Their eyes suddenly began to blink. They could scarcely credit what they saw. Right in the middle of the moonlit space, as if he had risen from the ground, stood the great outlaw himself. How he had come there without their observing him, was beyond their understanding. He was standing behind a large boulder, hat tipped back, his features plainly outlined in the brilliant moonlight, nose and face tipped upward as if scenting danger in the air. Twenty trigger fingers twitched nervously, and as many Winchesters swung silently until they focused on the figure no more than twenty paces distant. The great desperado poised there like a statue, hands and arms hanging listlessly at his sides, guns in their holsters as if there was no expectation of their being needed for instant use. But this did not deceive Uncle Sam's Indian fighters. They were too familiar with Jesse James' reputation for quickness on the trigger not to understand that the mere glint of a moonbeam along a rifle barrel would mean death to the soldier behind it almost before he could pull his own trigger. Like a blow in the face came the sudden command: "Put up your hands, Jesse James!" "Crash!" Both the desperadoe's "Colts" spoke in a single explosion, and the Captain yelled with pain as a bullet tore through one arm. "Give it to him!" he roared. "Fire in a volley." The roar of the heavy Winchesters sent the leaves of the trees a rustling and even the rocks and earth catching up the note, responded with a tremor. Dimly they could see the figure of the outlaw stretched out on the ground in the shadow of the boulder after the smoke had drifted away. CHAPTER IX. WHEN THE EARTH FELL APART. Just before leaving the cave the great desperado had whispered a word of command to Tony and Texas. But the nature of the orders so secretly conveyed the others did not know, and none save Frank felt licensed to make inquiry, for Jesse was apt to administer a sharp rebuke that the inquisitive one would not soon forget. Being the interested party the elder James brother glared suspiciously at the two bandits. "See here, you mutts," he exploded with all his remaining strength, "I know what you are up to. You think my leg has got to come off and Jess didn't want me to know about it cause I'd make a ruction. "Take it from me, you've got another guess coming. The leg is mine and it's on to stay. Time enough to plant it when I'm put away. Nice looking chump I'd be hopping around on one peg, eh?" he laughed maliciously. "You're wrong, Frank," corrected Texas. "You ain't so bad off either. I'll gamble my spurs on it, that it's only a flesh wound and there ain't no bullet in there at all. But them gunshot wounds is nasty things, and what the chief wants is for that redskin sawbones to put on a lotion that will draw out the poison and--"