"It is _I_ who should thank you for allowing me to save your life," returned Jesse in a low voice, his eyes uttering the admiration he would not let his tongue. Blushing at what she read in them, the girl's embarrassment was relieved by her father, who approached, holding out his hand to the outlaw. "Whatever reward you wish for the great service you have rendered me in snatching my child from death, you may ask. I am Forman A. Rozier, president of the Savings Association Bank of Ste. Genevieve, and I can afford to be gen--" But the insulting sentence was never finished. Drawing himself proudly to his full stature, the world-famous desperado's eyes shone with the look his men had learned to fear and his voice was cold and incisive as he snapped: "Sirrah!" While his daughter gasped, in amazement: "Father!" Staring from one to another, the banker, who worshipped money and felt that his offer of reward was more than magnanimous, flushed hotly, mumbling: "No offence was intended. Come Sally, your mother will be frantic till she sees you," and turned on his heel. "_Please_ don't feel hurt," whispered the girl, "_he_ thinks money is everything and he meant it to thank you." "Don't men--" began Jesse. But the girl interrupted: "When we see each other again I can thank you better--I'm so upset now." Noting that his daughter was not at his side, Mr. Rozier called, peremptorily: "Come this instant, Sally!" Grabbing the skirt of her riding-habit, the girl breathed an _au revoir_ to the bandit-chieftain and ran to her father. As he followed her lithesome figure with his eyes, Jesse beheld the pompous banker scowling at him, his expression indicating that he was angry at the very natural gratitude his daughter evinced toward her handsome rescuer. And as he returned the stare, with interest, there flashed through Jesse's mind an idea that would give him ample revenge for the public insult. By his arrogance, Banker Rozier had made a terrible enemy. But though the contretemps would be food delicious for the gossip-mongers who had witnessed it, there were men and women in the crowd who were ashamed of the humiliating return for an act so brave, and, in the endeavour to wipe out the unpleasant memory, they surged about the three outlaws, expressing their admiration of their bravery and congratulating them upon their horsemanship. Stung to the quick by the undeserved treatment, however, the bandits replied only in monosyllables, devoting their attention to staunching the flow of blood from the gashes they had inflicted on their horses. "We'll lead them to our tent," declared the great outlaw, "we can't attend to them properly here." And quickly the heroes took their departure. Their advances repulsed, the spectators fell to discussing the incident when suddenly they remembered that they had not learned the strangers' names. Quickly were husbands, brothers and sons commissioned to learn them and eagerly they set out to the errand.