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"He pushed out beyond the shadows of the trees."

CONTENTS.

Jesse James' Bold Stroke
OR
The Double Bank Robbery.

Chapter I.

INDIANS!

"Look! Look!"

The cry was uttered by the foremost of a little band of horsemen riding slowly in single file over the rocky bed of what had once been a raging torrent.

Darkness was descending over the canyon-traversed wilds of Southern Colorado and the air was hot and still.

Towering high above them, sinister and awesome in the half light rose solid walls of rock.

And as the leader of the little band had rounded a jutting crag, he beheld a sight that had brought the startled cry to his lips.

Far down the canyon, two fires glowed, seeming, in the darkness, like the luminous eyes of some wild monster.

Roused by the exclamation of their companion, the others drew rein, peering intently ahead of them.

Footsore and weary, for they had travelled fast and far during the day that was just drawing to a close, the jaded horses stood, with heads hanging low, while their riders stared ahead of them.

"Them's either signal fires or camp fires," grunted one of the men, after a careful study of the brilliant lights.

"Ain't you the wise lad, though," snorted another. "You talk as though we were tenderfeet. Any fool knows they're camp or signal fires.

"It's which of the two they are that counts. Tell us that and you'll be saying something."

"Well, Comanche Tony's the laddy buck who can find out," snapped the man who had first espied the glaring fires, slipping from his saddle.

And without heeding the protests of the others, he glided away, soon being lost to sight among the rocks.

The little band of horsemen were none other than Jesse James' notorious gang of outlaws.

After their sensational hold-ups of the Overland Stages in the Devil's Burying Ground, the last one of which had been done under the very noses of a troop of United States cavalrymen, the outlaws had headed for Arizona.

Hiding in caves and riding by night they had eluded the troopers and, at last, in the belief that they had outdistanced their pursuers, they had relaxed their caution, continuing their flight by day instead of under cover of darkness.

Consequently, when the member of the desperate gang of cut throats who was in the lead had caught sight of the fires, they were struck with consternation.

"It doesn't seem possible them sojers could have ridden round us," exclaimed Bob Moore, as Comanche Tony disappeared on his reconnaissance.

And this statement voiced the opinion of the others.

"No, it doesn't," returned the bandit-chieftain. "But you can't tell. Maybe they've sent word to one of the forts to the south of us and they've sent out a searching party."

"Phew! That would be tough!" gasped Sam Dirks. "We'd be between two fires, sojers in front of us and sojers behind us. It would take some figurin' on your part, Jess, to get us out."

The fact was so patent that the leader of the outlaws made no comment.

Well he realized the danger such a contingency would mean, yet till his trusted pal had returned from his scouting expedition, he could make no plans.

Finding that they could not draw their chief out, the others whispered among themselves for a while, finally lapsing into silence.

Steadily the two fires, that had so startled them, burned.

Once or twice, some of the bandits thought they beheld figures moving about them.

But the fancied forms disappeared so suddenly that they could not be sure.

"Seems as though it was taking Tony an all-fired long time," growled Wild Bill, glancing about him, uneasily.

But scarcely had the words left his lips than a piercing shriek rent the air.

"That's Tony!" "Suthin's happened to him!" "He's caught!" ejaculated the startled bandits.

With a burst of sulphurous profanity, Jesse slid from his horse.

"Whatever has happened, we must go to him," he snapped. "Frank, you and Sam stay here with the horses. The rest of you come with me. Be lively now!"

Yet before the desperadoes were out of their saddles, they received still another surprise.

The fires vanished.

With a suddenness that savoured of the magician's art, the two balls of flame disappeared before their very eyes.

"It's the Devil's work," gasped Bud Noble.

"Devil nothing!" snarled the world-famous desperado. "Come on! We must rescue Comanche!"

Little relishing the task of advancing down the canyon whose jagged sides seemed alive with men, so excited were the imaginations of the outlaws, they hastened on, stumbling and tripping over the rock-strewn trail.

With Wild Bill beside him, Jesse led the way.

Every few yards they stopped to listen.

But all was as silent as the tomb.

"I reckon we're purty close to whar the fires were," whispered Wild Bill, at last. "I can smell the smoke from 'em."

"Guess you're right. Boys, get your shooting irons ready. We're liable to run into an ambush any time. Keep to the rocks as much as you can."

But his warning was of no avail.

Of a sudden, the still, hot air was rent with whoops and yells.

"Injuns, or I'm a nigger!" gasped Wild Bill. "Poor Tony! He's in for it bad—unless we get to him!"

Jesse, however, had made a more important discovery.

The shouts of defiance had come from above.

And as the last warwhoop rolled back and forth between the towering cliffs, he raised his pistols, pointing them at random.

Crack! Crack!

Sharp and loud their report rang out.

Sounded a shriek of mingled pain and terror and the next instant a dark mass came hurtling down upon the little group of men standing huddled together on the rocky bottom of the canyon.

The smell of powder broke the spell that had fallen upon Jesse's comrades.

With rousing cheers, they greeted the falling form.

Viciously their pistols barked as they emptied them at the towering cliff.

But their exultation was short lived.

Yells, hoarse with rage, broke from the Indians.

High above them rang some commands in the native tongue.

And the next instant a deluge of rocks and stones was launched from the cliff above.

Fortunately for the little band of outlaws, the Indians had misjudged their position and the avalanche of missiles fell to the south of them.

Some of the scattering stones, however, struck the bandits, inflicting flesh and scalp wounds.

Walled in between the two sides of the canyon, the din was deafening.

All at once, as there came a momentary lull while the redskins awaited the result of their broadside, a voice bellowed:

"Back, boys! Run for your lives! The bucks have tons of rocks!"

It was Comanche Tony, who, despite the danger he ran of having a knife jabbed into him as he spoke, had braved death to warn his pals.

A moment Jesse hesitated.

Loath was he to leave his intrepid pal in the hands of the Indians. But he realized that should they tarry longer where they were, in the face of Tony's warning, the lives of all of them might be crushed out in a death more horrible than by bullets or torture—their bodies mashed to a pulp between the boulders hurled from the cliff and the rocky bottom of the canyon.

"Stop firing! Back to the horses!" he roared.

Amazed at this desertion of their comrade, the outlaws, nevertheless, obeyed.

And scarcely had they moved from where they had been standing before another broadside of boulders was launched.

"That was a close call," gasped Bud Noble. "It's a good thing we started when we did. But it don't seem right to leave Tony."

"We're not going to leave him," snapped the world-famous desperado. "When we get back to the horses, I'm going to take Wild Bill and Texas and go after him."

Anxious and excited were the two desperadoes who had been left in charge of the horses as they heard the sounds of conflict down the canyon.

Ignorant of how, what they supposed was a battle, might have gone, when they caught sight of the forms running toward them, Frank challenged:

"Who's coming? Halt or we'll fire!"

"It's all right! Don't shoot!" returned Jesse.

Relieved at finding the approaching figures were their comrades returning, Sam cried:

"Have you got Tony?"

But the world-famous desperado made no answer.

"The rest of you wait here. Post sentries and keep your eyes and ears open.

"Don't move from here till I get back. Come Bill. Come Texas."

And, his two pals at his heels, Jesse started up the canyon in the direction from which they were coming when they had first seen the fires, bound for a break in the wall of rock he had noticed as he passed.

But though he found it, because of the darkness, he was unable to make any headway, ignorant of the lay of the land as he was and, at last, he was forced to abandon his attempts to rescue Comanche Tony, deciding to wait till daylight should come.

Chapter II.

TIED TO THE STAKE.

When Comanche Tony had glided from his companions at the bend of the canyon, little did he think what was in store for him.

Stung to the quick by the unjustified slur of the brother of the bandit-chieftain, he was fiercely resentful, muttering to himself as he dodged from rock to rock.

Silently, stealthily, the wily old bandit drew nearer and nearer to the fire.

But he was labouring under a disadvantage that was to be his undoing.

Constantly was he looking at the two fires as he advanced and their glare so blinded him that he was unable to see aught at either side of them.

But the crouching forms that lurked in the shadows of the cliffs were not so handicapped because their backs were toward the flames.

Warned by the echo of hoofbeats, as the outlaws rode down the canyon, the Indians had ample time to arrange their ambush.

Who the travellers were, it mattered not to them.

They were on the warpath and redskin or paleface was equally welcome.

Yet so craftily did Comanche Tony approach that he was almost upon them ere the keen eyes of the expectant bucks had detected his stooping form as he glided from one rock to another with absolute noiselessness.

Startled to think that any one could get so near to them and disappointed that they were to capture only one prisoner, the bucks watched the bandit steal nearer and nearer.

Bodies crouched, muscles tense, the savages waited till their victim was close to the fire.

Scenting a trick, since he had been allowed to approach unchallenged and could discern no sleeping forms about the fire, Comanche Tony had turned, determined to get back to his pals without delay.

But he was too late.

No sooner had he faced about than the air was full of leaping forms which the glare from the fires showed to be streaked with gaudy-hued paints.

Instantly the outlaw realized that they were Indians.

Yet so sudden had been their appearance that they were upon him, encircling him with their powerful arms, ere he could draw his six shooters.

For the moment, it maddened him to think that he, old Indian fighter that he was, had walked unsuspectingly into the snare of the cunning redmen, but only for a moment.

If he had been caught, his pals should not be.

And, utterly heedless of what the consequences might be to himself, the intrepid old bandit let out a yell.

Startled, the bucks gazed at their captive an instant, then their amazement gave way to snarls as a dozen hands sought Tony's throat, to choke off his outcry.

And it was the terrific pressure exerted by the steel-like fingers that had given to the shout of warning, the peculiar half wail, half roar, which Jesse and his men had heard.

Maddened by such defiance, the redskins uttered a few hoarse commands and the next instant Tony felt himself lifted from his feet and carried, in sturdy arms, up a path in the cliff.

But even then, desperate as his predicament was, the fearless outlaw's thoughts were of his fellows rather than of himself and he muttered:

"I've warned the boys, anyhow, no matter if I did get caught in springing the trap."

Yet he was quickly recalled to his surroundings by feeling his feet set on a rock.

Accustomed by this time to the darkness, Comanche Tony was able to make out that he and his captors were on a ledge in the cliff along the edge of which was a black, irregular mass.

Forgetting, in his eagerness to discover what this was, that he was a prisoner, the intrepid bandit stepped forward.

Uttering vicious grunts, two bucks grabbed him and threw him roughly against the wall of rock behind them.

"Paleface heap fool," snarled one of his guards. "Get too fresh, fall over ledge, spoil Injun's fun!"

"By my scalp, but I must have suthin' pleasant ahead of me if fallin' to my death will spoil these devil's fun!" thought Comanche Tony.

But again the contemplation of the perilousness of his own plight was forgotten in the realization that his reckless attempt to warn his pals had been of no avail.

For, in the brief interval that he had gazed on the edge of the ledge, he had seen several bucks frantically beating out the two fires with their blankets, and he knew that whatever their game, the world-famous desperado and his men would be in grave danger, forced, as they would be, to advance in the darkness.

Yet had he been an instant later, he would have seen the same braves hurriedly scoop handfuls of dirt onto the glowing coals, after which they covered the piles with their blankets and bounded up the path to the ledge.

On their arrival, a hasty pow-wow was held and the next minute Comanche Tony had learned the purpose of the irregular mass of black along the edge of the ledge.

Lying flat on their bellies, the Indians braced their feet against the wall of rock and threw out their hands in front of them.

A sickening fear gripped the heart of the bandit as he divined that the objects were stones to be hurled from the ledge.

Wondering if he could warn his pals of the terrible fate awaiting them, Tony's eyes were drawn to the figure of an Indian standing clear of the others.

Like a statue he loomed.

All at once, he uttered an ear splitting yell.

He had caught sight of a black line of objects moving in the canyon below.

Immediately his braves joined in and as the strident warwhoops rent the air, the prostrate bucks exerted their strength and the first avalanche of stones was started on its mission of death.

But that it was launched too soon, the reader already knows.

The suspense to Tony, however, was awful as he strained his ears for the sound of his pals' voices.

And as he heard their yells of defiance he heaved a mighty sigh of relief which ended in a grunt of delight as he saw the figure of the Indian lookout topple and pitch to the bottom even while the report of a pistol rang out.

"That was Jesse's shot, I'll bet!" he chuckled.

But his exultation vanished as he saw the bucks stretched out on the ledge move along to more stones.

And then it was that, tempting Fate for the second time, he had shouted his warning to his pals to flee for their lives.

Too late was it for the redskins to save their missiles as his cry rang out.

But even as the boulders were hurtling to the bottom of the canyon, the braves leaped to their feet and charged him.

So terrible was their anger, that they almost crushed the bandit as they pressed about him.

"Have your fun if you want," grunted Comanche Tony. "I can't die but once. But it'll be the sorriest work you devils ever did if you do kill me!"

The tone in which the fearless old Indian fighter uttered this defiance was as calm and cool as though he were talking to a group of children instead of to a pack of blood-thirsty savages.

His gameness amazed his captors, though it only made them crush him against the rocks the more furiously.

But as he closed his eyes to keep out the sight of the hideous, passion-distorted faces before him, a deep-lunged voice uttered some sharp commands.

In a trice, the terrible pressure relaxed and the next moment the outlaw felt himself again raised from his feet and borne rapidly upward.

Ere many minutes he could tell that he was again on a level and instantly his mind sought some scheme by which he could kill time.

For he felt that the world-famous desperado would not leave him to the anything but tender mercies of the savages.

Yet had he known that his beloved chief was even then returning to his pals, having failed to find a way to scale the wall of rock, he would have been sad, indeed.

But he did not know and his ignorance was bliss, in truth.

As Comanche Tony racked his brain for some manner to delay his captors, more commands rang out and the Indians who were carrying him set him down.

The moon had just risen above the peaks of the mountains to the east and, in its light, the bandit saw that he was on a plateau sparsely covered with stunted trees.

To one of these his captors guided him.

As he reached it, a couple of the braves lopped off the lower branches.

Whirling him roughly, his guards backed him against the tree trunk and while they held him, others deftly bound him to the improvised stake with lariats they had brought with them from the bottom of the canyon.

Grave, indeed, was his situation.

And it needed no one to tell the captive bandit that the redmen proposed to burn him at the stake when they should tire of their preliminary tortures.

But as his plight became more desperate, Comanche Tony became the more determined to gain time.

Only one expedient was there of which he could think that was adequate in his dire extremity.

He must scare the painted bucks.

And while he was considering whether he could do this the most readily by threatening them with vengeance at the hands of the world-famous desperado, or by telling them a squad of United States cavalry were on their trail, the Indians made what was, to them, a fatal move.

They kindled a fire about two rods from where Comanche Tony stood tied to the stake.

As the tongues of flame leaped in the air, their reflection was seen by Jesse James and his men in the canyon.

"By thunder! Do you suppose that's from the Injuns or the sojers?" asked Wild Bill, as his chief sprang to his feet.

"I don't know. But I'm going to find out!

"There's no need of waiting till morning.

"Come on, everybody. We'll go down to where the first fires were."

Quickly the desperadoes started, for they had ill liked the thought of leaving their pal to his fate.

With Texas Jack and Wild Bill at his side, the bandit chieftain advanced till he reached the heaps of broken boulders that had come so near to being their death a short time before.

As the bandits gazed up at the top of the wall of rock, Texas remarked:

"It's a cinch, Jess, those bucks have some trail up the cliff. We didn't find any place to scale it, back where we come from, and by the looks of the wall ahead, there isn't any break, so they couldn't have got to the end of the canyon and back on top in such a short time.

"That being so, it means there's some path near here."

"Then we'll look for it. Get busy, boys. Comanche Tony's life may depend on our haste."

With a will, the outlaws set about examining the side of the canyon.

And while they searched, their pal was sparring for time with his infuriated captives.

"See here, my buckos," he said, his voice as cool as when he had addressed them before, "I reckon you're making a mistake. I haven't done you any harm.

"But if you touch a hair on my head thar's not one of you who won't be shot to pay for it!"

The redskin warriors, to the number of a score, had been standing about the fire, now and then turning toward their captive as they jabbered excitedly, evidently arguing over some part of their contemplated torture.

But as the calm words fell on their ears, they all faced about, while one of them, whose peculiar head-dress proclaimed him to be a chief, grunted:

"Paleface talk heap big. Navajos fool paleface frien's. How um know Navajos kill paleface. Heap Injun in country."

"That may be. But my friends are not ordinary men. They're smarter than any palefaces you ever saw."

"You got caught. Heap smart, huh," and the chieftain grunted in disgust.

"True enough. I did. But my pals didn't. They were smart enough not to get under the cliff where you shoved the rocks over."

Guttural grunts came from several of the Indians and quickly the chief demanded:

"Who you?"

"I don't know that it's any of your business."

"Me know. Great Bear know. Paleface army scout."

Instantly the bandit realized that the braves had decided he was connected with the soldiers of the Great Father in Washington.

And quickly was he to see his advantage.

"You're wrong there, Great Bear," he declared. "I told you you were making a mistake.

"I don't belong to the sojers any more'n you do.

"My chief's greater'n any sojers! He's got two battalions chasin' him now!"

This announcement produced a profound sensation among the braves and excitedly they jabbered.

But whatever his warriors were urging, their chief refused, again turning toward his prisoner:

"Paleface talk heap big. No fool Great Bear. Great Bear burn paleface at stake. Paleface frien's cum, Injun fight um, scalp um. Ugh! Ugh!"

And he sucked in his breath, making a gruesome sound.

But Comanche Tony refused to be frightened.

He knew that the Navajos were a peaceful tribe, as Indian tribes went, and he wondered what had sent them on the warpath, till suddenly he remembered the attack on the cabin Jesse had repulsed just before he had made his race for life from the Vigilantes, and it occurred to him that perhaps these were some of the same bucks seeking revenge.

If such should be the case, it would never do for him to disclose his identity.

Their words had told him that they had no fear of the cavalrymen, so that reference to them would stand him in no stead, and as minute after minute went by without any sound or sign of Jesse, his hope began to fail him.

Yet no trace was there in his face of what was passing in his mind.

Indeed, his wonderful coolness puzzled the redskins.

They had been accustomed to see white men cringe and tremble before them, and the words of Great Bear had doubtless been intended to strike terror to his heart.

But the fact that he was cool and indifferent made them think they had captured a man who knew no fear.

One more attempt they made, however, to break their captive's spirit.

After a consultation with two or three of his warriors, Great Bear spoke a few words in a low voice.

Immediately four bucks stepped from the circle about the fire, their scalping knives in their hands.

Came a sharp command from the chief.

As with one movement, the braves raised their arms and lowered them, sending the wicked blades straight at their helpless victim.

Shrilly the knives whistled as they sailed through the air.

Fascinated, Comanche Tony watched the flashes of steel as they sped toward him.

Could any strain have been more nerve-destroying?

Any one of the four blades, should it strike a vital spot, would kill him.

But all four were speeding toward him together, so nicely had the bucks gauged their throws.

Yet the bandit was too familiar with the nature of the redman not to know that instead of striking him where death would result, the blades would simply inflict painful flesh wounds, that the red devils might gloat in the sight of his blood and agony.

