volley after the fleeing men, and though not once shooting to kill, inflicted wounds from which many an unfortunate fellow never recovered.

The firing ceased.

Jesse laughed harshly.

The bar tender poked his head above the bar cautiously.

"Gentlemen all finished?" he asked, peering suspiciously at the three men on the other side of the room.

"That depends," answered the desperado easily, "upon whether there are any other gentlemen in need of pills around here. If you know of any more would-be bad men go out and get them. We might as well clean out the whole danged town while we are at it, eh, sheriff?"

Suddenly Jesse wheeled and sent a bullet crashing through the green baize door.

This was followed instantly by a yell of pain and one of the bad man's friends, plunged headlong into the room dead. He had been taking careful aim at the great desperado, who suddenly sensing that danger lurked beyond the door, had fired.

"Say pard," glowed the sheriff, "I've seen some pretty tall shooting in my time and I'm something on the trigger myself, but you fellows have got anything in Silver City backed clear off into the gulch. Shake."

Jesse extended his hand and bowed with mock gentility.

"There's only one man that I ever heard of who could handle a gun like you do," continued the officer of the law.

"And he?" smiled the outlaw.

"And he is Jesse James."

"And it is Jesse James who stands before you," was the outlaw's startling and unexpected reply, one of those devil-may-care impulses that now and then stirred him on to acts that from their very daring, overcame all obstacles and brought him out victorious.

Chapter XVII.

THE DOUBLE BANK ROBBERY.

For a moment the sheriff stood like a man stricken suddenly dumb. Jesse faced him with a mocking smile on his face.

"You—you are—Get out of here! Vamoose quicker'n a streak of greased lightning. Don't you know I'm an officer of the law?" exclaimed the gamey little sheriff suddenly turning his back on Jesse and Frank. And the latter two with a laugh walked from the scene of carnage and disappeared in the night.

"Well," snarled Frank, "you have put your foot in it this time everlastingly."

"Oh, I don't know. We'll see," was his laconic answer.

The two men walked across a vacant lot, picked up their horses, mounted and rode out to a mountain gulch nearby, where they joined their fellows. It was no unusual thing for horsemen to be seen on the streets of Silver City, and therefore it excited no comment when seven men rode in from different directions on the following morning. The uniform quality of their horseflesh, however, did attract the attention of the mountaineers, but though each carried a Winchester in his saddle holster, the men excited no more than ordinary interest.

So changed in appearance were the notorious outlaw and his brother that it would have been a keen eye indeed, that would have been able to discover, under their disguises, the men whose guns had done such deadly work in the Golden Arrow on the previous evening.

None of the newcomers appeared to be traveling together. Now and then one would drop from his horse and visit a saloon, two visited the postoffice and others took in a general store below in which was the second bank.

But had one been suspicious he might have noted a certain method in the actions of these newcomers who seemed to be everywhere at once, and yet acting without any apparent motive.

After a time the band seemed to have formed in two sections—one at the north end of the main street and the other at the south, the latter section consisting of fewer men than the northern group.

On the north might have been found the great outlaw, his brother having cast his lot with the band to the south.

Jesse sauntered carelessly into the postoffice and asked if there was any mail for Jim Howard.

While the postmaster was looking over his letters Wild Bill slipped behind the case and dealt the postmaster a terrific blow with the butt of his revolver.

While the act was in plain view of the street through the large front window, there chanced to be no one passing at the moment, and neither was the brutal assault observable to those in the bank on the other side of the partition.

"Who are you?" demanded Jesse as a fellow, hideous in his hunchbacked deformity leered up into his face.

"I reckon I don't know you either?" was the enigmatical reply.

"You're Jake Fowler. I know you."

"But you ain't Sagebrush Sam. What do you want here?"

"S-h-h," whispered Jesse. "He sent me here. How many men are over there behind the counter of the bank?"

"Two, the owner and the cashier," informed the other, his eye twinkling with intelligence.

