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.