Every nerve in his body was atingle as he waited for the impact.

Of a sudden, however, he made a terrible discovery.

The knives were coming for his head.

Like a flash, it occurred to him that his eyes and ears were the targets.

A trice he contemplated the possibility of dodging them, for his head was not bound.

But the realization came to him that while he might avoid one of the whistling blades, he could not escape all four, and he decided to make no move.

Fortunate, indeed, was it that he did so.

Nearer and nearer came the knives.

Yet it seemed to Comanche Tony that years had elapsed since they had left the hands of the savages.

Of a sudden, he felt a cool draught against his cheeks, and then he could no longer see the awful blades.

Scarce able to believe his senses, he could feel no pain.

Then it dawned on him that the bucks had been testing his courage by aiming the scalping knives so they would just miss him, if he remained motionless—and he thanked his lucky stars that he had not tried to dodge them.

It was the very refinement of torture to which he had been subjected.

And well the redmen knew it.

To see the wicked blades coming for his head and not to move it when he was free to do so was an ordeal such as only one man in a million could survive.

But Comanche Tony was that one man.

Eagerly the bucks had watched him.

When they saw he had faced death unflinchingly, they grunted in grudging admiration.

"Paleface heap brave," exclaimed Great Bear. "Me know um now. Only one paleface got nerve like that. Him Jess Jame. You Jess Jame.

"Injun hate Jess Jame!

"You got die!"

The logic of the chief was crude. But it answered his purpose and again he repeated:

"Injun hate Jess Jame! Um got die! Burn um at stake!"

Turning to his warriors, Great Bear addressed them in the Navajos language earnestly.

And so engrossed were the bucks in listening to the words of their chief that they failed to see three faces rise cautiously above the edge of the cliff and gaze at the strange scene.

Jesse had found the trail and was soon to make his presence known.

When the bandit-chieftain and his men had reached the ledge whence the rocks had been hurled at them, he had ordered all but Wild Bill and Texas Jack to wait there while he and his chosen pals climbed to the top, fearing that the approach of all might be heard by the redmen.

Sweeping the top of the cliff with a hurried glance the world-famous desperado had seen, with joy, that he was in time to save the life of his chum.

Yet because he was aware that to act too soon would be as bad as to act too late, he dropped back behind the cliff again.

"Texas, go down and bring the others up," he whispered, putting his mouth close to his pal's ear. "Don't make a sound going down. But it won't matter coming back.

"I reckon the fun'll be on before you get here!

"But hurry. We'll have our hands full."

Hastily the bandit descended and again Jesse straightened up and peered over the edge of the precipice.

And what he saw made his face grow hard as he raised his six shooters.

Bearing burning brands in their hands, two bucks were advancing toward their victim tied to the stake, while two more carried armsful of dried twigs and leaves.

Less than ten feet were they from Comanche Tony.

Squatting about the campfire, prepared to enjoy the writhings of their captive, sat the rest of the Indians.

The distance from the edge of the cliff to the stake was too great for a pistol shot.

Yet Jesse realized that he must act at once were he to spare his chum awful suffering.

Bending toward Wild Bill, he breathed:

"We've got to rush 'em! Come on! Nail the devil's with the firebrands first!"

With a stillness marvelous in the rapidity of their actions, the two desperadoes gained the top of the precipice and dashed forward.

So engrossed were the bucks in watching their fellows that they had not seen the bandits.

"Give 'em a yell, then shoot!" whispered Jesse.

With a will the two outlaws gave the old guerrilla battle cry that had made Quantrell's men known and feared.

Panic-stricken, the redskins leaped to their feet.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack went the four six-shooters in the desperadoes' hands.

And with each bark of a pistol one of the Indians advancing toward Comanche Tony, pitched forward, a bullet hole in his heart.

But only for a minute did the braves lose their heads.

Thundering at his warriors, Great Bear commanded:

"Charge them! They are only two, we are twenty! We can push them off the precipice!"

Inspired by the words of their chief, which had been uttered in their native tongue, the braves drew their revolvers, opening fire on Jesse and Wild Bill as they advanced.

Never had the guerrilla battle cry sounded so sweet as it did to the ears of Comanche Tony as he stood, bound fast to the stake, watching the bucks approach with the firebrands and twigs with which to kindle a blaze about his feet.

But, when turning his head, he saw only Wild Bill and Jesse and a moment later beheld the warriors rally to the charge, he was filled with fear.

Two men, no matter how brave, would have little chance against the overwhelming numbers of the redskins.

Then he remembered that his six-shooters had not been taken from him and he bellowed:

"Jess! Jess! Cut me loose! I've got my guns! I can help you!"

"Keep pumping at the devils, Bill," commanded the world-famous desperado. "We've got to stand 'em off till the others get here!"

And, discharging his own shooting irons the while, Jesse ran to Comanche Tony.

But though the shots of the Indians had been wild at first, they were so close to the outlaws now that many a bullet ploughed through their flesh.

Seeing Jesse's purpose, Great Bear ordered the fire to be trained on him.

And so furiously did the bucks respond that the bandit-chieftain was forced to give ground.

Delirious were the yells of the braves as they saw this move.

But their rejoicing was short lived.

Aware, from the shots and shouts, that the fight was on, Texas and the rest of the bandits hastened up the trail, reaching the top just as their leader and Wild Bill were retreating toward the edge of the cliff.

"Hold your ground! We're coming!" yelled Frank.

Never were words more welcome than these as they rang in the ears of the sorely pressed outlaws.

And even as they heard them, a volley crashed from the guns of their fellows.

Surprised at the unlooked for re-enforcements, the bucks, however, held their own.

But only for a few minutes.

The fusilade of lead poured into them was too galling.

Though they outnumbered the bandits almost two to one, for death had thinned their ranks, Jesse and his men fired three times as rapidly.

Fast and furious raged the battle.

Then, of a sudden, Great Bear shouted a command.

With one accord, the bucks whirled and ran for the farther side of the cliff.

And, while some of his men pursued them, Jesse hurried to Comanche Tony and slashed the bonds with his bowie-knife.

Chapter III.

THE FLIGHT FROM THE CLIFF.

As the severed cords of rawhide dropped about his feet, Comanche Tony leaped from the tree to which he had been tied, swinging his arms like a flail.

"By my scalp! it feels good to be able to move 'em," he declared. "I begun to think I'd never git the chance to use 'em again. I ain't never been bound afore.

"You come jest in the nick of time, Jess. An' perhaps the old battle cry didn't sound good to my ears."

"I reckon it did," assented the bandit-chieftain.

All the while the two outlaws had been walking toward where the rest of the notorious band were standing, making an examination of their wounds.

"Any of the bucks' shots get you fellows bad?" asked the bandit-chieftain, anxiously, as he swept the little group with his eyes.

"Sam's got it the worst," returned Frank.

Muttering an imprecation, Jesse strode to where Dirks was standing.

"Where'd they hit you, Sam?" he asked.

"In the shoulder, the right one."

With tender fingers, the world-famous desperado cut away the blood-soaked clothes, while his men gathered about to learn the extent of their pal's injuries.

As the red, angry looking flesh was exposed to view, they uttered various exclamations.

One and all of them had seen enough wounds to know that this was serious. But to learn just how bad it was they awaited their leader's announcement.

"That sure is a nasty one," declared Jesse in a few moments. "The shoulder blade's shattered."

"It's too much for me to attempt to fix up. I'll just put a bandage round it and then you'll have to go to some town where there's a sawbones.

"He'll probably say you'll have to lose your arm."

The words evoked groans from the others as Sam wailed:

"And it's me best arm, too. What good'll I be with only one fin left? I wish the devils had a killed me."

"Nonsense, man! Buck up! You can shoot with your left hand and when you get into a fight there won't be so much of you to hit."

This lugubrious consolation did not reconcile Sam to the prospective loss of his good right arm, however, and all through the time his leader was dressing the injury he lamented his fate.

The wounds of the others, though painful, were not serious.

Bud, Bob and Frank had all been hit in their legs.

"I reckon you three," said Jesse, addressing the last named, "had better be the ones to take Sam to the Sawbones.

"He can't go alone, and if we should be obliged to make any hard rides, it wouldn't help the holes in your legs any."

Loudly the trio protested.

"But suppose we run into the soldiers?" queried Bob. "Four of us, with Sam worse than useless won't be able to do anything against 'em and we'll get pinched and run to the nearest fort. And you know what that means," he added significantly.

"For my part I'd rather stay with you-all and take my chances on my legs mortifying."

But the bandit-chieftain was not to be moved.

"I know it's a chance," he replied. "You've got to take it, though. Sam's got to be taken to a sawbones and somebody's got to go with him.

"If you do meet the cavalrymen, you can tell 'em you-all had a run in with a bunch of men.

"That'll make 'em think it's me you met and they'll swallow the bait.

"You can describe us exactly and give 'em a steer as to where you met us, only be sure you send them in the wrong direction.

"If you only work it right, you'll be able to put the soldiers on the wrong track and get yourselves clear.

"Why, it's a cinch."

"If it's so mighty easy, why don't you go with the boys and let me stay?" demanded Frank.

"Because they have my description too close," returned his brother. "It's dollars to a piece of hard tack they'd recognize me the minute they got their eyes on me.

"And then it would be all up with little Willie."

Jesse's argument was too cogent to admit of further dispute and, much against their will, the quartette of wounded outlaws accepted the decree of separation.

But it was not ordained that the plan should be put into effect.

The last of the wounds inflicted upon the bandits by the bullets of the redskins was being dressed when Comanche Tony came up to Jesse.

The old Indian fighter who, alone of all, had not been injured for the reason that he had been tied to the stake and was therefore prevented from taking any part in the furious encounter, had taken advantage of the pre-occupation of his pals to make a little reconnaisance on his own account.

Familiar with the habits of the redmen, he believed from the fact that he had seen no ponies in the canyon that the bucks were not far from some of the villages of their tribe.

Convinced of this, the bandit reasoned that the braves would return for re-enforcements with which to avenge the slaughter, and it was to learn if there were any campfires to be seen below, over the farther side of the top of the cliff, that he had left his companions.

To the east, as he peered through the bushes that lined the edge of the cliff, he caught sight of a flickering light that came and went like the spasmodic radiance of a fire-fly.

For a few minutes he had stood staring at the curious sight, in bewilderment.

Of a sudden, its meaning came to him.

When it did, he turned on his heel and made his way to his chief, eager to tell him of his discovery.

"What is it, Tony?" asked the world-famous desperado, as he caught sight of the excited countenance of his chum. "You look like a woman who's just heard a choice bit of scandal!

"What did you discover? I saw you sneaking into the brush."

The fact that his scouting expedition had been known to his master caused the old Indian fighter's face to fall, for he had thought that his going had been unnoticed.

"Poke fun at me if you want to," he retorted. "You may not git the chance to laugh again for some time."

The seriousness of their pal's tone hushed the hilarity on the outlaws' lips.

Yet before he had the opportunity to explain his words, Wild Bill cried:

"Look! Look! To the north! Quick!"

Believing their fellow had caught sight of the redskins coming back, the desperadoes wheeled like a flash, whipping out their shooting irons at the same time.

But it was not Indians they saw.

Hastily raising their eyes, when they found that it was no skulking figures that had called forth Wild Bill's excited exclamation, they were just in time to see a shower of seeming stars dropping through the air.

"It's a falling meteor!" ejaculated Bob Moore.

Believing it was, indeed, some of those phenomena so common on the plains, the outlaws gazed at the spectacular sight.

But the bandit-chieftain did not share their opinion.

"Dropping meteor nothing," he exclaimed. "Have you fellows all gone nutty that you can't recognize a falling rocket?

"You've seen enough of them, I should think."

"That's just what I was goin' to say," declared the bandit who had been the one to call the attention of his fellows. "When I first saw it, them white stars was a green ball."

"Then it's a signal," ejaculated Bud.

"My eye! but you're the wise guys," grunted Jesse.

"Of course it's a signal. You didn't think it was old Great Bear giving a fireworks display in our honour, did you?

"It's a signal, all right, all right, and it's from those cavalry fellows, too.

"Injuns don't go round carrying a stock of rockets in their belts.

"Now the thing to do is to find out what point of the compass they're signalling to."

With alacrity, the outlaws faced about, some gazing in one direction and some in another.

Not long were they obliged to wait to learn the answer to their leader's question, however.

Scarcely had the shower of sparks vanished than one of them sang out: "Here she comes, from the East, boys!"

But the words had no more than left his lips than another shouted:

"They're answering from the south, too!"

Rapidly Jesse and his men whirled, viewing first the rocket to the east and then to the south.

"Jumpin' snakes! They've got us surrounded!" gasped Texas Jack.

"You're wrong, pard," interposed Bob. "They haven't quite surrounded us yet. There's been no rocket from the West."

"And that's the side of the canyon where our horses are. Were sure in luck. I reckon it's a good thing we had this brush with the redskins. It's showed us where the sojers are," chimed in Homely Harry, not wishing to let the others get ahead of him.

"After them rockets, we kin ride dead West an' git away. If it hadn't been for the Injuns we might a rid right into some of the sojers."

"Come on! We'll go down and get the ponies while we have the chance," cried Frank, moving toward the edge of the cliff.

Ere he had taken more than a few strides in the carrying out of his purpose, Jesse's voice rang out:

"Hold on; don't be in such a hurry!

"If any of you show yourself on the edge of the cliff, I'll drop you in your tracks!"

In amazement those of the outlaws who had started after Frank, stopped and turned toward their leader, their surprise evident in their faces.

"What's the reason we can't get the horses?" snapped the elder of the James boys. "Speak lively! You're wasting valuable time!"

"It's better to waste time than our lives, isn't it?" returned his brother, with a deliberation that was exasperating to the highly wrought bandits.

"You ought to know better, Frank.

"I reckon Texas hit it right when he said we were surrounded!"

"Then why didn't the men in the West send up a rocket?" demanded the elder of the James boys.

"Because they're on our trail!"

This statement produced a profound sensation among the bandits and quickly they plied Jesse with questions as to his reasons for making it, that is, all but Frank, who, with a sneer started toward the edge of the cliff to find out for himself, though it was eloquent testimony for his secret regard for his brother's intuition that he dropped to his belly and approached the precipice with all the caution of which he was master.

Smiling as he saw this indication of alarm, Jesse addressed the others:

"It's an old trick among troopers, one that will be well for you to remember in the future, when they are on a search, for the squad that's hit the trail not to answer the rocket signals of the others.

"If the men they're hunting happen to see the rockets in every direction but one, they'll naturally make the move Homely suggested—ride away in the direction from which there was no signal—and fall right into the trap!

"I had a close call once—before I got wise. That's how I happen to know.

"How near the troopers on the west are to us, of course I can't tell.

"But they're not very far off. They've hit our trail in the canyon and—"

"They're right down at the foot of the cliff examining the dead campfires the Injuns left," interrupted Frank.

"You doped it right, Jess, I'll have to admit."

So engrossed had the others been in listening to the bandit-chieftain that they had not seen Frank as he returned from his reconnaisance, and the effect of his words, melodramatic as was the manner in which they fitted in, struck consternation to their hearts.

Enjoying the sensation he had caused, the elder of the James Boys continued:

"They've corralled our ponies, I could see one of the sojers leading 'em.

"The moon against the walls of the cliff makes it pretty near as light as day down at the bottom."

"We are in a mess," grunted Bob. "Injuns on one side of us and sojers on all the others. Looks as though this top of the cliff was going to be our burying ground."

"Between the two, the way things is, I reckon I'd ruther tackle the Injuns, eh, Jess?" interposed Comanche Tony, hurriedly, ere his chief could say another thing.

"When I was peerin' through the bush on tother side of this table of rocks, I see'd a campfire with a lot of Injuns cuttin' up round it.

"At fust, I couldn't git on to wot it meant, then I tumbled that it's a war dance.

"I'll bet my scalp, them bucks wot got away from us ull hipper over to the pow-wow to bring 'em back here, thinkin' we'll either be on top, as we be, or down in the canyon, as we was."

"But they'd see the rockets," protested Bud.

"Wot of it? They ain't got no Jess James with 'em to put 'em next to the signal trick an' they'll think there ain't no one to the West."

"Findin' we ain't on top, they'll start down into the canyon.

"Then, if we has any luck at all, the sojers ull jump 'em and they'll have a fine old set-to while we're doin' the sneak act."

"Good boy, Tony. You've got the right dope. Come on, boys! It's time for us to be lighting out," cried the world-famous desperado.

"Can you walk, Sam, or do you want us to make a sling for you?"

"I cal'late I can walk, for awhile anyhow."

"All right. If we stay here too long the soldiers may find the trail and climb up here.

"They heard the shooting, of course, and I reckon they'll be curious to find out what it was about.

"If they only do, and Tony has it right about the bucks going for re-enforcements, when they see the redskins coming from the brush, they'll start shooting. So we'll win out, which ever way it happens."

Quickly and silently the outlaws entered the fringe of bushes along the top at the opposite side of the cliff, descending by the trail which Wild Bill and Texas Jack had found while the bandit-chieftain had been talking.

With every sense alert, the outlaws proceeded, increasing their caution as they approached nearer and nearer to the bottom.

To their delight, they beheld a heavy patch of fir trees at the foot.

But just as they were within a rod of it, they were startled to hear a voice cry, faintly:

"Jess Jame! Jess Jame!"

In consternation, the desperadoes looked at one another.

Whether the calling of the name was a lure of the Indians, who, returning, had seen the men filing down the cliff and planned another ambush or what it betoken they could not tell.

"We're in for it now, for fair," growled Frank.

And as though to give emphasis to his words, a shout of triumph sounded from above them, and looking up, they beheld the forms of a score of cavalrymen silhouetted against the sky.

Chapter IV.

THE STRANGE BATTLE IN THE WITCH'S CAVE.

"Quick! Into the woods, boys!" snapped the world-famous desperado.

Instantly the bandits sprang to obey.

Fully ten feet away were the evergreens.

Desperately the men sought to gain their cover.

But less than half the distance had they traversed when from above there rang out in stentorian command:

"Fire!"

R-r-rip! crashed the sharp, staccato volley of carbines.

The aim of the cavalrymen was deadly.

With shrieks of pain, three of the outlaws threw up their hands and pitched forward.

Convulsively their bodies twitched for a few moments and then lay still, while their life blood oozed from wounds in their backs, saturating their clothes and making soggy the ground on which they lay.

With a terrible oath, the world-famous desperado hissed:

"Don't try to return the fire. Our pistols won't carry up the cliff. Into the woods! Leave the bodies!"

As they saw the desperadoes continue their flight without stopping to take their dead pals with them, a mighty cheer broke from the soldiers.

And, while it echoed, again the deep-lunged voice bellowed:

"Fire!"

Once more the rattle of the musketry rang out.

But this time no men fell.

The outlaws had gained the protection of the evergreens.

"Who's here?" demanded Jesse, a strange tremor in his voice. "Answer to your names as I call them."

So sudden had been their dash from the unprotected trail of the cliff to the woods that none of the outlaws knew who of their number had fallen victims to the terrible rain of lead that had been literally poured down on them from the edge of the precipice above.