"Call them over here. Tell them the postmaster has been hurt. They won't see me, but my pard here will cover them the minute they get behind the case, and we'll hold you in here till we get through. No tricks or I'll shoot you full of holes," hissed the desperado, dropping behind a barrel and motioning to Bill to make himself scarce, as Jake ran to the bank counter in great excitement.

"Come quick!" cried Jake. "The postmaster has been hurt or else he's fallen in a fit."

"What—where?" cried the two bankers excitedly.

"Over here. Hurry."

Jake was playing his part as if he had been studying it for months and Jesse grinned approvingly.

The three had stooped to raise the body of the prostrate man when they were startled by the sudden command:

"Move an inch and you're both dead men."

The owner of the bank started to utter an exclamation, but the words froze in his mouth as looking sideways he found himself gazing along the black, menacing barrel of a heavy "Colt's."

Jesse, not wasting the time to go around into the enclosure, had leaped the counter and was down on his knees in front of the large open safe whose doors were swung wide, displaying their glittering contents to his avaricious gaze.

Gold, bills, little sacks of precious dust were swept with ruthless hand into the yawning gunny sack like meal from a miller's hopper.

Meanwhile two mounted men in front had dismounted and were busily engaged in tightening their saddle girths, apparently oblivious to anything that was going on around them.

Not a soul save those directly connected with the daring robbery had been disturbed.

With a sweeping glance around him, Jesse, observed with a grin that the coast was clear, and came around the counter with the bag of precious loot in his hand.

Not a word was spoken as he passed around to the rear of the Postoffice case.

Raising his gun by the barrel he brought it down with terrific force, first on the head of one and then on the other of the bankers. They fell forward groaning.

"Follow me and guard the rear," announced Jesse to Wild Bill. "Here's a drunk for you baby," he added, tossing a thousand dollar bill to the hunch-back. "Better mosey or they'll be stringing you up before the sun is over the gulch. You'll get drunk and that'll be the end of you."

"Can't I go with you?" leered the outlaw. "I ain't no tenderfoot."

"Not unless you are ready to die," retorted Jesse

"Then I'll peach," was the sudden and unexpected reply.

A sudden rage leaped into the eyes of the outlaw.

Throwing his gun down on the horrible dwarf he pulled the trigger. "I guess that'll hold him a while," decided the outlaw with a cruel smile, as the dwarf fell over dead.

"Shall I get the money you gave 'im?" asked Bill

"No," snapped the desperado. "Jesse James does not rob dead men's pockets. It's his. Let him have it."

Strangely enough to the outlaws the shot had attracted no attention. And mounting they rode leisurely up the street toward the store where the second bank was located. He could see the remaining members of the band lounging recklessly about in the street in front of the place, and wondering at the delay.

"Something must have gone wrong," he muttered, urging his horse along a little faster.

Just then the ground under them was shaken by a dull heavy explosion. People came flocking from shop and saloon and curious scared faces appeared at the open windows of upper stories.

"Dynamite," he growled.

"It's the bank!" was the startling cry, taken up from mouth to mouth and passed along down the village street, as a shouting, gesticulating, yelling mob rushed to the store where the second bank was located.

The desperado saw his men coolly swing themselves into their saddles and face the mob with leveled Winchesters.

A rain of scattered shots began to patter about those in front of the bank. But the men held their fire, ordering the people back on the pain of instant death.

A thirty-two stung Comanche Tony in the cheek.

Throwing his Winchester to his shoulder he shot the man who had wounded him, dead.

The citizens answered with a volley. At that the desperadoes pumped their magazines, into the crowd, until they were emptied and then released their revolvers from their holsters began fanning the mad mob with deadly effect.

Jesse, having secured the gunny sack firmly to his saddle, and so that it might not impede his movements, rode still leisurely along.

Suddenly he espied Frank running down the steps of the store. Like his younger brother, Frank also bore a gunny sack and from the manner in which Frank was carrying it, Jesse understood that his brother had succeeded in his mission of plunder.

