Founded by the Catholics in the early part of the eighteenth century, the town had grown in wealth and population steadily. The old French families had imparted a courtliness and refinement that distinguished it from other villages when the horde of home-seekers flocked across the "Big Muddy," lured by dreams of wealth and happiness to be found beyond its shores. With a thrift inherited from their forebears, the inhabitants saved their money and Jim had not been wrong when he had declared that Rozier's bank usually carried upwards of $100,000 in its vaults. The air was redolent with the fragrance of Spring as Jesse, Jim, John and Cole rode through the streets, their minds bent upon a crime against the citizens. Stopping at the first livery stable to which they came, the outlaws ordered their horses fed and inquired the way to the nearest good restaurant. It was the belief of the world-famous desperado that men were more daring with their stomachs full than when hunger gnawed at them, and never did he undertake any of his sensational raids without eating first, when possible. Being directed to a first-class eating place, they laughed and chatted during their breakfast and no one who saw them would have thought they contemplated perpetrating any foul deed. Purchasing cigars when they had finished their meal, the quartette sauntered out onto the street to find where the Savings Association Bank was located and to look over the building, its approaches and entrances. In the northern end of the town they discovered it, its name announced by a gold-lettered sign with black background at the top of a one-story building and in smaller letters on the windows. "What luck," chuckled Jesse as they walked past the bank. "It's right on a corner. You and Jim, John, can wait in this side street. There are nothing but dwelling houses on it, that I can see. By looking through the windows, you can see anybody passing on the main thoroughfare and no inquisitive attention will be attracted to you as there would if you sat your horses in front of the bank. "When we go back, we'll notice what time it opens. The earlier we turn the trick, the less risk we'll run of being interrupted." Not just beyond the building did the bandits stop and turn, however. Too thoroughly versed in the art of avoiding attention when they wished to, they walked half a mile beyond the bank, crossed the street and returned on the opposite side. "Get a look at the cashier's cage," whispered their chief as they drew near. In the most casual manner, the desperadoes glanced toward the institution, then turned their eyes upon something else. But in the brief space they had learned what they wished. White enamelled letters announced that the banking hours were from nine till twelve in the morning and from two till four in the afternoon, and on Saturday evenings from seven till eight.