And it was with bated breath that they heard their leader say:

"Comanche Tony!"

"O.K."

"Wild Bill?"

"Here."

"Texas Jack?"

"Here."

"Sam Dirks?"

Heavily the others drew in their breath as no one answered.

"Sam Dirks?" repeated Jesse, in hushed tone. "Poor Sam."

"Frank?"

"Here."

"Homely Harry?"

"O.K."

"Bud Noble?"

Again there was no answer.

"Bob Moore?"

Silence greeted this name also.

A moment later the bandits stood.

The calling of the roll in the sombre setting of the overhanging branches of the evergreen trees, through which, here and there, the moonlight filtered, amid the crash of the carbines and the whistle of the bullets, as they searched out the possible hiding place of the little band of fugitives, was dramatic in the extreme.

And the outlaws, rough and desperate men as they were, were cowed as they realized that the same death they had visited upon so many helpless mortals, had thinned their own ranks.

And the shock was all the greater for the reason that they had practised their nefarious pastime with such seeming immunity that they had come to look upon themselves as bearing charmed lives.

Not long, however, were they left to their thoughts.

Of a sudden, above the cheering of the troopers, above the rattle of the musketry, above the shrilling of the bullets rang the wild, blood-curdling war whoops of infuriated redskins.

"Quick, on your bellies under the trees!" whispered Jesse. "We'll let the devils charge the soldiers and may they battle till every one, Injun and trooper, falls dead!"

But just as the bandits were obeying their leader, there sounded from close beside them a plaintive:

"Jess Jame! Jess Jame! Don' lie down. Injun see um dead paleface, hunt um wood. Injun no care sojer, want Jess Jame.

"Come Dew Drop. Dew Drop show um place hide."

As she uttered the last words, the amazed desperadoes saw a slender creature, clad in what seemed an old wrapper, part the branches of the tree near which they stood.

An instant the world-famous desperado hesitated.

"If the bucks see the corpses and don't find us in the woods won't they search the place you're going to take us?" he asked, anxiously.

"No. Dew Drop take um cave Kaw-Kaw, Injun witch. Injun fraid go in Kaw-Kaw cave."

"Well, we won't be any worse off than we will here, that's sure. But why you want to help us I don't see. However, we'll take the chance. Come on, boys."

And, following the Indian maiden, the outlaws wound in and out among the evergreens till they reached a black hole, like a cavernous maw, in the cliff from which was exhaled a curiously intoxicating aroma.

"Paleface no make noise. Kaw-Kaw deaf, no hear. Lie down, no see. Dew Drop lie nex' Jess Jame so can talk."

Wondering what adventure was in store for them, the bandits quickly did as the Indian maiden told them, their chief choosing a place near the mouth of the cave with his chum at his side.

Scarcely had the world-famous desperado squatted down, with Dew Drop on his left and Comanche Tony on his right, than howls and yells of exultation reached them, telling them that the savages had discovered the three dead bodies at the foot of the cliff.

"By my scalp! we didn't git hyar any too soon, I reckon, jedgin' by them whoops," whispered the old Indian fighter.

But his master paid him no heed.

The action of the red-hued maiden in coming to him when he was in such sore need puzzled him, and he was racking his brain to remember whether or not he had ever seen her before.

Unable to place her, his mind once more reverted to the thought that her opportune appearance might have been but a part of a plot conceived by Great Bear to lure him and his men to the cave of the witch that they might be slaughtered without chance of escape.

If such were, in truth, the case, he and his companions were wasting precious moments.

Determined to end his suspense, Jesse clutched the maiden in a vice-like grip with his left hand, raising his bowie knife in his right, ready to plunge it into her heart, as he whispered in a tense, hoarse voice:

"Tell me why you brought me here! Was it at Great Bear's order? Tell the truth, as you hope to carry your scalp to the Happy Hunting Ground!"

Startled by the suddenness of the move and frightened by the stern face peering into hers, her eyes rivetted on the keen edged blade, Dew Drop blinked.

But a rough shake recalled her to the necessity of replying.

"No, no!" she gasped. "Great Bear no know Dew Drop left tepee. He kill um if knew."

"Then what made you?"

"Dew Drop want save um Jess Jame."

"Why?"

"Jess Jame save um Dew Drop."

"I save you?" repeated the bandit-chieftain, surprised in his turn. "When? What do you mean?"

"Kaw-Kaw say Great Spirit want Dew Drop be squaw um son Dog Face. Dew Drop no want. No like Dog Face. Dog Face bad Injun. Kaw-Kaw say must. Have heap pow-wow.

"Little Wolf come tepee say um hunting um see paleface burned Silverstock cabin, Jess Jame.

"Great Bear ask where.

"Little Wolf say canyon.

"Dog Face say get um Jess Jame scalp give squaw.

"Great Bear take Dog Face, Little Wolf twenty Injun leave um pow-wow go git Jess Jame.

"Dew Drop no know what happen."

"Great Bear five Injun come run tepee say Jess Jame on cliff, kill um Injun, kill um Dog Face.

"Kaw-Kaw say must scalp um Jess Jame or cuss um Great Bear.

"Great Bear make heap talk. Call um brave go back get Jess Jame.

"Dew Drop no wait hear more.

"Jess Jame save Dew Drop from Dog Face. Dew Drop save Jess Jame from Great Bear.

"Dew Drop git cliff see um paleface come down. Dew Drop call. Sojer shoot.

"Dew Drop 'fraid Jess Jame get um lead. When see no dead, hear um Great Bear.

"Dew Drop think where hide.

"Dew Drop think um cave Kaw-Kaw.

"Jess Jame in Kaw-Kaw cave."

Like a torrent the Indian maiden poured forth her story and as the world-famous desperado learned the strange reason for her friendship, he exclaimed:

"Well, I'll be jiggered! So my men killed Dog Face, eh? I guess we can trust you, if that's the way things are.

"I'm sure mighty glad we put an end to your prospective husband."

"But she said Kaw-Kaw was in the cave when we got here, and just now she tells us she's at the pow-wow," breathed Comanche Tony, who had heard the remarkable tale.

"How about that?" demanded Jess sharply, his suspicions rekindled by the seeming discrepancy in Dew Drop's statement.

"Kaw-Kaw in um cave," returned the maiden with positiveness. "When um hear Great Bear say go back git um Jess Jame, Kaw-Kaw say go um cave get um cuss ready case Great Bear no get um Jess Jame."

"So that smell's the old hag's curses, a brewin', eh?" chuckled Tony. "I'm glad they're for Great Bear and his bucks and not me, if they're that strong."

But further speech was stopped by the sudden appearance of three tall forms, looming in the entrance of the cave.

Crouching low, the bandit-chieftain watched them, stealthily drawing his shooting-irons.

Yet before he could extract them from his holsters, he felt Dew Drop's hand on his arm, restrainingly.

Turning toward her, wondering what she meant, he saw her shake her head vigorously, at the same time pressing upon his arm.

"Evidently doesn't want me to shoot," reasoned Jesse. "I reckon she knows more about what's best in this witch-den than I do."

And he silently dropped his guns back into their holsters.

The old Indian fighter had been a spectator of the pantomime and as he saw his chief relinquish his weapons, he did likewise.

All this had taken but a few seconds, and even while it was transpiring, one of the bucks was jabbering excitedly.

What he was saying, the bandits did not know, for the redmen spoke in their own language.

Yet from the jumble of guttural sounds, they occasionally distinguished the words "Jess Jame" and "Kaw-Kaw."

But if they could not understand what was said they could see what was happening.

The jabberings of the excited bucks had been carried on in loud tones.

Scarcely had they begun than the outlaws beheld a bent and bowed figure hobble into the light at the mouth of the cave, leaning on a crooked staff.

At her approach, the warriors drew back.

In shrill tones the figure, whom they realized must be the witch, Kaw-Kaw, harangued them, waving her staff as her excitement got the better of her.

Soon she paused and the bucks replied.

Again the piping voice answered.

And, as she heard the words, Jesse could feel Dew Drop tremble, so close was she to him.

Deciding because of this that whatever the gibberish meant it spelled danger for himself and his men, the world-famous desperado again whipped his hands to his pistol holsters.

And this time there was no objection from the Indian maiden by his side.

Yet before he could draw them, Kaw-Kaw hobbled from the cave, joining the three braves and vanished from sight with them.

As they disappeared, Dew Drop breathed a sigh of intense relief.

Ere Jesse could utter the question that was on his lips, the red-skinned maiden whispered:

"Quick! Quick! Get um paleface. Dew Drop take um back Kaw-Kaw cave while um 'way."

Springing to her feet, the maid seized the hand of the bandit-chieftain and dragged him back into the pall of blackness that enveloped the witch's den.

Seeing their leader rise, his pals had followed suit, even before he commanded in a low voice:

"Get up, boys. Take hold of one another. Follow me quickly!"

Had Kaw-Kaw returned to her den just then, she would have been filled with amazement at the file of men, who threaded their way through the maze of pots, tripods and implements dear to the heart of the sorceress, led by the lithe, slim maiden.

But her amazement would have turned to alarm had she seen them enter a second cave, which led from the first, the existence of which she thought she herself alone knew.

So low was the opening into the inner den that the bandits were forced to drop to their hands and knees.

"This is a fool's stunt, getting in farther instead of—" began Frank.

But his words were frozen in his mouth by a terrible, hair-raising growl that sounded from the recesses of the cave.

"No 'fraid, no 'fraid!" gasped Dew Drop hurriedly. "Um Wa-Wa, Kaw-Kaw bear. Um no hurt."

"Sure not, his growl doesn't sound fierce, I don't think!" ejaculated Wild Bill.

But the Indian maiden, laughing softly, quickly allayed their fears by adding:

"Wa-Wa no got claw, no got teeth.'"

"Well, the growl's the real thing, all right, all right," exclaimed Jesse. "The old hag hasn't removed his hug, too, has she?"

"No-o," replied the maiden, doubtfully. "But Dew Drop know Wa-Wa. Um play, Dew Drop an' Wa-Wa.

"Dew Drop come cave any day. Kaw-Kaw deaf no hear.

"Wa-Wa know Dew Drop. No hurt."

"That may be all right for you," snarled Frank, "but Wa-Wa may not take so kindly to our coming."

The series of growls, growing in intensity and volume with each successive outburst, that came from the monster, lent a force to the outlaw's words that even the Indian maiden could not disregard.

"Wa-Wa!" she called, soothingly, adding something in her native tongue.

But the pet of the witch, Kaw-Kaw, as though he recognized among the strangers, whose presence he scented, the man who had grievously wronged his mistress by killing her son, refused to be pacified.

Each moment, his growls announced that he was getting nearer and nearer to the bandits.

Of a sudden, two little balls of seeming phosphorous glowered at them, as the brute came from behind a boulder.

"You can stand there like dummies, if you want to," snapped the elder of the James boys. "I'm going to shoot him!"

"No! No! No shoot!" protested Dew Drop, in alarm.

"Why not?"

"Kaw-Kaw smell powder when um came back. Know some one in um cave. Make heap cuss. Fin' um paleface. Call um Injun. Devil to pay!"

"I reckon the girl's right, Frank," declared his brother, smiling at the words of his saviour. "It wouldn't take long for the old hag to notice the odour of the saltpetre and when she called the bucks it would be all over but the shouting.

"And I've no intention of adorning an Indian triumph."

"All right," grudgingly acquiesced the elder of the James boys. "I won't shoot, but something's got to be done.

"I don't propose to stay in here with a bear walking round loose, if it hasn't any teeth or claws."

This announcement expressed the feelings of the rest of the bandits, yet what to do, they did not know.

And as they stood, in helpless perplexity, the brute itself solved their dilemma.

As its wicked little eyes beheld the figures of the intruders in its retreat, the monster reared on its hind legs, and with a roar, deafening because of the narrow confines of the cave, charged at them, laying about it viciously with its herculean paws.

In panic, the outlaws fled before it.

But the rock side of the den checked them.

Came a mighty swish and Comanche Tony fell, dropped by the clawless paws of the monster.

And, in a trice, the bear stood over its unconscious victim, snarling ominously.

The peril of their pal broke the spell of terror in which the outlaws stood.

"Stab the brute! Tackle him, boys!" snapped Jesse, leaping toward the monster as he spoke.

Instantly his comrades obeyed.

Drawing their keen-edged bowie-knives, they buried them to the hilts in any part of the bear's body they could reach.

Stung by the sharp pains, the monster reared on its hind legs again, lashing about viciously with its paws, emitting savage growls, awful in their fury.

But its raising up was the beast's doom.

Crouching low, dodging the terrible lunges as a prize-fighter dodges the blows of his adversary in the ring, the world-famous desperado watched his chance.

Suddenly he saw the monster's breast unprotected.

With a lightning movement, the bandit-chieftain leaped forward.

In his right hand he clasped his bowie-knife.

His arm, bent close to his body, shot out.

And the force of his spring drove the keen-egded blade to the hilt, straight through the bear's heart.

But so great was the power of resistance of the monster that, despite the steel in its most vital organ, it seized Jesse in a mighty embrace, holding him helpless as it staggered.

"T-trip it!" gasped the leader of the outlaws frantically, "I—I've st-tabbed it."

Again his men sprang forward.

Yet before they could carry out their master's instructions, the bear fell, its embrace unbroken.

Not long did it take the bandits to extricate their chief from his uncomfortable position.

But as they raised him to his feet, they heard the sound of hoarse, excited voices in the outer cave.

"The bucks have come back!" hissed Texas Jack.

"No, no Injun! Um paleface sojers!" gasped Dew Drop in consternation. "No Injun come Kaw-Kaw cave."

Chapter V.

A DESPERATE CHARGE.

In dismay, the bandits gazed at one another, as they heard the portentous words of the Indian maiden.

And in a moment more their own ears confirmed their truth.

No mistaking the identity of the men in the outer cave was there, as a sharp command, in plain English, rang out:

"Search every nook and cranny in the den, men. It's just the place for Jesse James and his pack of cutthroats to hide."

"That pet name'll cost the life of many a soldier, young fellow, if I ever get out of here!" hissed Comanche Tony in a low, harsh voice.

But his pals were too taken up with the peril of their position to make any comment on the blood-thirsty announcement.

No need was there to tell them it was one thing to have the Indians search the cave and quite another to have the cavalrymen.

The superstitious reverence and fear of the bent and bowed sorceress would not sway the troopers or cause them to consider the intrusion of the abode of the witch a sacrilege.

Rather would their contempt for the customs and beliefs of the redmen incite them to unusual effort.

Should they chance to espy the hole leading into the second cave, every one of the six men knew that they would lose no time in exploring it.

And it was to what they should do, in such event, that each man devoted his thoughts.

"Can't we block up the hole?" hazarded Texas Jack, grasping at the most obvious expedient.

"No," returned Dew Drop. "Kaw-Kaw see, Kaw-Kaw get wise. Hole always open for Wa-Wa.

"Dew Drop no see why Kaw-Kaw let sojers come um cave."

"Probably they didn't ask her permission," returned the bandit-chieftain.

But the explanation did not satisfy the Indian maiden.

From her earliest memory, she had been taught reverence for the aged sorceress and she knew the fear her fellow-tribesmen held of the terrible curse that would be visited upon any Indian who dared penetrate the recesses of the cave.

Indeed, not unless she had been invited to enter, as an honour that would influence her to accept Dog Face as her brave, would she ever have had the temerity to enter and as she thought of being discovered in the "holy of holies" with the men she was trying to save, she trembled like a leaf, silently rocking too and fro as she wrung her hands in an agony of despair.

Plainly the outlaws heard the troopers draw nearer and nearer as they proceeded with their fruitless hunt.

"I reckon there's nothing for it but to stab the first trooper who pokes his head through the opening," whispered the world-famous desperado.

"I'll take that job for mine. The rest of you line up about me. As soon as I've knifed the first, some of you pull him out of the way and the others be ready for the next.

"If we can kill 'em without an outcry, we may be able to get em all."

The fiendish plan of slaying one man after another as fast as they appeared showed clearly how desperate Jesse believed their position to be.

It proved that in order to save his own life he had no hesitancy in killing any number of men.

And, as they heard the shocking proposition, even his pals, steeped in the gore of innocent men as their hands were, recoiled at the task imposed on them.

Yet they dared not disobey and silently took their places, kneeling, at the entrance to the cave, opposite their inhuman chief who waited, with bowie-knife upraised to plunge it into the heart of the first soldier that appeared.

But before the awful scheme could be put to the test, the old witch herself took a hand in the proceedings.

As the bandits kneeled, the beats of their hearts alone breaking the silence of the den in which they were, their ears strained for the first sound that should announce the discovery of the hole, they suddenly heard a shrill snarl in good English:

"Dogs of palefaces! What are you doing in my cave? How dare you profane the temple of a Navajo medicine? Curses on your palefaced heads! May you perish on the plains, riddled with wounds, mad for water! May the coyotes feed on your carcasses! May no grave hold your bones and may they be scattered to the winds! Curse you! Curse you! Curse you!"

So furious, so terrible was the wrath of the aged sorceress that the troopers stopped in their search, staring at the wizened, bent figure, abashed.

Not slow was the shrewd old hag to note the impression her bitter invective had made upon the cavalrymen and, without delay, she followed it up.

"If the dogs of palefaces have wives, may they rot with child; if they have sweethearts, may they play with them and jilt them; if they have children, may they grow up deformed and idiotic! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

And she croaked in diabolical glee.

Of a sudden her manner changed.

"What do the palefaces want, more curses? Haven't they had enough?" she shrieked, angered that, though the soldiers trembled beneath her imprecations, they made no move to leave the cave.

"May—"

But before another word could leave her lips, the lieutenant commanding the troopers, having recovered from the first shock of surprise, bellowed:

"Seize her! Bind her! Gag the old vixen!"

Eagerly the cavalrymen sprang forward, their faces bespeaking with what relish they would obey the commands.

Yet before they could lay hands on her, Kaw-Kaw began to back away, swinging her crooked staff in front of her to hold off the troopers, while she screamed in the language of her tribe.

"Kaw-Kaw call um Great Bear an' um braves," gasped Dew Drop, excitedly, close to Jesse's ear. "Paleface dogs must fight for coming Kaw-Kaw cave."

So unexpected and so startling had been the intervention of the old witch that Jesse forgot his own peril in his interest to learn the effect of the awful curses on the soldiers.

But the words of the Indian maiden recalled him to himself.

Whoops and yells resounded in the outer cave in answer to Kaw-Kaw's appeal to her tribesmen.

Suddenly a flare of light shone through the hole leading into the cavern in which the outlaws were.

"The bucks have thrown in lighted faggots," grunted Comanche Tony. "There'll be suthin' doin', now."

Ere he had more than spoken, the barks of pistols rang out, like the explosion of gigantic fire-crackers.

The deeper toned army revolvers answered.

In a trice the din was deafening.

"Here's our chance!" declared the world-famous desperado. "We'll crawl into the other cave and attack the troopers from the rear.

"Judging by their guns, there are only a dozen or so.

