Their blood in crimson stream spurted into the face and eyes of the blood-thirsty desperado, but the only emotion it stirred in him was to arouse him to deepest anger. Not a bullet of the death-dealing volley had reached Jesse. With that marvelous instinct that had saved his life on so many occasions in the past, the outlaw had sensed the danger that confronted him, he knew that the eyes of enemies were upon him, but whether of white men or redskins, he did not know. Instantly his quick mind evolved a plan. He knew that death yawned in the shadows there, which one false move would precipitate upon him. With Jesse James, to think was to act. He dropped at the instant when twenty Winchesters hurled their death missiles at him. But the leaden pellets sped harmlessly over his head. Instead of leaping to his feet and making a desperate dash for liberty, as a less experienced man in the art of guerilla warfare might have done, the great bandit stiffened out and lay motionless in well-feigned emulation of death. His ruse was successful. But now the moment for action had arrived. Yet he did not move a muscle and respiration seemed to have ceased utterly. One of the ponies moved a step forward, having sighted a fresh bit of tender verdure. Its body was thus projected between the main arm of the troop and the prostrate outlaw, hiding his movements from them. With a blood-curdling yell that sent terror to the hearts of the soldiers for an instant, Jesse leaped to the startled pony's back. He seemed to spring from the ground as if impelled by some giant spring. So unexpected had been the move that the troops stood paralyzed--unable to move hand or foot. In fact, no comprehension of the real meaning of the scene--of the terrible tragedy that had taken place before their very eyes--had forced itself into their minds. The outlaw's yell of defiance had accomplished the exact result that he had intended it should. "It's James!" roared the Captain in a fearful rage. "Take aim! "Fire!" Twenty Winchesters crashed, a dull flash of flame lighted up the scene and was instantly lost in a pall of suffocating smoke, the reverberations from the explosion, thundering from peak to peak of the surrounding mountains. The command was repeated and again the guns of the troopers spoke hoarsely. Coincident with the first volley the outlaw had thrown himself down on the horse's side, away from the attacking force, Indian fashion. He was a master of every trick known to savage warfare, learned in the school of Quantrell years before. So suddenly had he gone down that at first they thought he had fallen. But the world's greatest outlaw was not thus easily to be disposed of. "It's a trick," yelled the Captain. He was goaded to desperation. "Fire at will!" he commanded. "Give it to him! Shoot low and fast!" Still another heavy volley broke the stillness. "Mount and pursue!" came the stern command.