Frank swung into his saddle under a perfect storm of bullets.

With a wild whoop and a savage yell the great desperado and his immediate companions dug the rowels of their spurs into their horses and charged down on the crowd.

The mob taken suddenly by surprise at this attack on their flank, ceased firing and fell swiftly back.

"Forward!" roared the great desperado.

Frank and his men heard and understood.

Their horses sprang away under the pressure of the cruel spurs.

Now Jesse and his companions thundered down on the crowd in the wake of the first line of fleeing desperadoes.

All at once a slight, wiry figure sprang out into the middle of the street.

"Halt! I know you, Jesse James."

But the desperado threw himself suddenly forward on the neck of his horse as the sheriff's bullets sang over him so close to his head that he could feel the hair on the top of his head, slightly pulled back by the sudden suction of air from the leaden pellets.

Both his revolvers flashed up on either side of the horse's neck. They barked in unison and the sheriff fell dead.

The outlaw's horse leaping over the body of the fallen officer of the law, sped away.

Jesse rose in his saddle and sent a volley of shots from his Winchester into the crowd in his rear. Then he was obliged to cease firing because of the fear of hitting one of his own men, whose bodies were now between him and the mob. The men had swung half way round in their saddles, reins on their horses' necks, and were pumping lead into the mad mob with deadly effect.

Jesse fired a signal shot high into the air.

Their fusilade suddenly ceased.

With a wild, blood-curdling yell, the desperadoes dug their spurs deep into the sleek sides of the sensitive thoroughbreds and sped off like the wind headed for the protection of the mountain fastness.

Chapter XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

Not until the shadows of night were falling did the desperate band halt to make camp.

So far as they had been able to observe there had been no organized pursuit of them attempted. But they knew full well that they would not be permitted to escape without some effort being made to apprehend them.

But instead of following on south as they had started, Jesse after an hour or so changed his course and turned due east, thus carrying them away at right angles to the scene of their late operations. This, he reasoned shrewdly would send any posse that might follow them, off on a blind trail for a long distance before they discovered their mistake. To accomplish this the men had to dismount and lead their horses up a steep mountain side where the least misstep would have precipitated them to certain death on the rocks below.

But the hard rocky sides of the mountain left no trail for the mountaineers to follow.

It was with intense relief that the men dismounted after their trying ride, and their appetites, whetted by the day's strenuous doings, were soon satisfied with a hearty meal of bacon and potatoes, sizzling hot from their improvised stone stove.

And by the light of the camp fire, Jesse and Frank spread out their ill-gotten gains on a slab of rock.

The eyes of the bandits glowed avariciously as package after package of bills was thrown out, to be followed by many bags of rich, yellow gold dust.

A careful count of the money and a rough estimate of the gold dust was made, Jesse figuring the total by marking on the slab of rock with a sharp stone.

"How much?" asked Frank.

"It'll run better than a hundred thousand, I reckon," answered Jesse, calmly.

The desperadoes gave a long, low whistle of surprise.

"I calkerlate I'd be willing to go hungry for three days any time for such a bunch of the long green as that," averred Homely Harry facetiously.

THE END.

TO THE READER.

Only in the Adventure Series can you get the absolutely true and authentic history of the lives and exploits of the

JAMES BOYS, YOUNGER BROTHERS, HARRY TRACY, THE DALTON GANG, RUBE BURROW,

and the other Notorious Outlaws of the Far West.

We are the authorized and exclusive publishers for Jesse James' only son,

JESSE JAMES, JR. and are the publishers of his great book, JESSE JAMES, MY FATHER,

which is for sale everywhere. Buy it where you bought this book, and read the inside history of the life of Jesse James.

Be sure to read the next story, JESSE JAMES MIDNIGHT ATTACK, or THE BANDIT'S REVENGE ON THE VIGILANTES. In this story will be chronicled a series of startling adventures in which the noted outlaw turns the tables on the man-hunters who are on his trail, to their complete undoing. It is No. 32 in the Adventure Series.