"Our charge'll rattle 'em so we can rush through 'em and get outside.

"The Indians won't stop us.

"When we get clear, we'll strike for the place the bucks are grazing their ponies, Dew Drop'll tell us where it is."

"Jus' other side trees, straight from cave," responded the red-skinned maiden.

"Good. All ready, boys! I'll go first. Don't begin shooting till we're all in the other cave.

"Dew Drop, you stay here."

Desperate was the scheme.

If the braves or troopers recognized Jesse, they might forget their fight in the desire to capture their common enemy.

And then the outlaws' shrift would be short.

But no word of protest did the others offer.

In deciding upon the sortie, the bandit-chieftain had counted on the cavalrymen mistaking him and his pals for Indians while he hoped the savages would think them troopers.

Furiously was the battle raging as Jesse finished the announcement of his plans.

From the yells and shouts, he decided that the soldiers were driving back the redskins.

And, with hope high, he began to crawl through the hole onto the field of strife.

Rapidly his five pals followed.

As they gained the larger cave, they saw that the troopers had, indeed, forced the braves back.

"Don't shoot till we get on top of 'em," breathed Jesse. "I'll give the word. Ready! Charge!"

Like deers the outlaws sped toward the cavalrymen, their presence unsuspected.

But as they got within twenty feet of them, a voice suddenly shrilled:

"There he is! There's Jesse James!"

In their reckoning, the desperadoes had forgotten the old witch whose son they had killed.

The cause of the fight between soldiers and Indians, Kaw-Kaw, had ducked into a niche out of range of the bullets, from which she watched the conflict.

And as the bandits rushed past, she recognized them.

Yet before her warning had rung out, the bandit-chieftain thundered:

"Fire! Rake 'em, boys! Drop 'em!"

But while his men poured their murderous fire into the troopers, Jesse turned and sent a shot crashing into the brain of the old hag and she toppled from her hiding place, a blood-curdling shriek coming from her lips as she fell.

Amazed at the warning which was followed on the instant by the fusilade from behind, the cavalrymen whirled to face their foes from the new quarter.

But the rain of lead from the outlaws' guns was terrible.

One after another, the troopers fell, mowed down like grass before the scythe.

"We've cleaned 'em out! Come on! Charge the Injuns! We've got to shoot our way through!" bellowed the world-famous desperado.

Howling, yelling, leaping like Dervishes, the six desperadoes dashed from the mouth of the cave.

An instant the braves stood and faced them.

But the fire from the outlaws' pistols was too galling and they gave way.

Intoxicated by the smell of powder, wild with the sight of carnage on all sides of him, Jesse led his men through the evergreens, coming upon the Indians' ponies where Dew Drop had said they were.

Quickly the desperadoes cut out six, leaped on their backs and dashed southward.

Behind them, having recovered their nerve, swarmed every buck who could find a mount, rending the air with fiendish whoops of fury and chagrin.

"We can get away from them, all right," declared the world-famous desperado. "What worries me is where the troopers are who signalled from the south."

And scarcely had the words left his lips before he caught sight of a body of horsemen rising from a ravine less than a quarter of a mile in front of him.

Chapter VI.

THE RACE FOR LIFE.

In the light from the moon, which bathed the brush-grown plain and towering cliff in a flood of silver sheen, the figures of the troopers stood out clearly.

By common consent, without waiting for the command, the men with the world-famous desperado checked their ponies and watched the cavalrymen rise from the ravine.

Whether or not, the soldiers had caught sight of them they did not know. But shouts of delirious glee from behind told them that the pursuing Indians had discovered the troopers.

Of a verity, the little band of desperadoes were between two fires.

Apparently the liberty they had achieved by such ruthless slaughter of soldiers and redmen in the cave of the old witch was to count for naught.

And as this thought came to them, the companions of the notorious outlaw groaned inwardly.

Not so the notorious Jesse, however.

Save for the deepening of the lines about his mouth and the compression of his lips, he sat erect and rigid.

But his mind was working as it never had worked before.

Through many a desperate situation had he passed unscathed. Yet none of the ruses which had stood him in such good stead on those occasions could he use in his present predicament.

The brilliancy of the moonlight, the presence of foes in front and back, the treeless waste all about him prevented.

Should he make any move, it would be clearly discernable to troopers and Indians alike.

And, aware of his seeming helplessness, the bucks were already yelling in anticipation of his capture.

Their attention attracted by the howls of the savages, the cavalrymen quickly discovered the group of horsemen in the bracken.

Hoarse commands, the sounds of which alone reached the bandits, were spoken and, in a twinkling, those of the troopers who had mounted the level from the ravine, set their horses toward them.

Turning his head, the world-famous desperado looked toward the Indians.

All of half a mile away were they, though each minute lessened the distance.

"Its a chance, but we've got to take it," snapped Jesse, thinking aloud. "Quick, boys! Whirl your ponies. We'll ride back a way then make a dash for the ravine! Come on!"

Even as the words fell from their leader's lips, his men had turned their mounts and, as he gave the word, buried the rowels of their spurs in the flanks of the fleet footed Indian ponies.

Startled by the unwonted pain, the animals leaped away like stones from catapults.

The race for life was on.

Scarcely a minute had it been from the time the outlaws had caught sight of the cavalrymen till they were in full flight. Yet to them each second their chief had sat inactive had seemed an hour.

In amazement, the savages beheld the men they had been pursuing rush toward them.

"Kaw-Kaw's bewitched them! They've lost their minds! Her curses live to destroy the men who killed her!" shouted Great Bear in his native tongue, transported with joy. "At them! At them! Jesse James is the Navajos' prey. The paleface dogs must not get him first!"

Goaded to frenzy by the words of their chief, the bucks fell to lashing their ponies, riding like fiends in their effort to prevent the troopers from snatching their quarry from their very grasp.

But the cavalrymen viewed the course of the desperately pressed little band with different feelings.

"Jesse's in the bunch, all right. That move shows it," growled one of them, the stars and chevrons on whose uniform proclaimed him a captain. "No one but that murdering daredevil would have chosen to ride back toward that pack of howling savages rather than toward us.

"Curse the luck! Why couldn't we have struck the ravine half a mile farther east? Then we'd been right on top of him and could have shot him down."

"But the bucks 'll drop him," asserted a lieutenant who rode at his side. "So long as he's shot, I don't see what difference it makes whether we get him or they."

"But they won't get him!" bellowed the captain, his disappointment at losing his chance to capture the most famous desperado the world has ever known and anger at the ill-disguised rebuke of his subordinate getting the better of him.

"Won't get him?" repeated the lieutenant, as though he seemed to doubt his ears.

"Yes, won't get him!" returned the man in command of the troops. "You've got a lot to learn, young man, about hunting bad-men.

"But if you never learn any thing else, remember this—Indians, when they're howling and whooping and all excited, are the worst shots in the world.

"Jesse James knows it. And he'd rather take the chance of riding by the whole pack of 'em than to give the few of us a shot at him."

Such, indeed, was the reason that the world-famous desperado had chosen the course he did. Yet his decision had been strengthened by the further knowledge that the redmen feared him and his marvelous prowess with his shooting-irons.

All the while, the little group of outlaws and the two bodies of men bent on their death or capture, were drawing closer together.

Never was there stranger chase.

In full view of one another, each party was riding like mad to gain its own end.

Yet never a shot was fired.

The distance that separated them was too great.

Nearer and nearer drew the bandits and the Indians and farther and farther were the cavalrymen getting from the ravine.

Less than two hundred yards separated the former.

With eyes now in front, now turned behind, Jesse watched the approach of his enemies.

"Damme! I believe they're mad! Why don't they open fire?" snarled the captain.

To which of the two groups the words referred, the lieutenant did not know and his recent, caustic reprimand prevented him from asking.

His mind, however, was instantly diverted by his superior.

"Ha! What's that mean?" cried the latter, then added instantly "Jesse's turning. I see. He's making for the ravine. I've been fooled!"

Almost choking with rage at the thought that he had allowed himself to be out-generaled by the notorious cutthroat, the captain rose in his stirrups, jerked his sabre from its scabbard and, pointing toward the ravine, turned to his troopers, bellowing:

"Fours oblique and ride like Hell!"

Chuckling inwardly at the choler of their commander, the cavalrymen executed the orders.

As Jesse and his pals heard the frantic command, they yelled in defiance, waving mocking goodbyes at the discomfited troopers as, leaning forward along the necks of their ponies, they raced past the head of the column of cavalrymen.

Better than he had dared hope had the bandit-chieftain's ruse worked.

But the end of the race for life was not yet.

Though the world-famous desperado had held his course straight toward the whooping Indians, his mind and eyes had been almost entirely upon the troopers.

When he had caught sight of the first troopers rising from the ravine and realized the desperateness of the position of himself and his companions, with that instinct which had made him so valuable an asset to the old guerilla chieftain, Quantrell, in the days of the Civil War, he had realized that the one chance of escape open, lay in reaching the ravine.

Yet his eyes, calculating the distance nicely, told him that, should he make a dash for it, the troopers could head him off by riding along the edge of the gorge.

A moment he had been puzzled as to what to do. Then, in a flash, it had come to him that by retracing his course and riding straight at the howling savages he might be able to entice the soldiers to follow him, abandoning their strategic advantages of the position along the ravine.

With elation, he had seen the troopers fall into his snare.

This accomplished, he had kept watch of their pursuit, waiting for the instant when they should be so far away from the ravine that he could beat them to it.

At last the time came.

With a whispered command, he had bidden his pals wheel and rush for the gorge.

Skilled horsemen all, they had accomplished the turn which was so sudden that it would have unseated less expert riders.

But so absorbed were they in watching the troopers that they had not noticed five bucks who had broken away from their fellows and were bearing down upon them with the speed of whirlwinds.

Riding with marvelous ease and grace, the redmen closed upon them with incredible rapidity.

No whoop or yell did they utter.

Their success in getting near enough to the men who had killed their brother warriors and outraged their race by shooting their medicine woman lay in their silence.

Breathlessly the rest of the braves watched them.

As the echoes of the outlaws' derisive shouts, when they dashed past the head of the cavalry, died away, one of the bucks straightened and raised his arm.

Bang! went the pistol in his hand.

The report of the gun was the first intimation Jesse and his pals had of the proximity of the braves.

And as the bullet whistled over their heads, they whirled on the backs of their ponies to see who it was that had been able to get within shooting distance of them, undiscovered.

"Drop em! Drop 'em!" roared the world-famous desperado, adding a terrible oath.

Crash! went the dozen six shooters.

The six outlaws were firing with a gun in each hand.

But only one Indian toppled from his pony.

"Again!" bellowed Jesse. "Get 'em this time!"

Once more the twelve pistols barked.

And once more only one brave fell.

"What's the matter with you?" snarled the notorious outlaw. "If we don't get them, they'll get us!"

But the task imposed on the bandits was no easy one.

Keeping their seats on the backs of their madly galloping mounts only by the grips of their knees, the desperadoes were obliged to shoot with their bodies twisted round to face behind them.

And small wonder was it that their aim was bad.

But on the three remaining redskins rushed, firing frantically and behind them thundered the rest of the savages and the troopers, yelling encouragement.

No chance was there for the little band to throw off the pursuit when they reached the ravine unless the trio of braves was killed.

Cursing furiously as he saw the second volley had accomplished no more than the first, Jesse forebore to call for another.

Well he knew that it had been the bullets from the gun in his right hand that had toppled the two Indians from the horses and he made up his mind that upon him devolved the killing of the others.

With the marvelous rapidity that had won him his reputation, he snapped his trusty "Colts" in quick succession.

Two more of the savages pitched from their ponies.

Again his guns spoke.

Yet before he could see the result of his last attempt to drop the lone buck, Homely Harry shrieked:

"Watch out, boys! We're right on to the ravine!"

The warning came too late.

Even as the cry rang out, the bandits felt their ponies sink beneath them as the animals rushed over the edge of the gorge.

Never was such horsemanship as Jesse and his pals displayed.

To the average man, the plunge taken at the whirl-wind speed of the ponies would have meant death.

Turning the instant their pal's voice had sounded, the bandits steadied themselves by bracing their hands, still holding their revolvers, against the necks of their mounts, leaning back to offset the shock when the ponies should strike the brush-covered bottom of the ravine that yawned beneath them.

To any one in the gorge, they would have seemed like huge, ungainly birds sailing through the air.

For so terrific was the pace at which the animals had approached the ravine that their momentum carried them far out over the brush ere they began to drop.

"Be ready to slide when the pintos strikes!" yelled Comanche Tony, quickly realizing the danger. "If you tries to set your horses it will mean your death!"

Quickly his pals relaxed their muscles.

And well was it that the old Indian fighter had given the advice.

With feet braced stiff, the ponies struck the ground.

There was a snapping and cracking and the poor beasts sank down, their legs broken by the awful force of the impact.

Yet even as they fell, the outlaws, prepared by the warning of Comanche Tony, shot over their heads, landing in the bushes unscathed save for scratches and the jolting they received as they struck.

And as they picked themselves up, they heard the captain of the troopers roar:

"Find the horses! Jesse and the bunch'll be near 'em. No man could take that plunge and come out whole."

"That's where your wrong, old top," grinned the world-world famous desperado. "Quick boys! drop on your hands and knees! We'll work up the ravine a couple of rods from the ponies and then strike for the side from which they jumped. Careful, now, we won the race. But if the troopers or Injuns get their peepers on one of us, its death to the whole bunch!"

Chapter VII.

DEW DROP AGAIN TO THE RESCUE.

Hurriedly the outlaws dropped to all fours and resumed their hazardous attempt at escape.

The bushes that grew in the ravine, fortunately for them, were of sufficient height to conceal their bodies as they advanced. Yet mere concealment, they knew, was not sufficient to insure their safety.

Should the keen eyes of soldiers or savages detect a suspicious movement among the brushwood, the hue and cry would instantly be raised.

And, aware of this full well, the six sorely pressed bandits crawled with infinite stealth.

So near were the troopers that the creaking of their saddle leathers was audible, followed almost instantly by the snapping and cracking of twigs and bushes as the horses picked their way gingerly down the steep side of the ravine.

Eagerly the eyes of the cavalrymen searched the bottom of the gorge, bent on discovering the forms of the horses, as their captain had commanded.

So thick was the tangle of brushwood, however, that it was several minutes after the desperadoes had heard them crashing into the ravine ere their hearts were set a flutter by excited cries, breaking from several mouths at the same time:

"There they are! On the farther side!"

The announcement of the discovery was received with wild cheers.

"Where? Which direction?" yelled those of the troopers whose sight was unable to discern the dark forms of the ponies writhing in their suffering.

"To the East! To the East!" answered the ones who saw them. "Come on! Come on! We've got 'em."

Wild with the excitement of the soldiers at the prospect of capturing the desperate cutthroats who had defied all efforts of an army of man-hunters either to kill or to take them into custody, so successfully.

Yet scarce had the cries of the exuberant troopers rung out than their commander bellowed:

"Give 'em a volley before you ride at 'em. They're tricky devils!"

In the exigencies of the moment all thought of military discipline was forgotten.

The captain knew his men and the men knew their captain. Many a punitive expedition had they ridden on before, against outlaws and renegade redskins alike and no need was there to waste time in giving book-rule commands.

No sooner had the words of caution left the officer's lips than the troopers threw their carbines to their shoulders, sighted them on the dark, struggling forms in the brushwood and pulled the triggers.

With deafening roar the guns spoke.

Straight and true sped the bullets.

But instead of stopping the heart beats of any of the James gang they simply put an end to the miseries of the maimed ponies.

As the report of the broadside rang out over the plains, the cavalrymen urged their mounts forward, eager to be in at the death.

In the stress of their emotions, they had not noticed that no shots had been fired at them.

Had they been more calm, this fact alone would have told them the outlaws were not by the ponies.

And it was not till they had reached the bodies of the beasts, dismounted and searched the nearby bushes that they found that Jesse and his band had again outwitted them.

But when the fact dawned on them, loud and forceful were their curses.

"Beat up and down the gorge!" shouted the lieutenant, believing that the mistake of his superior gave him a license to issue commands.

"Shut up, you dunderhead!" roared the captain, his face livid with rage. "I was chasing men when you were in swaddling clothes. I know how they act.

"The bandits have crossed the ravine and struck into the brush beyond! After them!"

In a wild scramble, the troopers mounted the farther side of the ravine, gained the edge and were soon lost to view.

And as the world-famous desperado, peering cautiously from the brushwood, saw they had vanished, he heaved a mighty sigh of relief.

Terrible, indeed, had been the suspense of the six men crawling on hands and knees under cover of the bushes.

On their ears alone had they been obliged to rely to tell them what was transpiring about them, for they dared not raise their heads to look, lest the eyes of the troopers decry them.

When they had heard the crash of the volley, Jesse had turned toward the very bank from which it was fired.

And as the soldiers descended to learn the result of their shots, the outlaws had crept up the steep incline.

Of necessity, their progress was slow and not more than half way to the top were they when the words of the captain, expressing his belief that his quarry was on the farther plain, had reached them.

Still crawling, the bandit-chieftain had waited till he thought sufficient time had elapsed for all to have gained the plains before he ventured to look to make sure.

And when he found that the cavalrymen had, indeed, disappeared over the opposite bank, he quickly apprised his companions.

"I'll bet my hair's turned white," ejaculated Wild Bill. "I ain't never been through no such tryout before an' I don't want to agin."

"Don't crow too soon," admonished Comanche Tony. "We ain't clear yet—by a long shot."

"Right you are, pard," declared Jesse, "And it doesn't look as though we'd get clear," he added. "Duck, boys, duck! Here comes the Injuns! Skirt the edge of the bank!"

Luckily for themselves, none of the outlaws had risen from the brushwood so that their chief's exhortation was unnecessary and, with agility born of desperation, they struck westward along the crest of the gorge.

When they had seen the troopers change their direction and rush madly after the fleeing bandits, the savages had checked their pursuit, all but the five whom Jesse had sent to the Happy Hunting Ground.

No love did they bear for the soldiers and they were not eager to mingle with them, even though they were engaged in the chase of a common foe.

Hurriedly Great Bear had passed the word for silence and, sitting on their ponies like statues, they had advanced at a walk.

Not even the roar of the carbines had induced the chieftain to increase the pace.

But when he saw the forms of the cavalrymen mounting the farther edge of the ravine, he became interested.

"Jess Jame fool um paleface!" he grunted, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Sojers no get Jess. Injun got chance."

If the bandits had, indeed, taken to the plains across the gorge, Great Bear knew that he and his braves were as likely to find them as the troopers. But because he was wise in his generation, the wily old warrior again enjoined his braves to silence that they might surprise the little band had they doubled on their tracks as he more than half suspected.

The shoeless hoofs of their ponies making scarcely no sound because of the thunderous charge of the cavalry on the farther plains, the redskins bore down on the ravine.

But, as the reader knows, Jesse had seen them and, with his pals, was scurrying from their path.

The Indians slowed up as they reached the edge of the ravine, then descended, crossed, mounted the other side, and swept on in the trail of the soldiers.

Pausing as he heard the bucks plunge into the gorge, Jesse parted the bushes at his side, peering at the dark, tossing forms.

