Quickly and methodically Rathburn went about his work. His face was drawn and pale, but his eyes glittered with a deadly earnestness which was not lost upon the two men who obeyed his orders without question. The very boldness of his intrepid undertaking must have convinced them that here was no common bandit. He herded them back toward the vault at the point of his gun. Then he ordered them into the vault.

“Now then,” he said crisply, “you know what I’m after. Trot it out!”

One of the men, evidently an assistant cashier or head teller, who was in charge, opened a compartment of the inner safe and pulled out a drawer. Rathburn could see the packages of bills. He looked quickly about and saw a pile of empty coin sacks on a shelf.

“Fill two of those large sacks,” he instructed the other man.

The clerk hastened to carry out his orders and jammed package after package of bills into one of the largest of the coin sacks. Both men were white-faced and frightened. They did not try to delay the proceedings. Rathburn looked dangerous; and what was more sinister, he went about his nefarious business in a cool, calm, confident manner. He did not look like the Rathburn who had visited Laura Mallory the night before, nor the Rathburn who had talked with the sheriff. In this critical moment he was in look, mood, and gesture The 225 Coyote at his worst––worthy of all the terrible things that had been whispered about him.

It may be that the bank employees suspected as much. It may be that they didn’t believe it would be possible for the outlaw to make his get-away in broad daylight, and it was certain that they stood in mighty fear of him. They cowered back, pale and shaking, as he calmly took the sack, heavy with its weight of bank notes of healthy denomination, and stepped to the entrance to the big vault.

“When they come an’ let you out,” said Rathburn, “you can tell them that the gent who helped himself to the berries in the cash box is just beginnin’ to cash in on the reputation that’s been wished on him!”

He smiled grimly, as he swung the light, inner door of the vault shut and clamped down the lever. He slid his gun into its holster and, carrying the sack of loot, walked out of the door of the second cage toward the main entrance of the bank. As he reached the door, a man came up the steps. Rathburn recognized Doane, and his lips curled in a snarl. It was the first time Doane had come face to face with him, but the man started back in surprise.

“Rathburn!” he exclaimed.

Rathburn hesitated. His first feeling of instinctive animosity fled. He scowled in a swift effort to place the man, and the thought that in an indirect way Doane was partly responsible for what had come to pass flashed through his tortured brain. This brought swift comprehension of his immediate danger. Now that he had taken the decisive step he would have to call upon all his resources of courage and cunning to protect his liberty. The die had been cast!

He hurried past Doane, swung into the saddle, 226 and rode at a swift pace around the corner, leaving Doane standing on the steps of the bank, staring after him with an expression of amazement on his face.

Rathburn knew it would be but a matter of a very few minutes before the knowledge that the State Bank of Hope had been held up and robbed––would be common property in the town. The very boldness of the robbery had insured its success, for none would dream that a lone bandit would have the nerve to come into town in broad daylight, hold up the bank, and attempt to run for it across the open, burning spaces of the desert. But he was not aware of the coincidence which would make the news of the robbery known sooner than he expected.

At the end of the side street he struck boldly across the desert, driving in his spurs and urging the gallant dun to its top speed. In a matter of minutes he was out of view of the town––a speck bobbing amid the clumps of mesquite, palo verde, and cactus. He raced for the mountains in the northwest.

There was another element of uncertainty which entered into the probability of quick pursuit, as he had shrewdly divined. It might be some time before the sheriff’s predicament was discovered. Meanwhile most of the male population was scouring the vicinity of Imagination Range looking for him, and there would be no one to lead a second posse until the sheriff was liberated. There was nothing in sight behind him toward town except the vista of dry desert vegetation swimming in the heat. Rathburn rode on with a feeling of security, so far as trouble from that quarter was concerned.

His thoughts were in a turmoil, and he passed a shaking hand over his damp brow. The resentment had given way to grim decision and determination. 227 Well, he had shown them what The Coyote could do. They would remember that job; they could lay that at his door. The proceeds would carry him a long way. They had given him his reputation, and he would make the game worth the candle!

The old fierce defiance of misguided youth was in his veins. He felt a wild exultation seize him. Doubt and all problems were set aside. His eyes glowed with a reckless light, as he raced on toward the blue hills.

Doane had known him––had called him by name. Therefore Doane knew he was The Coyote––the outlaw with a price on his head. So much the better. He wanted them to know!

The sun was at its zenith, as he passed above the Mallory place. He did not once turn his head and look down upon it. His jaw was squared, his lips pressed tight, as he guided his horse into the winding foothills of the range. In a narrow caÑon he dismounted and undid his slicker pack. When he again tied it behind the saddle it contained the bag which held the bank notes he had taken that morning. He pushed on in the early afternoon.

He now rode with more caution. The fact that he had not seen any members of the posses which were scouring the hills, he accredited to ignorance on their part of the fact that he had been at the Mallory ranch the night before and had gone into town. These things they had hardly had time to learn. More than likely they had assumed that he had crossed the mountains, and it was possible that most of the men on the hunt were on the east side of the range. He became more and more convinced of this as the afternoon wore on, but he did not relax his vigilance. His face had clouded.

“We made a mistake, hoss,” he muttered, “in not remembering to hunt up Mike Eagen first thing.”

In the quick moves following his sudden momentous decision, he had forgotten Eagen. This fact now bothered him. He had a score to settle with Eagen on general principles. This did not mean that he necessarily would have to shoot Eagen down; but he wanted Eagen to hear straight out what he thought of him. It might be a long time before he could gratify that desire after the events of this day.

Slowly he proceeded, not once venturing upon a high spot until he had investigated by crawling to a vantage point on his hands and knees. It was sundown when he saw the first riders. Two were farther down the slopes to westward, and several more were far to eastward. It was true then that Long had thrown a cordon about the section of the mountains which he had been seen to enter the day before.

However, Rathburn’s knowledge of the range and the secrets of the mountain trails gave him a distinct advantage over the inexperienced members of the posses. True, there were deputies and some others who were experienced; but they were in the minority.

Rathburn realized that the sheriff must have been released some hours before, and that his escapade of the morning would stimulate the man hunt. The rewards would be increased, and every able-bodied man in Hope would doubtless join in the scramble for the reward money. He was satisfied that Sheriff Long’s order would be to “shoot on sight!”

On the very crest of the range he paused in the shelter of the rocks. There still was a fair chance for him to get away clean to eastward. The sheriff had not had time to get more men over there, and by making a break into the southeast 229 and then cutting straight to the east, there was a strong possibility that he would succeed in circling around the posse and effect his escape.

But something was drawing him to Joe Price! He did not quite understand that it was the desire to confide in and confess to his friend what had actuated his choice of moral trails. But the yearning was there, and he was yielding to it. He conjectured shrewdly that Long might not dream that he would have the temerity again to enter the very district where he was being sought. It was his belief that the best place to hide from a posse was in the midst of it!

It was this confidence, almost as much as his skill in trailing, which enabled him to gain a point above Joe Price’s cabin in the early twilight. He waited patiently until the curtain of night had fallen, and the stars had replaced the fading banners of the sunset, before he slipped down a steep slope and walked his horse into the caÑon below the old miner’s abode.