Another scoundrel alighted from his horse and getting behind it commenced a rapid fire down the street, seeing which the intrepid and cool Manning, with all the _nonchalance_ in the world, raised his unerring rifle and stretched the living barricade lifeless at the bandit’s feet. The enraged brigand then ran towards Manning, fearless of the formidable weapon of Bates, and sheltering himself behind some packing cases under the open stairway of Scriver block, he commenced a rapid fusilade, evidently with the intention of keeping Manning from firing up the street at others of the gang. But Wheeler had succeeded in finding another cartridge and returning to the room from which he delivered his first shot, a young lady, who had remained at the window coolly watching the fight throughout, pointed out to Wheeler the man who was keeping Manning from effectual work. “Only aim as true as you did before” said THE BRAVE GIRL “and there will be one the less to fight” and Wheeler fired. Instantly the villain dropped his hand upon his thigh, and the girl cried out, “Oh, you aimed too low,” thinking the shot had taken effect in the middle third of the right thigh. Wheeler at once left the room in search of another cartridge which unluckily he was unable to find. The wounded man who had changed his pistol to the left hand and discharged several shots at Manning, now turned about, and seeing Bates inside his store with a pistol in his hand and thinking it was from this source he had received his wound, as quick as a lightning flash sent a deadly missive at the unsuspecting Bates. The ball crashed through the intervening glass of the store front, and burnt a scorching track across the victims face from ear to nose. But during this time a bloody and terrible tragedy was being enacted in the bank. A scene exhibiting a greater amount of reckless daring, and brutal ferocity; of intrepid courage, and heroic fortitude; ending in a most dastardly, and APPALLING, SICKENING, TRAGEDY could not be imagined than the one which was in progress in the bank while the street fight already described was going on. Just a few moments before the raiders commenced their wild career on the streets, three men rushed into the bank, holding in their hands large pistols, the glittering barrels of which they directed toward the three gentlemen, Messrs. Heywood, Bunker and Wilcox, who occupied the desks behind the counter. Springing over the counter these desperadoes shouted out “THROW UP YOUR HANDS,” “we intend to rob the bank.” “Which is the Cashier?” one demanded, and instantly approaching Heywood, commanded him to open the safe. “I am not the cashier,” was the reply.