Cautiously his pals followed his example.

Never had men seemed to move so slowly as did the Indians in crossing the gulch.

But at last only a few stragglers had not mounted to the plains.

"Quick, boys! Crawl to the top of the bank, only keep under cover!" whispered the world-famous desperado.

With alacrity his companions obeyed.

A rod he led them, still on their hands and knees, after they had gained the level.

"There's no danger of our being seen now, I reckon," he declared, rising to his feet. "But we won't run any risk by showing too much of ourselves.

"Come on! While the Injuns and troopers are searching the other side of the ravine, we'll get back to the cliffs on this."

Overjoyed at their escape from the foes, which seemed little short of miraculous, the bandits broke into a swift, steady jog trot that carried them rapidly over the ground.

Nearer and nearer they approached the rocks that towered majestically ahead of them.

But just as safety seemed within their grasp, Frank gasped:

"I'm all in! The—wo—wound—in—my—leg."

And he sank to the ground, in collapse.

Muttering an oath under his breath at this misfortune when all was going so well, Jesse hurried to the side of his brother and the others joined him.

"Take an arm, Texas," snapped the bandit-chieftain, as he put his own hand under Frank's left shoulder and lifted him to his feet.

Quickly the other obeyed and, supporting their exhausted comrade between them, they resumed their progress toward the cliffs.

"I reckon we might as well go back into the canyon," asserted the world-famous desperado.

"We'll climb up to the table land where we rescued Tony and rest for a few days. We can see all about us. No one can surprise us and the bucks and troopers would never think we'd go back.

"We'll be able to find something we can eat."

This suggestion met with the approval of the others and the little band bent their steps toward the black cleft that marked the entrance into the rocky defile.

Occasional glances behind them told them that none of the pursuers had returned from the chase.

Indeed, no moving object could they discover in any direction and, with hearts beating light at their successful escape from the blood-thirsty, revenge-craving savages and the cavalrymen whose ire had been roused by their strategic errors, they were just about to enter the canyon when a lithe figure darted toward them from behind a boulder.

"It's more of the red devils," snarled Wild Bill, whipping out his guns. "We are smart—I don't think. While we've been patting ourselves on the back, they've been lying here, waiting for us."

Yet the alarm of the outlaws was short-lived.

Ere any of them could draw their weapons, a voice cooed, softly:

"Don' shoot! Don' shoot! Me Dew Drop!"

The relief the words brought to the bandits, who feared the fruits of their desperate escape and retreat were to be snatched from them, was inexpressible and it was turned to outright joy as the Indian maiden continued:

"Dew Drop take um Jess Jame to safe cave. Heap food. Heap water in pool. Then Dew Drop leave. Injun move camp, Dew Drop got go."

"Then if they're going to take you along, they haven't got wise to your hiding us in Kaw-Kaw's cave, I judge," exclaimed the bandit-chieftain, glad to know the assistance which had been so opportune to his little band had brought no trouble to the girl.

"Squaws no know. Bucks forget 'fore get back. Um go on raid. Sojers no be in forts now," returned Dew Drop.

"Sorry I didn't pot more of 'em if that's what they're up to," grunted the world-famous desperado.

But his good fairy did not understand what he meant and prattled artlessly.

Skirting the base of the precipice, Dew Drop passed the mouth of the canyon and led them more than a mile beyond, stopping when she reached a fissure that ran from top to base.

Squeezing into it, the bandits were plunged in darkness.

Putting his hand on his guide's shoulder, Jesse bade his men hold onto the one in front of him and in single file they advanced till they could feel from the change in the air that they had reached the cave.

"Dew Drop no stay," declared the maid, slipping from the bandit-chieftain's hand. "Mus' join um squaw. Paleface fin' grub, water. So long."

And, ere any of the outlaws had the time to protest, the Indian maiden sped from them, leaving them in the unknown cave in pitch darkness.

Chapter VIII.

IN THE FATAL CIRCLE.

But Jesse had plans other than to permit the soft-voiced Indian maiden to desert them thus suddenly.

Without a word, with the quickness of a panther he sprang after her leaving the others helpless and surprised at the unexpected action of their chief.

"Has Jess gone plumb bug house?" breathed Tony, scarcely daring to trust his voice.

"Everybody's got wheels in this devil's neighborhood," averred Texas.

"And if he ain't he will have in the hole we're in now," added Homely Harry.

Frank groaned weakly.

"Hey, pard," interrupted Tony, suddenly bethinking himself of their wounded companion, "How you comin' along?"

"Give me a drink," returned the elder James brother in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "I feel as if I was dying."

"Bosh," retorted Tony. "I know them symptoms. You're been loosin' some red juice. Here, take a pull at the flask. It'll put you right in a jiffy."

Frank James gulped down the liquor greedily, so much so that for the instant it nearly strangled him.

"How's that," grinned Tony in the darkness, fetching the flask away and restoring it to his ample hip pocket.

"B—b—better," coughed Frank. "But I'll be bad again in a minute. Where's Jess?"

"Dunno. He vamoosed like a lightning bug. Sloped after the Indian maiden I guess."

"Call him back quick," demanded Frank. "You, Texas. Hurry or I'll bleed to death. I'm bad hurt, I tell you fellows."

Without an instant's hesitation Texas sprang away to do the wounded man's bidding, regardless of any personal danger to himself.

But Texas did not have far to go.

Just without the cave he was grasped in a grip of iron. His hand flew to his belt.

"Stop, you fool! Where are you going!" hissed Jesse in his ear.

"Gad, what a fright you gave me," gasped Texas. "I was going for you. Frank's bad and said you'd got to come right away. Oh there's the girl, eh."

"Bad? Come along Dew Drop," and without further parley Jesse led the way into the cave, keeping tight hold on the Indian girl, who though reluctant, made no protest at being dragged back by the man she had just saved.

"Somebody strike a light," demanded the great bandit.

"No, no," protested Dew Drop with a quick pressure on the outlaw's arm. "Injun smell smoke. Stop um hole up an catch pale face. Jess Jame and other pale faces come with Dew Drop."

"All right go ahead and we'll follow," decided Jesse. "Frank can you walk?"

Frank groaned.

"Pick him up, two of you and follow. Be careful."

Not a word was spoken as the strange procession moved silently on, deeper and deeper into the bowels of the mountain.

The silence was, after what had seemed an age to the men whose nerves were tensed by the strangeness of the cave, broken by the voice of the Indian girl.

"Pale faces git down um bellies," she directed tersely. "Me go first."

Suiting the action to the word Dew Drop threw herself down and crawled through a hole in the rock. But Jesse, who followed, did not succeed in passing the narrow opening with the same ease that Dew Drop had, but he finally accomplished the feat with sundry exclamations of disgust beneath his breath.

Texas, more ample of girth, got stuck in the hole, which he had attempted to get through feet first, and he could not move either way. Jesse solved the difficulty quickly by grabbing the unfortunate outlaw by the feet and jerking him in beside him.

But with Frank the task was still more difficult.

"Easy there," commanded the bandit-chieftain. "Put him through head first and I will draw him in."

This they did, and though Frank groaned and begged piteously the move was quickly executed.

Dew Drop now led the way again, which Jesse observed led slowly upward and that the air was freshening as they proceeded.

At last the Indian maiden came to a quick stop.

"Light um fire," she directed tersely.

It was the work of a moment for Jesse to strike a match and to his intense satisfaction he discovered a pile of dry limbs in one corner of the chamber where they had halted, and a blazing fire was burning quickly.

The men uttered an exclamation of surprise.

What they saw challenged the admiration of every man present.

Millions of brilliant stalactites hung suspended from the domed arch above them, and gave back scintillating flashes from the light of the flames. For the moment they forgot the real purpose of their presence there.

"Diamonds, by Judas," exclaimed Homely Harry in open mouthed wonder.

"Diamonds, your eye," returned Texas. "Them ain't no diamonds. I know the kind, I've seen them before."

But Jesse had given no heed to their expressions of admiration.

Instantly the fire was started, he dropped down by the side of his wounded brother, making a hurried examination of his wounds.

"Give me a piece of lariat," he commanded.

Tony passed over a strip of tough leather. With this the outlaw-chieftain bound the leg just above the wound, administering a drink from his own flask, and turned to Dew Drop.

"Got any saw bones around here?" he demanded sharply. "That's what I brought you back for."

The Indian girl looked at him blankly.

"Pale face medicine man," he explained.

Dew Drop smiled understandingly, but shook her head.

"Two suns journey," she explained, pointing to the north.

"Got a medicine man in your village, then? We've got to have some one here quick and I guess a medicine man of one color is about as good as another."

"Great Bear him got medicine man," explained the girl. "No get medicine man. Great Bear kill white man; Great Bear kill me."

"We'll kill Great Bear; so, that'll be a toss up. You go get the medicine man. Tell him your Indian beau is down in the canyon so badly wounded that he will die and fetch him here."

"Dew Drop fraid," she protested.

"Don't worry, we'll fix him so he won't hurt you. I will follow along behind you to see that no harm comes to you. Two of you men go outside the cave after a while and hide there and when Dew Drop brings the man you jump on him, and carry him in—"

"No, no," answered the maiden hurriedly, "me put out um medicine man eyes."

"Put out his eyes?" demanded Jesse in surprise.

"So," drawing her hand across her eyes and to the back of her head.

"Oh, I see: you mean to blindfold him? But how are you going to do it?"

"Me tell um take um cave of Great Spirit and must not see."

The others gazed at the girl blankly. Jesse haw-hawed loudly.

"Well, you are a wise little savage. I guess Jesse James and his band had better hang around here a while and take some lessons from you. What do you say, boys? Dew Drop ain't near so soft as her name, is she now?"

"She ain't that," they chorused.

"Oh hurry up," urged Frank.

With that, Jesse and the girl quickly made their way out of the cave. Once outside he gave the girl explicit directions, and without further delay she sped away, quickly disappearing amid the foliage without so much as betraying her movements by the snapping of a dry twig.

"A snake couldn't get away any quieter than that," nodded Jesse approvingly, and after a keen survey of rock and wood he too slipped away in the direction that Dew Drop had taken.

Not quite sure of his way, Jesse cautiously mounted a rock and, shading his eyes from the setting sun, peered off to the north.

He found what he was looking for, and, dropping from his perch once more took up his cautious way toward the Indian village. That he was going toward what would prove certain death, should any watchful, sneaking redskin chance to discover him or even come upon his trail, did not trouble the great bandit in the least.

His brother's life was at stake and that there might be no slip up he would follow clear to the Indian village, if necessary.

"I'll bring back the medicine man dead or alive," he swore under his breath.

Twilight was deepening and Jesse went more boldly on. But he had made a fatal move. He had done a thing that he would not have done had his band of hardy outlaws been with him, for then Jesse's sense of responsibility would have been doubly heavy.

He might expose his own life to peril unnecessarily. But for his companions, no. He took no more chances than was necessary where they were concerned.

During the brief moment that he had stood poised on the rock, however, the field glass of a United States Cavalry officer chanced to be trained on that very spot. More than that the pair of eyes behind the glass, also chanced to belong to the very officer with whom the band had mixed it up earlier.

The Captain uttered an exclamation of surprise.

"Quick! mount!" he commanded. "Not a word as you value your lives."

Trained to instant obedience, the troopers sprang into their saddles. They did not know what the order portended, nor did they care. The Captains manner meant that there was excitement ahead and that a brush with the red skins was more than likely at no distant moment.

"Red skins?" asked the young Lieutenant, in a low voice, riding up beside his superior officer.

"Worse," was his laconic reply. "James, and he was alone when I saw him. I think he is out reconnoitering. We'll bag him this time I hope."

"That ought to be easy if he is alone," returned the Lieutenant.

"Humph," snorted the Captain. "You'll learn more as you grow older. I'd rather hunt savages than those Missouri outlaws, for when it comes to devilish tricks, the Missourians can give the Indians points blindfolded.

"Halt! Dismount!

"Tether your ponies."

"Where away?" asked the Lieutenant softly.

"To the north. He should be near us providing he has not changed his course and I don't think he has, for very good reasons too."

"Why, Captain."

"Because, young man, on one side is an Indian village full of savages thirsting for his blood, and on the other a sheer precipice dropping down a few hundred feet only. We are on the third side, and, unless he turns back there is only one course open for him—to run into us.

"Throw your men out into a circle. Conceal them behind boulders. We should get him in the circle that way, and once there I don't think he will get away.

"Catch him alive if you can. Kill him if you have to."

Silence again fell over the night.

The troopers trained to tread on velvet feet, slipped along like so many silent shadows.

But every first right finger trembled on a trigger.

They knew the man they had to deal with, and the mere click of a gunlock on their part might mean instant death at the hand of the great bandit.

They lay down.

Each tree and rock beyond seemed to hold a lurking shadow, so tensely strained were their nerves and vivid their imaginations.

A twig snapped among the trees in the dense shadows. But not a man stirred. For long minutes they waited there, scarcely drawing a free breath.

The men needed no orders from their captain, no imposition for silent caution. They were trained too finely in Indian warfare to need such injunctions.

If indeed it were the great outlaw himself who stood under the spreading trees whence had come the warning sound, they knew he would not move for some time. Not until he had waited the effect of his incautious step would he move a muscle of his body, and perhaps he would be standing with one foot poised in the air, every sense keenly alert, his eyes piercing the shadows with almost superhuman vision.

To such extremes are men's senses trained, who live in momentary expectation of the blinding crash and the bullet between the eyes.

The troopers heard no further sound.

Their eyes suddenly began to blink. They could scarcely credit what they saw.

Right in the middle of the moonlit space, as if he had risen from the ground, stood the great outlaw himself.

How he had come there without their observing him, was beyond their understanding.

He was standing behind a large boulder, hat tipped back, his features plainly outlined in the brilliant moonlight, nose and face tipped upward as if scenting danger in the air.

Twenty trigger fingers twitched nervously, and as many Winchesters swung silently until they focused on the figure no more than twenty paces distant.

The great desperado poised there like a statue, hands and arms hanging listlessly at his sides, guns in their holsters as if there was no expectation of their being needed for instant use.

But this did not deceive Uncle Sam's Indian fighters. They were too familiar with Jesse James' reputation for quickness on the trigger not to understand that the mere glint of a moonbeam along a rifle barrel would mean death to the soldier behind it almost before he could pull his own trigger.

Like a blow in the face came the sudden command:

"Put up your hands, Jesse James!"

"Crash!"

Both the desperadoe's "Colts" spoke in a single explosion, and the Captain yelled with pain as a bullet tore through one arm.

"Give it to him!" he roared.

"Fire in a volley."

The roar of the heavy Winchesters sent the leaves of the trees a rustling and even the rocks and earth catching up the note, responded with a tremor.

Dimly they could see the figure of the outlaw stretched out on the ground in the shadow of the boulder after the smoke had drifted away.

Chapter IX.

WHEN THE EARTH FELL APART.

Just before leaving the cave the great desperado had whispered a word of command to Tony and Texas.

But the nature of the orders so secretly conveyed the others did not know, and none save Frank felt licensed to make inquiry, for Jesse was apt to administer a sharp rebuke that the inquisitive one would not soon forget.

Being the interested party the elder James brother glared suspiciously at the two bandits.

"See here, you mutts," he exploded with all his remaining strength, "I know what you are up to. You think my leg has got to come off and Jess didn't want me to know about it cause I'd make a ruction.

"Take it from me, you've got another guess coming. The leg is mine and it's on to stay. Time enough to plant it when I'm put away. Nice looking chump I'd be hopping around on one peg, eh?" he laughed maliciously.

"You're wrong, Frank," corrected Texas. "You ain't so bad off either. I'll gamble my spurs on it, that it's only a flesh wound and there ain't no bullet in there at all. But them gunshot wounds is nasty things, and what the chief wants is for that redskin sawbones to put on a lotion that will draw out the poison and—"

"Then what did he want to be so danged secret like with you duffers for? That's what gets me. You tell me right now or I'll give you a dose of the same medicine I got!" he growled menacingly.

Tony laughed good-naturedly.

"Jest a little job Jess had put up to save the girl's skin. What do you s'pose would have happened to her if she brought the medicine man here. Sure as you're alive, she'd a been in a bad way if the redskins got wise to what she's doin' with the medicine man. Do you get it?"

Frank nodded and emitted a sigh of relief.

"I just wanted to give you all a tip that I've got a gun or two in my belt, and what's more, they are liable to go off if any of you dubs monkey with this peg of mine. See?"

But Tony and Texas, grinning broadly, had slipped away, their moccasined feet giving no intimation of their departure on the mission of the chief.

The time seemed interminable to Frank and the wounded leg gave him much pain, as he twisted and swore at intervals over the long delay in bringing help.

Night had fallen by the time the two bandits reached the opening of the cave. They had proceeded only a short distance beyond when their keen ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps.

Quickly secreting themselves and crouching low the men awaited the nearer approach of the strangers, eyes keenly bent in the direction of the faint sound they had heard beyond.

They had only a moment to wait.

Tony nudged his companion and nodded his head.

"Them's them," he ejaculated sententiously.

"And by my spurs he's a giant," added Texas.

"Yes, and there the gal behind him, Tex. She's a wonder."

"There's some things worse'n some squaws," replied Texas.

"S—h—h—h," cautioned Tony.

"I'll take the big one and you get the girl, but don't hurt her. Give her a hunch as to what we're up to as soon as you get your clamps on her. Now."

Silently and with bated breaths, the two desperadoes waited until the medicine man, who indeed did loom up a veritable giant in stature, had passed Texas.

He was right beside Tony now, and so close that the bandit could easily have reached out and touched him. But Tony did not propose to adopt the ordinary methods of catching an Indian and for the very good reason that he had no ordinary man to deal with.

His plans had been quickly matured. And what he did was successful from the very novelty of the proceeding.

What Tony did was to shove a stout stick squarely between the medicine man's shins, at the same time giving a quick, sharp twist.

The effect was magical.

The Indian plunged head foremost to the ground, his feet waving wildly in the air for a moment. But before he could gain equilibrium or cry out, the same stout stick came down on his head with crushing force.

The copper-hued sawbones lay still.

"Holy snakes!" exclaimed Texas with genuine admiration. "Ef that ain't the all-firedest way to catch a doctor that I ever seen. Here, my pretty squaw, you're my prisoner too. Now come along like a good little papoose."

Dew Drop, with a surprised look in her eyes, turned to flee. Texas caught her.

"Keep yer head plumb. We're just makin' believe capturin' you and when old sawbones wakes up we'll have you tied so he don't get wise to your little game. See?"

A smile slowly rippled over the face of the little red girl.

"Pale face smart like Indian," she answered, nodding her head vigorously. "Um hurry. Big Bear and braves up yonder. Come for Jess Jame pretty soon."

"Jess?" questioned Tony rising from the medicine man whose arms and hands he had been pinioning. "By the way, where's the chief. He went with you, didn't he?"

Dew Drop shook her head.

"Dew Drop no see um."

"That's funny. Lend a hand here, Texas and let's get this red devil into the cave. No need to blindfold him now—"

"Didn't put out his light, did you Tony?" asked Texas a bit anxiously.

