"You lie, you little vermin! I'm not 'Howard'--I'm Jesse James! A--ah! It makes you blanch when you think that you and your money-loving father insulted _me_ and set detectives on my track, eh? "You've cheated me out of $100,000 by coming here! And by the blood of my mother! I'll take it out of your hide. I'll teach the Rozier tribe better than to try to drug Jesse James with doped wine!" And before either Cole and the cashier recovered from their surprise at the fury of the great bandit's denunciation, Jesse lifted the banker's son from the floor, hurled him into the vault and slammed the massive doors shut. "It'll cost old Rozier a few dollars before he gets you out of here," chuckled the world-famous desperado. And to the horror of Mr. Harris, he aimed his revolver at the lock and pulled the trigger, shattering the combination with the bullet. "He'll die! He'll smother!" wailed the cashier. "Let him! If you dare to raise an alarm for five minutes, I'll come back and blow the top of your bald pate off. "Come, Cole! We'll go back to the Springs and get old Rozier. And just remember this, you Harris. If Rozier doesn't resign as president of this bank, I'll raid it every year. "Tell _that_ to your directors!" CHAPTER XVI. THE BUTCHERY AT CHALK LEVEL. Terror-stricken at the casting into the vault of his master's son and the destruction of the lock, Mr. Harris stared in bewilderment at the prison-vault, aware that the boy might suffocate before workmen could open the doors. Even the dire threat of repeating the robbery failed to arouse him and no heed did he pay as Jesse picked up the bag of plunder and walked calmly from the building, with his pal at his side. But the pistol shot had been heard! In his yard across the street, a man had been setting out flowers. As the report rang out from the bank, he glanced toward it and beheld the desperadoes, their pistols pointed at the cashier. Dropping his gardening implements, the man rushed into the house to get his shotgun, bravely intending to go to the assistance of Mr. Harris. "What is it, Henry?" asked his wife as she noticed the scared expression on her husband's face as he ran for his weapon. "Robbers--in the--bank!" he gasped, taking the gun from its rack by the kitchen door. "Gracious me! What are _you_ going to do?" "Go to the help of Mr. Harris, of course." "Henry Farnam, are you a fool? Will you never learn to mind your own business? Go to Harris' rescue, will you? Well, I guess not. If you stay here, the robbers'll probably not hurt him. I know him too well to think he'd refuse to do what they said. But if they see you rushing at them with a gun, they'll like as not kill him and put a bullet into you for your pains. And your insurance premium hasn't been paid for this year! No, sir. You just put that gun back in its rack and stay in the house!"