"Kill him? N—a—w. Head's too thick to break if a log fell on it."

It was no easy task to get the inanimate form of the giant to the cave. At first they essayed to carry him, one at the head, the other at the feet.

Tony dropped his burden in disgust.

"Say, Texas, come here. This is too much like work. Jest get hold of his feet with me and we'll drag him the rest of the way—"

"But it will hurt him," protested Texas.

"What, hurt a redskin? G'wan. It'll wake him up, that's all, and he'll be fit as a fiddle when we git him into the cave. Come along."

The way was rough and the sacred medicine man got the roughest voyage of his life for the next few moments. And as Tony had predicted, by the time they had reached the entrance to the cave, his eyes were open and he was glaring at his captors with malignant eyes. He could speak no word because Tony with rare forethought had twisted a gag into his mouth, fearing that should the man come to he might give the alarm and bring down some lurking savages on them.

Just before reaching the mouth of the cave Texas, at his companion's bidding, bound a handkerchief over the prisoner's eyes. Then with great caution, they hauled him into the hole in the rocks.

Being a large man the savage went through the smaller hole opening into the large chamber, with much less ease than had the bandits. In fact they had pulled him only half way through when he stuck there fast.

"Can't make it. He's too fat," decided Texas.

"Can't? Wait. I know the breed. He's making himself fat—swelling himself out. Here you savage," roared Tony, "we're going to give a good long pull and if you don't come through we'll fix you so you do."

The medicine man grunted.

"That's right, grunt. But you'll grunt harder when I get through with you. And understand me, and if you don't get through this time, Harry here will slice off a few slabs of flesh so you'll fit. Harry'll do a good job too, and don't you forget it, for he used to slaughter cattle on a range out in Missouri. Now draw in your belly unless you want to lose some skin. Heave away boys."

The bandits counting, "one, two, three," gave a mighty pull.

This time the medicine man came through, but little rivulets of blood trickled down his sides as they pulled him into the brilliantly lighted room. There they removed his blindfold and released his arms, after first taking possession of his knife.

The redskin's glance swept the room, then rested on Dew Drop.

But the little Indian maiden was acting her part to perfection. Tied hand and foot, she had been stood against one side of the chamber, where she rested, her eyes blazing with well-assumed hate at her captors.

"Big Bear kill um pale faces," she gritted.

"Never you mind about Big Bear," retorted Tony. "If there's any killing going on we will take a hand in it ourselves. We shall not hurt you if you keep quiet—"

"Indian girl no fraid white man. She stick um knife some day, maybe."

"Ho, ho," roared Texas.

"Our little pussey has sharp claws," interjected Homely Harry.

Frank had been taken into the next chamber, an apartment somewhat smaller than the one they were in, and there they carried the Indian medicine man after having instructed him as to what was expected of him.

They planked him down beside the wounded man.

Frank's right hand slipped down to his trusty "Colt."

But the Indian made no move.

Tony's face grew stony.

"You red devil," he cried, "don't get stubborn. Do as we demand and no harm will come to you, but if you don't fix this man up inside of ten minutes—by the watch, remember—you're a dead Indian. Get busy!"

The Indian bent a keen glance on Tony, then looked sharply from one to the other of the assemblage as if to satisfy himself that he was not being tricked.

But there was no trickery lurking at the corners of the stern mouths of the desperate men.

"Kill um pale face," urged Dew Drop with a vicious snap of the jaws.

"Ugh," grunted the medicine man with a shake of his head, as he slowly began drawing a variety of herbs from his belt. These he quickly meshed together with a stone, and, forming them into a poultice applied it to the wounds of Frank James.

The latter let out a yell and tugged at his gun.

But Tony anticipating just such a move, closed over his wrist in a vice-like grip.

"Easy pard," he cautioned. "The poultice is drawing out the pizen. It won't hurt but a minute, will it old sawbones?" peering up into the savage face before him for confirmation of his words.

"White man cry out, then hurt go way," grunted the savage.

"There, what did I tell you," chortled Tony. "Poultice goes on, you yell like—like—like you did, and pain goes away. That's it."

"Oh, shut up," snarled Frank, the lines of his face drawing sharply under the excruciating pain he was enduring.

"How—how long is this going to keep up?" he demanded.

"Yes, when can the captain get out again?" chimed in Homely Harry.

"White man walk byemby," returned the man of herbs. "Before sun up he go out. Then mebbe Indian kill um."

"That's alright, Reddy; we'll be there for the killing. But we don't 'low we've got any hard feelings again you. Hey, boys?"

"Sure not," chorused the others.

Crossing the medicine man's palm with a gold piece, to his intense surprise and satisfaction, they again led him into the vaulted chamber and releasing Dew Drop bade her bind the cloth about his eyes once more.

Tony seeing that his orders were being obeyed, had stepped back to speak to Frank as to the best means of disposing of their prisoners. As he turned he observed that the Indian girl was feeding embers to the fire the better to light their way out.

But the desperado had no more than turned his back on the savage and the girl ere the rocks beneath him were shaken by a mighty tremor.

A sudden and awful roar smote his ears.

A fearful blow seemed to have been struck across his eyes.

The air was full of hurling rocks and debris.

Tony and his companions were tumbled together in a confused heap, yelling in terror at the awful thing that had happened, though they knew not what it meant.

Rocks and particles rained down upon their bodies with sickening force.

But the desperate men neither heard nor felt now.

A sudden darkness had settled over them and they lay motionless and lifeless.

A mighty explosion had rent the cave from end to end.

Chapter X.

IN A LIVING TOMB.

It might have been hours for aught they knew that they had lain there.

Frank was the first to regain consciousness. He heard someone groan and called out demanding whose voice it was.

"It's Tony, or what little is left of him," was the answer.

"Are you hurt?"

"Donno. Feel as if the roof had caved in on me. Where's the rest of the gang?"

"If they only have got out of it as easily as we have we can count ourselves the luckiest men on earth," returned the elder James boy with emphasis.

Forgetting his recent wound, which the herbs of the medicine man had most miraculously put to sleep so that he felt no pain at all, Frank struggled to his feet and struck a match. Texas and Harry he espied lying in a heap in one corner half hidden by the debris which had fallen upon them.

Out of the wreck he gathered some sticks and rekindled the fire which in a moment brightly illuminated the chamber. The scene that met his gaze was one of wreck and ruin.

But to this the bandit gave no heed. His first care was for the other members of the band.

"They're alive, Tony," he cried, "every man of them. Come help me get them out—"

"You'll have to get Tony out first, I'm thinkin'. I'm wedged in here under this heap of stuff tighter'n a sardine in a box."

It was but the work of a moment for Frank to release the imprisoned desperado, and after taking careful inventory of his anatomy and learning to his delight that no bones had been broken, both men turned to with a will and began digging out their companions.

"Thank Providence, or whatever or whoever did it, that my flask was not broken," exclaimed Frank.

"Here, hold Texas's head while I pour a few fingers down his throat. That'll bring him around if anything will."

And it did. Texas gasped, strangled, sat up and swore roundly.

The others were quickly restored to consciousness and the men were overjoyed that all had escaped.

"Say," spoke up Tony suddenly. "That explosion come from that other room there. What do you s'pose did it—"

"And the medicine man and the squaw were in there alone, weren't they?" asked Frank.

"By the gods you're right," exclaimed Texas.

With one accord each man grabbed up a burning brand and climbing over the obstructions that the explosion had placed in their way, dashed into the adjoining chamber.

If anything the disaster had been greater here than in the other room.

"There's the redskin all shot to pieces," cried Harry.

"Yes, deader'n a tick," agreed Texas. "But where is the gal?"

"Yes, where is the girl?" demanded Frank suddenly aroused to action.

"Blown into little pieces. She's too tender to stand a racket that would put out a giant like the medicine man," opined Tony. "But where the devil is she? There ain't no pieces of her layin' about here as I sees. It makes a feller shivery—like—kinder weak under the belt."

"Dig! Dig like hell every man of you!" roared Frank in a frenzy of haste at thought that the girl who had proved such a friend in need might be dying within a few feet of them for want of a willing hand to give her succor.

They set to with a will.

"Dew Drop here," piped a voice that seemed to come out of the air, but from just what direction none could say.

They looked about; peered into every corner and crevice, then faced each other questioningly.

"Hello!" shouted Frank, but only the echoes of his own voice came back to him.

"Mebby it's the Great Spirit she was tellin' us about," suggested Texas with a hoarseness in his throat that he tried vainly to down. "She's a dead one that's sure—"

"Dew Drop no go Happy Hunting Ground; Medicine man he go Happy Hunting Ground. Mebby Jesse Jame he happy Hunting Ground," came in the plaintive tone of the Indian maiden.

It was maddening.

In a moment these hardy desperadoes who had faced death in a thousand forms, would feel their courage oozing from their finger tips and would make a run for the outer air.

"Where are you?" roared Frank. "Are you dead or alive?"

"Me here; me no with Great Spirit."

"Where?" bellowed Tony. "Where in the humping pizen snakes be you anyhow? You sound as if you was over my head, but if you be you're a dead one, and that goes."

Frank with a sudden thought in his mind was shading his eyes from the flaming torches and peering up into the shadows. There, more than ten feet above their heads, he saw the form of the little Indian maiden wedged in a crevice of rocks where she had evidently been hurled by the sudden explosion.

The men shouted for pure joy.

"Jump, you little devil," shouted Texas, "we'll catch you."

"Paleface say well. Dew Drop no jump."

"Not jump? Don't be afraid," reassured Frank.

"Dew Drop um no jump. Um fast," she wailed.

"She's wedged in between the rocks," yelled Tony. "Git a ladder somebody quick."

Everybody laughed but it was evident that Tony in his excitement was in dead earnest.

"Yes, how we going to git the gal down?" demanded Texas.

"Can't one of you take a running jump and reach her?" cried Frank. "If my leg wasn't game I'd do it myself."

"Yes, you would," sneered Tony. "You ain't no bird and neither be I. That's twelve feet if its one up there."

"I've got an idee," interrupted Homely Harry. "I'll stand agin the wall and you fellers climb up on top of me, one top of tother. I've seen 'em do that in a circus once. We kin git her down that way."

Frank shot an approving glance at him.

"You're the only one in the bunch that's got a head on his shoulders about now I reckon. I ain't much on the climb, but try it and if you don't get her, I'll go to the top of the pile myself."

The agile mountaineers formed a human pyramid in a moment with Texas as the top-mounter, Tony groaning beneath his weight and threatening every moment to give way sending the pyramid a bruised and broken wreck to the hard stone floor of the cave.

It was with no little effort that they finally accomplished the feat of releasing the girl from her rocky prison.

But once free she slid down the pyramid with the grace of a lofty tumbler.

Tony and Texas came down rather less easily.

"Now I want to know what this is all about?" demanded Frank when they once more had recovered themselves.

"Yes, what devil's prank put this joint on the blink?" added Tony. "I've had some jars in my time, but I never did have such an all-fired bump as this one."

"Me not know," answered Dew Drop hanging her head.

"What were you and the bones doing when it happened?" urged Frank, pointing to the mangled remains of the medicine man.

Dew Drop gazed at the horrid sight with emotionless eyes, then turned toward them.

"Me make fire burn one—two times—"

"Yes, yes," they chorused.

"You put wood on the fire to make it bright," added Frank.

The Indian girl nodded.

"What then?"

"Make fire more.

"Then heap fire like sun. Dew Drop go sleep. Great Spirit get um. Dew Drop open eyes—see pale faces and um want see Dew Drop."

Harry scratched his head.

"Clear as the big Muddy in a spring freshet," agreed Tony.

"Wait a minute," commanded Frank, raising a restraining hand.

"You put one, two, three sticks on fire, then you put another?"

Dew Drop nodded vigorously.

"But when you put on the fourth one, hey?"

"Um pale face he know."

"Then the whole business went up?"

Dew Drop puffed out her cheeks and said "Pouf! So."

"Well I'll be damned!" exclaimed Frank.

"What is it?" demanded Texas.

"What was it?" urged Tony.

"Dynamite!" snapped the desperado holding the girl with a wondering gaze. "And you near put us all out of business at the same time.

"Yes, dynamite. I understand it all now. Jess must have left those sticks here and the girl used one of them to build the fire with. It's a wonder it didn't blow us all to kingdom come."

A loud guffaw greeted Frank's explanation.

All danger past they could afford to look on the humorous side of the disaster now.

"Well, we got rid of old saw bones quicker'n we thought," chuckled Tony. "Good thing Jesse wasn't here. It might have got him too, for he'd a been right on top of it likely as not."

"Jess. I had forgotten," cried Frank. "What has become of him? He's got into trouble, I'll bet my spurs on it. It must have been hours since he went away.

"Say Dew Drop, did he go with you?"

The girl shook her head.

The men looked into each other's faces in dismay.

"Come, we must find him," cried Frank, his face narrowing down until the lines of it laid up in projecting, stern wrinkles.

"Mebbe Big Bear git um Jess Jame," vouchsafed the girl stoically.

"What's that?" demanded Frank suddenly turning on her.

"Mebbe sojers git um Jess Jame."

"Soldiers. No, they're miles away to the north of us by now. We headed them toward the fort hours ago."

"Sojers come back," averred the girl.

"Came back? How do you know?"

"Me see um, Me see injuns. Injuns he look for Jess Jame."

"The girl is right," roared Frank. "Out of this devilish hole. They've got him. What can one man do against a company of infantry and a whole village of redskins. Come!"

The bandit strode toward the opening whence they had first entered, then stopped short.

"Trapped!" he cried hoarsely.

"The explosion has blocked our entrance. We're caught like rats in a trap."

The outlaws groaned.

Hoarse curses and muttered imprecations were passed from lip to lip as the enraged desperadoes ran from point to point seeking in vain for some means of egress from their rocky tomb.

"We're done for," snarled Tony, his hand slipping instinctively to his pistol holster.

"Jess will get us out somehow," soothed Harry.

"No. Jess is probably in a worse fix than we are at this very minute," exploded Frank, "and—"

A timid pressure on his arm caused him to look suddenly down.

"Well, what is it?" he demanded shortly. "Haven't you got us into enough trouble already? What do you want now? Say it and say it quick."

"Pale face um want go way?"

"Want to? Holy snakes, hear the girl," laughed Tony harshly. "I calkerlate it don't make a mighty sight of difference whether we want to or not. We don't."

"Silence!" commanded Frank.

"Well, what is it, girl?"

"Pale face want go—Dew Drop want go. Um show pale face."

So astounded were the outlaws at her amazing confidence in her ability to pilot them to freedom, that for a moment no one answered, and by the time they had gathered their wits again, Dew Drop was tripping on velvet feet to the chamber they had just left.

They sprang after her eagerly, but just in time to see the girl disappear behind a pyramid of rock and which they now discovered for the first time, led into another passage.

"Hold on," called Tony, "you're taking us further into this infernal hole."

But Dew Drop made no reply.

Her confident manner brought hope to the bandit's hearts almost in spite of their determination not to be trapped at any cost.

"Bring lights," commanded Frank.

They did so.

As they progressed they noticed that their course was leading them up and up, further and further, and with each rise of the trail their spirits ascended proportionately.

"Hooray! I see moonlight," cried Texas. "By gad we're getting out as sure as you're alive."

Dew Drop turned and laid a warning finger on her lips, and bent her head in a listening attitude.

"What is it?" they demanded in bated breaths.

"Injuns," breathed the Indian maiden.

Each right slipped to pistol holster.

"Indians," muttered the desperadoes, and "Colts" were quickly unsheathed.

Chapter XI.

JESSE JAMES' DESPERATE LEAP.

Not a man moved.

Every rifle was turned on the prostrate man.

The captain peered suspiciously at the form of the great desperado for a moment, then nodded his satisfaction.

"Cease firing!" he commanded.

Placing a whistle to his lips the officer blew a short, shrill blast. Two troopers in response, came dashing up on their ponies, saluted and sat at attention awaiting their leader's commands.

"Boys, we have got him at last," he said, addressing the two troopers. "That's Jesse James over there on his back. Sorry we had to kill him. But it's my opinion he's safer that way. I knew we should get him in time. Outlaws may fool posses indefinitely, but when it comes to beating the United States Cavalry, that's different. Young man," he continued, "let this be an object lesson to you in persistance. Four times within the past twenty-four hours I am free to confess we have been outwitted by the world's greatest desperado, but each time we came back stronger than ever and as full of fight. You see the result. We have done our full duty."

"Yes, but what shall we do with the body, bury it or roll it into the gully somewhere hereabouts?" asked the Lieutenant, stepping over toward the body of the outlaw, then turning back.

"Neither. Have some saplings cut and make a litter between two ponies. We must get him to the fort immediately before it is too late. No one would ever believe we had killed the world's greatest bandit unless we had something better to show for it than our mere word. It is not that they would doubt our word, but the rub is they know Jesse James," he grinned. "And so do we," he added grimly.

"Make haste now. We'll surely have the redskins down on us after all this racket, and we've made a lot of it, I reckon."

"I'll attend to it at once, sir," responded the Lieutenant.

"Throw out pickets!" ordered the commander. "We are in a dangerous strategical position here."

"But what about the rest of the gang—do we go after them?" asked the Lieutenant after executing his superior officer's commands.

"Yes, we might as well clean house thoroughly while we are about it. Let two men ride in with the body. They should reach the fort by daybreak. We will remain here with the rest of the troop and finish up the job. It should be easy to at least disperse the gang, now that their leader has turned up his toes for the last time. It has been a good job, Lieutenant, eh?"

The young officer nodded and smiled, for his share in the great achievement had been no small one and in all probability would bring him much nearer to having a command of his own at no distant day.

With the others, the army officer's words were accepted as final. Meantime the troopers had constructed a litter and were now engaged in dragging it to the spot where Jesse lay face up on the rocks, the moonbeams lighting up his face with a ghastly pallor, to the strained imagination of the soldiers.

At a motion from the Lieutenant, the two mounted men rode their ponies to the scene and sprang from their saddles to lift the inanimate form of the fallen desperado to the litter to be conveyed to the fort some thirty miles away.

The men's Winchesters reposed safely in their saddle holsters, and the ponies, unmindful of the tragic scene before them, calmly began browsing on the tender underbrush.

The two troopers bent over to lift the body to the litter that the others were bringing up.

At that instant a strange and unexpected thing happened.

The supposed dead man moved.

Both arms shot out and the moon beams caught and reflected a steely glint in each hand.

With lightning-like quickness the bandit's hands shot into the shadows formed by the bodies of the two troopers. The movement was so slight as to have been almost indistinguishable two paces away.

The soldiers with a groan settled down in a heap.

Yet nothing of the tragedy being enacted before their very eyes, conveyed itself to the troopers just beyond, and the Captain was calling out some order to the men that the bandit had laid low. They did not know that two of their companions lay dying there, their life blood staining the virgin rocks.

"Hey, what is going on over there?" shouted the Captain, his keen eyes noting something unusual in the attitude of his men.

There was no response.

"Lieutenant, you had better straighten out those men."

With one movement, the great bandit had driven his bowies straight into the hearts of the unsuspecting soldiers. In bending over him to raise his body to the litter, they had presented a mark that the veriest novice at man-killing, could not have missed by any chance.

Their blood in crimson stream spurted into the face and eyes of the blood-thirsty desperado, but the only emotion it stirred in him was to arouse him to deepest anger.

Not a bullet of the death-dealing volley had reached Jesse. With that marvelous instinct that had saved his life on so many occasions in the past, the outlaw had sensed the danger that confronted him, he knew that the eyes of enemies were upon him, but whether of white men or redskins, he did not know.

Instantly his quick mind evolved a plan. He knew that death yawned in the shadows there, which one false move would precipitate upon him. With Jesse James, to think was to act.

He dropped at the instant when twenty Winchesters hurled their death missiles at him. But the leaden pellets sped harmlessly over his head.

Instead of leaping to his feet and making a desperate dash for liberty, as a less experienced man in the art of guerilla warfare might have done, the great bandit stiffened out and lay motionless in well-feigned emulation of death.

His ruse was successful.

But now the moment for action had arrived. Yet he did not move a muscle and respiration seemed to have ceased utterly.

One of the ponies moved a step forward, having sighted a fresh bit of tender verdure. Its body was thus projected between the main arm of the troop and the prostrate outlaw, hiding his movements from them.

With a blood-curdling yell that sent terror to the hearts of the soldiers for an instant, Jesse leaped to the startled pony's back. He seemed to spring from the ground as if impelled by some giant spring.

So unexpected had been the move that the troops stood paralyzed—unable to move hand or foot. In fact, no comprehension of the real meaning of the scene—of the terrible tragedy that had taken place before their very eyes—had forced itself into their minds.

The outlaw's yell of defiance had accomplished the exact result that he had intended it should.

"It's James!" roared the Captain in a fearful rage.

"Take aim!

"Fire!"

Twenty Winchesters crashed, a dull flash of flame lighted up the scene and was instantly lost in a pall of suffocating smoke, the reverberations from the explosion, thundering from peak to peak of the surrounding mountains.

The command was repeated and again the guns of the troopers spoke hoarsely.

Coincident with the first volley the outlaw had thrown himself down on the horse's side, away from the attacking force, Indian fashion. He was a master of every trick known to savage warfare, learned in the school of Quantrell years before.

So suddenly had he gone down that at first they thought he had fallen. But the world's greatest outlaw was not thus easily to be disposed of.

"It's a trick," yelled the Captain.

He was goaded to desperation.

"Fire at will!" he commanded.

"Give it to him! Shoot low and fast!"

Still another heavy volley broke the stillness.

"Mount and pursue!" came the stern command.

Jesse rose in his saddle and swung the Winchester that he had drawn from the saddle holster, on his enemies.

Two soldiers bit the dust.

The troopers sprang to saddle. The death of their companions had filled them with mad lust for the blood of the desperado. Now they were yelling like a band of Indians who had discovered that their coveted prey was almost within their grasp.

The fleeing bandit made a sudden discovery. The opposite side of the circle of troops was drawing in on him. But instead of taking alarm, Jesse was quick to note the advantage that their manoeuvre gave him. The newcomers fired a volley into the air to warn the Captain of their location that he might not fire into the ranks of his own men.

Jesse shouted a jeer, and rising in his saddle again, pumped his Winchester first into the ranks of one body of troops and then into the other side, continuing to yell like a Comanche Indian on the warpath.

It was maddening. Not a shot was fired in answer by the enemy.

A blast of the bugle had commanded the troops to "cease firing."

"Charge!"

The notes of the command rippled musically from the bugler's horn and the troops, swinging to saddle as one man, swept down in pursuit.

They were moving in a half circle formation, now.

"We've got him this time, sure," exulted the Captain.

"Depends on whether our horses are faster than his, which I very much doubt," objected the Lieutenant.

"You've still got a few things to learn, young man," retorted his superior officer. "When you have been in the service longer you'll find out an officer has to use his eyes and every other sense that nature has given him, if he expects to save his hide, letting alone catching the enemy."

"I don't catch you," shouted the Lieutenant above the sound of the fleet-footed rushing ponies.

"He is headed for the canyon. That's what I mean."

"The canyon! Good God!" gasped the young officer.

"Surrender!" roared the Captain.

"It's sure death to go on."

The desperado rose in his stirrups. He again emptied his Winchester into the ranks of the pounding troop on his flanks.

The feel of the swift-moving little Indian pony beneath him, filled him with unholy joy. On a fleet-footed animal the great outlaw feared neither man nor beast, and in very truth, few of the wild men or savages of the turbulent west, were his equals in the saddle any more than they were when it came to quickness on the trigger.

Three ponies fell as the result of his deadly fire, and as many riders were hurled into the air, an instant later to fall with a sickening thud as they struck the hard ground.

But the outlaw did not turn to note the result of his fusilade. He had other momentous things to occupy his mind at that moment.

Casting his Winchester aside he threw his full weight on his toes in the stirrups and sat crouching like some wild animal about to spring upon its unsuspecting prey.

The desperado's eyes were fixed and staring.

Ahead of him yawned the black and awful abyss.

Driving in the rowels of his spurs until the pinto snorted with pain, Jesse fairly threw the hardy little Indian pony at the rocky canyon.

"My God, he is going over!" cried the Lieutenant, aghast at the awful leap the great bandit was about to take.

"He don't see it! He don't see it!

"Halt! The canyon!" roared the young officer in the stress of his excitement. For the moment he had forgotten that the man he was warning was he for whose death half a continent was clamoring.

"He knows it, you fool!" snarled the Captain. "Don't you see he's going to jump it?"

"But its certain death."

"So is this," gritted the commander of the troop. "It's death either way he takes it, back or front.

"Call the halt or we'll be going over with him, the whole pack and parcel of us."

The bugle sounded its warning short and sharp.

On the very brink of the precipice stood a giant spreading oak, and into it's broad shadow the world-famous desperado drove his mount, a veritable living projectile in its undeviating flight.

The notes of the bugle trilled again and the horses of the troopers slid to their haunches perilously near the brink.

"Fire!" rang the stern command.

Once more the heavy Winchesters crashed.

A wild yell greeted the volley.

But whether of pain or triumph they did not know.

With a scream of awful fright, the pony leaped high in the air and plunged far out and over the terrible precipice. They heard his body buffeted from rock to rock in its descent. And finally as they listened they caught the sound of the impact when it struck for the last time on the rocks far below.

Not a man spoke. They were too full of wonder and horror for speech.

A heavy silence had fallen over the scene of death.

Chapter XII.

IN THE HANDS OF THE REDSKINS.

"Well, I guess that will be about all—that settles the career of the world's greatest bandit," averred the Captain.

Both officers and men stood on the brink of the black chasm, gazing down fearsomely into the apparently bottomless pit. The thought of the fearful plunge that they had just witnessed, had a sobering effect on all of them. It had stirred within the men an emotion almost akin to fear, and each trooper as he turned away, felt a little chill trickle up and down his spinal column, all in spite of his stern effort to repress it. Hated as was the great outlaw, the soldiers rated him as a brave man, a quality that touches a responsive chord in every soldier's breast.

The Captain broke the silence, his words falling on them almost like a blow.

"No living man could come out of that fall alive," he continued. "It is a sheer drop of more than two hundred feet to the bottom of the gulch, and there isn't a ghost of a show for anything human or inhuman that goes over it.

"Lieutenant, take a squad of men and ride north until you strike the entrance to the gorge. The water is low at this time of the year and you can easily get up to the point where the bandit and the pinto struck. This time there won't be any question about it. He won't look very pretty, but we've got to get him to the fort as soon as possible, for the weather is warm."

"Right, sir; but I should like to know how he played that scurvy trick on us?" demanded the Lieutenant. "I can't get it through my head how our men ever missed him."

"That is elemental. He lay down before the volley was fired!"

"That's all right, Captain, but I still don't understand how he knew we were going to shoot," persisted the Lieutenant.

"Because he was Jesse James. That's the only answer I can give you. I made my mistake when I failed to order a volley fired into him after he was down. That's the trouble when troops are opposed to savages and outlaws. We fight according to the rules of civilized warfare while they—well, they are just common murderers. Warfare to them is only assassination.

"Have the recall sounded, then start for the gulch. Jesse James is dead for the last time."

But once more the army officer had been tricked.

In a pure game of wits, he with all his military training and his experience in fighting savages, had been outwitted. When it came to pitting one man in a battle of wits against another, Jesse James had no known peer. He never seemed to come to the end of his resources, and the most desperate situations, the moments of the gravest peril, gave him not the slightest apprehension as to the ultimate outcome. He was able to cope with them all, come when and how they might.

As he lay, back down, on the rocks, after the first volley had been fired by the troops, the great desperado formed his plans concisely and definitely, and these plans, as it proved, he followed without the slightest deviation.

Jesse had heard the command of the Captain to prepare a litter and it brought a sardonic grin to his hardy face.

"They sure will need that litter themselves before I get through with them," he muttered.

The outlaw reasoned with marvelous precision, just what the soldiers would do, and, therefore, his quickly laid plans worked out without the slightest slip or miscarriage.

The great oak tree on the brink of the precipice proved Jesse's salvation, as he proposed that it should. Had it not been there, another and different ending to his escapade, might have resulted.

But the officers did not attach any special significance to the fact that the outlaw had driven his pony straight for the tree in his mad flight from them, seeing only in the act a desire to put an end to himself rather than fall into the hands of the United States Government. Still the tree was the key note to the situation—the one factor that enabled him to elude his pursuers, and at the same time save himself from being dashed to certain death on the rocks two hundred feet below.

As his pony shot into the shadow, Jesse raised himself in his stirrups and caught a low-lying limb. With the agility of a trapeeze performer he drew his body up and free of the horse just at the instant when the bullets of the troops sang by beneath him and the screaming pinto went dashing to its death.

Like a squirrel, Jesse ran up the trunk of the tree, and there he perched, his body convulsed with fiendish glee at the neat trick he had turned on the cavalry troop for the second time that night. And it was with intense interest that he listened to the comments of the officers down below.

"So, Jesse James is dead, eh?" he chuckled.

Yet at that moment the supposed dead man held with steady hand, a heavy "Colt," trained on the redoubtable captain. The officer was nearer to death than he ever knew, and Jesse himself, was not so far from it as he thought.

It was a relief, however, that he noted the final departure of the troops. Jesse was anxious to get back to the cave. He wondered that none of the band had been out in search of him. This augured trouble of some sort. And he wondered too, how successful Dew Drop had been in corralling Great Bear's medicine man, for he felt that the need of the herb doctor's services, was urgent. Perhaps that was where the rub lay—perhaps his whole outfit had been picked up by the redskins.

It suddenly occurred to the desperado too, that no redskin had shown himself during the melee. Certainly they had not been so deaf as not to have heard the bombardment of the cavalrymen.

"There's sure something doing," he muttered. "Things look kinder ticklish."

Jesse decided that it would be wise to get away while the coast was clear. The troops were now well out of the way.

But his cogitations were rudely interrupted by a guttural grunt at the foot of the tree.

Jesse started.

He recognized the sound. No other than a redskin could give vent to an exclamation like that.

The desperado's gun came out in a flash. He peered down through the foliage, dimly making out the figure of a savage. Perhaps the Indian was alone, but more than likely there were others nearby.

The outlaw, adopting the policy of the savages, waited patiently for further developments. But all hope of the redskin not being aware of his presence in the tree, was shattered a moment later.

"Ugh," said the Indian.

"Great snakes," muttered Jesse.

"Jesse James, um up tree," announced the Indian stoically.

"That I am for certain," growled the great bandit chieftain, under his breath.

"Jesse James um in a fix."

"Great Bear, as I'm alive," whispered Jesse, slipping down the tree trunk a few feet.

"Pale face um fool sojers. Um no fool Great Bear. Great Bear um see many things. Um see sojers shoot Jess Jame. Great Bear know um not shoot Jess Jame. Jess Jame he play possum. Ugh. Great Bear um wait. Um want pale face for umself. Huh."

"Well, you've got another guess coming," retorted the outlaw.

Jesse began parleying to gain time. He first wanted to know if the chief was alone, which fact was all-important to him in his present predicament.

"Great Bear go away," he called down gently. "Great Spirit up here in tree," he crooned with subtle cunning.

"No, no!" protested the chief, "Great Spirit not for pale face. Great Spirit stay Indian."

The great desperado fingered his guns nervously. It required all the self control he could impose upon himself to refrain from shooting the redskin, where he stood in plain view of the man up the tree. It was a terrible temptation, but the bandit-chieftain resented it manfully.

"All right, old moccasin foot, we'll see about that later!"

Great Bear, he realized had been a witness to his brush with the cavalry troops; but with a cunning characteristic of the savage that he was, had viewed it with keener eyes than had the officers of the troop.

"Um Jess Jame come down," grunted the chief.

"Jesse James will come down when he gets good and ready, you greasy old cutthroat," he jeered. "Great Bear had better look out or my men will shoot him in the back. Do you think I'd let you stand there making threats at me all this time without killing you, if I hadn't known my men had you covered. You are not half so smart as you think you are, eh?"

The old chief did not change his position in the least.

But meanwhile Jesse was cautiously making his way down the trunk of the tree, yet in doing so not so much as displacing the smallest particle of dry bark whose falling would warn the savage of his approach.

"Ugh," grunted the chief.

"Ugh it yourself," threw back the desperado.

"Um lie. Great Bear um know Jess Jame. No paleface get Great Bear. Paleface all gone. Indians here—Great Spirit here. Indian in bush—many Indian in bush there," indicating a half circle by a sweep of his hand.

"Ah," exclaimed the desperado.

Jesse had drawn from the big chief the very information he was seeking. He knew now that the savage was alone. "When an Indian tells you a thing is so, you know it isn't," was Jesse's motto and it was the one he applied to the present case.

Still, he dared not use his guns.

Great Bear, perhaps, following the same process of reasoning, stood confidently awaiting the moment when the desperado should find it convenient to move.

"Pale face no jump. Um fall down big hole like pinto," he warned.

"Don't worry, my sweet papoose," jeered the outlaw. "Jesse James don't jump down holes, nor does he run away. But he's going to kill an Indian bye and bye, when he gets down. But paleface going to stay up here till Big chief gets sore feet waiting for him. Good night, you old dog-eater."

The great desperado laughed and chuckled, all with a purpose, but not so loudly at any time that his voice could easily be heard beyond the circle of shadow thrown by the great tree.

"Ugh. Pale face, dog—" retorted the savage.

But he got no further.

Like a flying projectile, a dark object was hurled from the tree. Straight did it speed at the copper-hued savage below, and as true as if it had been from a mountain battery.

The projectile was none other, however, than the great desperado himself. With rare cunning, Jesse had step by step, drawn the chief's attention from his real purpose, the while occupying the time in getting into the most advantageous position for the carrying out of his plans.

The outlaw's flying body with unerring aim, hit the savage fair and square and both men went down in a heap.

Great Bear uttered a grunt of terrible rage, but could not speak. The terrific impact of Jesse's heavy body striking him, knocked all the wind out of his savage body.

But the Indian's arms suddenly closed over the desperado in a crushing grip. Jesse, tough and muscular as he was, felt that his ribs were being slowly, but relentlessly crushed in.

Neither man spoke a word at first, each playing for an advantage that would enable him to reach his knife.

One of Jesse's bowies that he held in his teeth, when he jumped, was lost at the moment his body struck that of Great Bear.

The desperado now discovered that his antagonist was working slowly toward the precipice. But whether he thought to frighten the outlaw or whatever his motive, Jesse checkmated it.

"S-s-o—that's y-o-u-r g-g-a-m-e is it?" he gritted, "you black hearted savage. All right, if you want to go over, come on."

Great Bear changed his mind instantly.

"Jess Jame um brave man. But Injun kill um," he hissed between breaths.

Over and over the combatants rolled, first one gaining a slight advantage which would be quickly lost to the other. Great Bear on his side possessed one advantage that Jesse did not—he was stripped to the waist while the outlaw was fully clothed. This gave the Indian something to hold to, while Jesse's grip on the perspiring skin of his antagonist was an uncertain thing.

But the bandit king was working his hands upward as frequently and as rapidly as he dared. Once when he had succeeded in forcing Great Bear to his side, with the left hand pinioned under him, Jesse's right shot up and his fingers closed over the savage's right ear. With a grunt of rage Jesse's hand came away covered with blood.

The hand held the ear of his savage antagonist. But the stoical Indian gave no sign that he had been injured. If anything the terrible wound gave him added strength.

A sudden upward expansion of his muscles, chest and abdomen, fairly lifted Jesse into the air.

When the two came down, Jesse was underneath. In a moment more their positions were reversed.

Great Bear's fingers closed over the outlaw's throat, while the desperado's knee forced itself into his adversary's abdomen with terrible force.

The Indian emitted a grunt, which was followed by another as the desperate outlaw bored in and in with the bony knee until it seemed as if the flesh of the other's body must give way and let the knee find an easy path.

The Indian's grasp slackened and Jesse's terrible fist smote him squarely in the face until the blood of the savage spurted into his own eyes.

Again and again the outlaw rained sledge hammer blows on his opponent's face until it was reduced to a bloody pulp. But still the desperate battle waged.

Now and then both men would lay still for a moment, clasped in a desperate embrace, gasping for breath, but speaking no word.

The time for vituperation had passed.

It was now a battle to the death.

They were wonderfully matched. And though Jesse's hands and face were smeared with red blood that showed ghastly in the moonlight, he had sustained no wounds.

In a moment of relaxation he jabbed a thumb with all his force into the savage's eye.

The pain must have been excruciating. But the redskin gave no sign that he sensed its pain.

Great Bear had succeeded in unsheathing his knife, but his hand instantly was pinioned to the ground where the great outlaw held it in a vice-like grip.

All at once Jesse released his hold on the knife hand. The hand with lightning-like quickness shot up to make the fatal thrust.

It got no further.

With a movement equally quick, the desperado caught the hand and with an unexpected movement bent it backward.

"Snap!"

Great Bear cried out, and the hand hung limp.

"Ha, ha! Reached you, did I?" gasped Jesse in triumphant tones.

Great Bear snarled like a wounded animal.

The hand though useless, slipped about the outlaw's neck and the savage's arm pinioned it in a grip of iron, while with his free hand he showered blows on the bandit's side.

Jesse fastened his teeth in the redskin's cheek and when he pulled away there was left a great gaping wound, and the bandit spat out his toll of human flesh.

The Indian's grip on Jesse's neck was released and Great Bear with his free hand dealt his antagonist a frightful blow on the side of his head.

Jesse sunk down and all grew black about him.

With a muffled yell of fiendish joy Great Bear sprang free of his antagonist, throwing Jesse with crushing force to the ground where he lay for a brief moment on his back.

The redskin scrambled for his knife.

It was but the work of an instant for him to secure it.

He made a mighty leap for his desperate, fallen antagonist, his face contorted with the awful passion that was raging within him.

But the brief respite had given Jesse's wonderful recuperative powers, time to act. Yet he lay perfectly still calmly awaiting the onslaught.

The Indian sprang clear of the ground, projecting his body at his fallen antagonist and with gleaming knife held aloft for the fatal blow, was descending upon him with crushing force.

In his rage he did not pause to think or to consider. The lust for human blood overcame all other emotions and blinded the savage's judgment.

The outlaw's eyes were upon him, but this, Great Bear did not know, nor would he have heeded had he seen.

Quicker than the human eye could follow, the desperado's knees doubled up, his legs were drawn back.

The feet shot out with terrific force, catching the savage redskin full in the abdomen.

Great Bear doubled up like a jack knife and catapulted in the air, turning a complete somersault, ending up by landing on his head on the hard rocks some distance away.

The Indian toppled over and lay still.

It was now Jesse's moment to act.

He too sprang into the air.

His heavy boots landed full on the Indian's face, mangling and mutilating it almost beyond human semblance.

But the uncertain footing threw the outlaw from his feet and he fell sprawling over the body of his antagonist.

In an instant he had whirled over.

Again the combatants were locked in a deadly embrace.

It seemed as if human flesh and blood could not stand the terrible gruelling that each desperate man had sustained.

Still the battle waged on as sanguinary as before.

Never had such a desperate fight to the death been known in all that wild, barbarous country, and the story of it has been handed down—told in tepee and at firesides to this day. You can hear it any day should you chance to come across some old trapper or Indian chief when either is in a communicative mood.

But neither man of iron could conquer the other.

Jesse while holding his antagonist down, had pinioned both arms to the ground and with hands in the redskin's hair, was beating his head against the rocks, with an impact that might have been heard for many rods around.

He hoped to wear out his antagonist in this way. Both men's knives had now been lost beyond recovery, and nothing but pure muscular prowess could decide the equal battle.

All at once Jesse sensed that some one was approaching him from the rear, but whether friend or foe, he could not tell, for all behind him was in a deep shadow now.

His guns were still in their holsters, but the sudden strain that the desperado put upon himself to draw them, was futile. The Indian's grasp of iron could not be broken for the infinitesimal space of time that was necessary to give Jesse an opportunity to jerk his "Colts" from their resting place.

With a mighty effort he twisted his antagonist about so that he could partially look behind him.

The discovery that he made was enough to shake the stoutest nerves.

Over him towered the savage, malignant face of a giant Indian.

He held in his hands a club which was descending on Jesse's head with fearful force.

Like a flash the outlaw dodged and the blow fell upon Great Bear's arm, crushing it, and bringing from the warrior a groan of agony.

Jesse sought to free himself from the killing embrace.

He was a second too late.

Again the mighty club was swung on high.

It landed fair on the bandit's head.

The world's greatest desperado toppled over the form of his antagonist, with a subdued moan.

Jesse did not move.

Chapter XIII.

UNDER THE BRANDING IRON.

"Take that rock off my head," Jesse caught himself mumbling as he slowly returned to consciousness.

Two factors had served to save the outlaw's life: One that the Indian behind him had struck him a glancing blow, and the other that Jesse James' skull was too thick to break by any ordinary means.

But the blow had been a terrific one and the outlaw's head throbbed like a locomotive under full headway.

He emitted a subdued groan and tried to move. To his surprise he found he could not.

He was now conscious of shooting pains through his whole body. His arms were stretched above his head, and when he sought to draw them down by his side, he found he could not move them.

Jesse cautiously tried to move his feet, but like the arms, these also refused to respond to his will.

"That's queer," he thought. "I wonder if I'm dead."

He tried to recall the incidents that had preceded his present condition, but his mind was sluggish and just as he would almost come upon a solution of his strange condition, memory would elude him again.

He tried to open his eyes, but the eyelids seemed held down by some irresistible weight.

For a time the desperado sought to gratify the sensation of drowsiness that seemed to steal over him. Then he would suddenly awake with a start, the pain in his body more intense than before.

At last with a mighty effort of will he dragged his heavy eyelids open. At first he could see nothing for the darkness, then little by little he made out his surroundings.

He was in an Indian tepee.

"How did I get here?" he wondered.

He tried and tried to think.

Suddenly memory returned like a blow.

He remembered it all. The desperate battle on the ground—the club that finally had laid him low. But beyond that all was dark.

For a moment he could not make up his mind whether it was night or day, but glancing up he noted that the flap that covered the entrance to the wigwam showed a tiny ray of light through a fine slit that its owner had made for secret observations when within. Jesse wished he might be able to pull himself together sufficiently to get up and peek out.

But the effort to raise only gave him pain.

He sensed that his holsters were still at his sides and by their weight against his leg he judged that his guns must be in their places.

The thought gave him comfort. The outlaw's guns had become as much a part of himself as were his hands or his feet.

As his mind by slow process began to clear, he set about finding out why it was that he could not move—whether he had been seriously wounded or what mysterious force was holding him down.

The discovery came as a distinct shock and roused all the rage that his savage nature was capable of.

He was bound hand and foot.

Jesse's inclination was to give voice to his passions—to hurl invective at his unseen captors, to taunt them, to goad them, but not to plead. Jesse James had pleaded with no man in his eventful life. It was not in his nature to do so, nor would he begin now.

Yet he did not quite understand what manner of torture they had inflicted upon him to put him in such pain. But it was a matter of only a moment or so before he was made acquainted with his exact situation.

The great desperado had been subjected to the humiliation of being bound hand and foot. And more than that, his manacled hands had been triced up to a stake protruding from the ground some eighteen inches, and the feet had been treated similarly. His position was such that the weight of his body was a constant strain upon the thongs that bound him, a strain that extended through his entire body.

Jesse swore a terrible oath.

"I hope I killed the cursed savage," he gritted.

But his fond hopes were dashed almost at the moment of the utterance of them.

The flap was slowly pulled aside and an evil, ghastly face peered in—a face so torn and mutilated that Jesse observed nothing familiar in it.

He stared at it without speaking.

All at once he noticed that an ear was missing from the place where it should have been.

Then Jesse understood.

The face was that of his late antagonist, Great Bear.

The desperado laughed mockingly.

Great Bear jerked aside the flap so viciously that he tore it from its fastenings, allowing it to drop slowly from his lingering grasp as he surveyed his captive with malignant eyes.

"Welcome to our home, old scarred-face," jeered Jesse.

Great Bear made no reply, standing with head erect, searching keenly for some sign of fear or weakening in the face of his captive.

After a time, the redskin squatted on the turf and with chin in hands sat holding the outlaw with a steady gaze. For an hour he sat thus, Jesse glaring back at him with menacing, challenging eyes.

"Ugh! Paleface brave man," he grunted.

"Ugh! Big Chief a dirty cutthroat," retorted Jesse.

"Huh!" said Great Bear.

"I can lick you with one arm tied behind my back, old pizen snake," leered the desperado. "Let me up and I'll show you."

Great Bear rose, and stepping to the door gave a terse, guttural command to some one without. Returning to the wigwam, he squatted down at the great bandit's feet again and resumed his intent gaze into the other's face.

"Well," questioned Jesse, "Am I so purty that you can't keep your eyes off'n me? Think you'll know me when you see me again? I'd know you among a million with that face. I certainly did lam it to you, didn't I? I ought to have killed you when I had the chance up the tree there, but I hated to take an unfair advantage, even of such an old murderer as you are."

While the outlaw was now suffering terrible tortures from his strained position, he gave no sign to the waiting Indian chief.

A silent-footed savage appeared in the doorway, placing before the chief an earthen jar from which a thin curl of smoke ascended.

But even then Jesse did not catch the full significance of the chief's intentions.

From the receptacle the Indian removed a short iron rod. It's end was at white heat.

Great Bear moistened a finger at his lips and touched it. The rod hissed angrily.

Jesse understood now.

It was a branding iron. But still he did not quail, though his passions rose in a perfect storm.

"Paleface like um?" grinned Great Bear once more causing the hot iron to hiss.

"Never ate any," retorted the desperado with a grin that was even more expansive than that of the chief. "Going to brand some stock that you have stolen, eh?"

"Huh! Indian no brand cows. Um brand men. Um burn you."

"Oh, so that's the game is it? You're going to brand me like you would a critter on the range? Well, what do you think my men will do to you if I don't get away from here before you do it? Think they will do anything to you, you black-hearted cur?"

"Paleface no hurt Indian. Paleface all dead."

"That's a lie. One of them is here now watching you. He'll carry the word to the men and if there is not enough of them left he'll go to the fort for help. Guess the soldiers wouldn't do much to you."

Great Bear cast a glance that was almost apprehensive, out through the opening. With an expression that was half snarl, half grunt he drew the branding iron from the pot and squatted down beside the great outlaw, leering down into his face, gloating over the joy that was to be his.

Roughly he tore apart his prisoner's shirt and drove the blunt, white hot iron against his chest.

The iron hissed again. But this time a little thin line of blue smoke curled upward.

Great Bear inhaled a deep breath of heavenly satisfaction as the odour of burning flesh permeated his nostrils.

Jesse steeling himself, glared back at his tormentor. He gave no sign that he sensed the excruciating torture. But the lines of his mouth drew tense and hard.

The redskin replaced the iron in its heating pot and sat gloating over his victim as it burned again to a white heat.

Next he bared the left side of the outlaw and carefully selected his spot with the eyes of an expert, he applied the torture rod, holding it in place with steady, resistless pressure.

The agony that the victim suffered was almost more than human being could endure.

But still the man of iron there at the stake made no outcry, gave no sign, still smiling up at his tormentor. But the eyes were not in sympathy with the smile on the lips. They were cold and steely—they were the eyes of the gun-expert at the moment when he is about to take the life of a human being.

"Great Bear," began Jesse in an even, emotionless voice. "I shall be going away from here pretty soon. You will be dead then. I shall kill you. But before I go I am going to cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs. Then I shall cut off your other ear and give it to the first drove of hogs that I meet. You'll be up in the Happy Hunting grounds then and you can't help yourself."

Once more the fiendish redskin tuned his branding iron to a sizzling white heat.

Great Bear felt the outlaw's cheek apparently with the intention of applying the iron there next. But for some reason, he evidently changed his mind. Carefully slitting the shoulders of Jesse's shirt, he burned a deep, livid impression on each, holding the iron for what, to the tortured bandit, seemed ages.

The great desperado was faint and dizzy, and tepee and savage danced before his eyes in a most outlandish fashion. Jesse wondered vaguely if all had gone suddenly crazy. But he had borne the ordeal without so much as a groan.

Great Bear scrutinized the outlaw's face keenly, and what he saw filled his soul with savage glee.

The Indian grunted a long-drawn grunt of satisfaction and laid aside his instrument of torture.

"Injun come again," he informed as Jesse opened his eyes once more. "Come tomorrow sun up. Take eyes out. Jesse Jame no fool Injun this time. No fool sojer. Byemby Jesse Jame Indian kill um. Injun get heap money for kill um Jesse Jame. Sojers no get um paleface. No get um money. Huh!"

"Jesse James will beat you yet," gasped the desperado weakly, mastering his faintness by a supreme effort. "He'll kill you!"

"Ugh!" breathed the savage, picking up his fire pot and departing from the wigwam without another word, nor once looking back at his miserable victim.

His fiendish torture had only just begun, and the anticipation in the mind of the savage was the keenest of all his inhuman emotions. He could afford to wait and he would yet see his victim writhe in agony and scream out as the awful pain was inflicted upon him.

Jesse emitted a long-drawn pent up sigh of relief, and a slight moan of agony escaped him as he closed his eyes wearily.

Great Bear had been gone but a moment when an Indian whom Jesse had never seen before, stalked in and made a careful examination of the tortured captive and his wounds.

From the savage's actions Jesse judged that he must be a medicine man. The outlaw grinned sardonically.

"Want to find out how much more I can stand, eh?" he jeered. "I'll take all you blood-thirsty devils can give me, don't you forget that."

His suspicions were confirmed when shortly after the medicine man had departed, three other Indians accompanied by Great Bear entered the wigwam, the chief giving them some terse directions in his own tongue that Jesse could not understand.

He did, however, understand the purport of it when the thongs that bound him to the stake, were severed by the strike of a keen-edged knife.

The desperado was roughly turned over on his face, and while two stalwart savages sat on him to hold him down, his arms were brought down to their normal position, then securely tied behind his back.

It was not much to be thankful for, but the change brought to Jesse the most heavenly sensation he ever had known.

His inclination was to draw a deep, long breath, but he resisted and shut his lips tight.

He would not give them that satisfaction.

The thongs that held his feet were now made doubly secure, so that in reality he was more helpless than before. But he was not inclined to complain, though the desperado never had been in such sore straits before.

His tormentors left him.

Jesse had been left lying on his face, the Indians not taking the trouble to turn him over. But after satisfying himself that he was alone, the outlaw cautiously rolled over on his back and rested for a few minutes. But his new position enabled him to see out through the opening, only the upper part of the flap having been put back in place by the savages when they left him.

He discovered that two stolid Indians had been left on guard. They were squatting on the ground in front of the wigwam. And now the desperado's mind began to work like a piece of well-oiled machinery, planning an escape. But just how he expected to accomplish this, was not clear to himself. Yet to his resourceful mind, no situation was impossible. Therefore the outlaw took cheer and set about the task in hand, regardless of the stinging pain from his burns, that he was now beginning to sense more keenly.

The desperado pricked up his ears at the sound of voices outside. He recognized the tones of Dew Drop, the Indian maiden. She was speaking loudly in her broken English, and Jesse understood instantly that she intended he should hear what she was saying.

Somewhere within her words there lay a message for him.

Dew Drop had launched into a perfect tirade of invective against the helpless desperado there in the wigwam, and with straining ears he listened for the words that would give him a clue to her motives. He observed too, that the shadows of night were falling. Between these two incidents the desperado believed there was a connection that augured well for his plans.

Once during her conversation with the Indians, he caught the words, "fire-water." Then Dew Drop's voice was heard no more, and he understood that she had gone away.

His heart sank. Perhaps he was wrong in his surmise, after all.

But Jesse's spirits revived a moment later when he heard her returning. He was at a loss at first to account for her movements. That something of interest to himself was occurring, Jesse was firmly convinced. But wriggle about as he would, he could not get a glimpse of the group outside.

However, the desperado's curiosity was soon rewarded.

"Firewater. That's it," he exclaimed. "By the great humping snakes. Sure as I am alive, the little savage is filling them up. I wonder what she's got up her sleeve now? If I only was able to get hold of my guns. I'd help her clean 'em out."

The sky was heavily overcast and black night had settled down over the scene, when finally labored breathing and guttural snores from without told the desperado that little Dew Drop's medicine had done its work well. Heap big Injun had gone to the happy hunting ground of dreamland.

But the bandit's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice beside him.

"Jesse Jame," breathed the soft, purring voice of the Indian maid.

"Right you are, my little Dew Drop—"

"S-h-h-h!" cautioned the girl laying a soft, warm palm over his lips.

The sensation was peculiarly pleasant to the great bandit.

"Me cut um lariats. Um Jesse Jame go back by paleface brothers—"

"Where are they?" interrupted Jesse. "Do you know where they are now?"

"Dew Drop know. Dew Drop um know too bad chief kill um Jesse Jame morning."

"Hurry, little one," he begged, "let me get my guns. I must get out of here now."

He heard the girl utter a little startled exclamation as if she had been suddenly surprised by some one from without, then she sped away as silently as she had come, much to Jesse's surprise.

"Well, that gets me."

He could not understand her peculiar actions.

At least the desperado did not propose to remain quiescent when the way to freedom had been laid open to him. Dew Drop too, must have ere this, told the members of his band of his predicament, but by the time they were able to reach him, it might and probably would be too late.

Seconds were precious.

"I'd be a fool to stay here any longer," muttered Jesse. "The kid fluttered away like a frightened bird. Guess I'll go to."

Going, for the great desperado, however, was a far different matter. He could not walk nor could he crawl, and there seemed only one way left open to him, and this he adopted. He rolled.

It was not a dignified exit that he made from the wigwam, but it was better than being bound and guarded there with the prospect of further tortures in the morning.

He found his first difficulty was in getting out of the wigwam without pulling it down about him. This might attract attention and defeat his plan of escape. But Jesse finally accomplished it by going out head first, wriggling along like a clumsy snake on a frosty morning. His burns tortured him excruciatingly, but the great desperado shut his teeth together savagely and began to roll.

His two Indian guards lay directly in his path. Jesse with some misgivings and a greater effort, rolled over them as the quickest way to get on.

The Indians grunted but did not wake up, which he was positive would be the case in their condition. But the feel of their bodies against his had stirred the blood lust within him and suggested a new idea to the great desperado.

"If my hands only were free," he growled. "Ah, I have it. I'll try it," he gritted, with blazing eyes.

Quickly the outlaw rolled back to them. Now he was bent on a terrible revenge. And he forgot for the moment his own deadly peril in his ferocious desire to be revenged on Great Bear.

With as much speed as his manacled condition would permit, the great outlaw worked his head along the body of the Indian nearest to him. Not finding what he sought at first, he braced his feet with great difficulty and putting forth an almost superhuman effort, pushed and pushed against the redskin with his head, until the savage had been rolled over. The deed, however, had required a supreme effort.

The Indian squirmed and muttered surlily, but to the desperado's intense relief, did not awake.

Jesse searched at the side he had just turned up, and with a savage exclamation of delight, bit hard at the Indian's waist.

The desperado's face came away with the redskin's bowie between his teeth.

The outlaw could have shouted, so great was his joy. After laborious effort he succeeded in setting the keen-edged blade more firmly between his teeth, so that only the hilt was held by them.

Cautiously he squirmed and wriggled until his head and shoulders were over the body of the redskin whom he had again rolled over on his back.

The great desperado, still holding the knife in a vice-like grip between his teeth, twisted his head at right angles to his body and set the needle-like point of the blade, on the Indian's abdomen.

The cruel blood-thirstiness of what he was about to do made no impression on him, for Jesse was bent on a terrible vengeance. And it was a moment of supreme ecstasy for the bandit-chieftain, bound and manacled and helpless as he was.

Suddenly throwing the weight of his body on his toes and neck, the deadly bowie, by the sheer force of the outlaw's own weight, was driven into the Indian's bowels while the blood in a sudden red sheet, spurted into his mouth and eyes.

The redskin sprang almost clear of the ground, then settled back with a heavy groan, his stupor too heavy to resist the work of the vengeful blade.

With a fiendish light in his eyes the desperado gloated over the death throes of the unconscious savage, whose writhings, whose agonized twistings and muscular contractions, sent the outlaw into an ecstasy of delirious joy.

After a little, the Indian stiffened out and lay still.

"One!" snarled the desperado.

Once more the avenging outlaw crawled laboriously to his victim. And that despite the fact that every moment's delay placed his own life more and more in jeopardy.

Now came the most difficult part of his task. The bowie, driven in to its keen-edged limit, was tightly wedged in the body of the dead savage.

With feverish haste, the world's greatest desperado again buried his face in the awful pool of blood.

His teeth closed over the slippery hilt of the blade.

But it stubbornly resisted all his efforts.

The knife was too firmly embedded in its human sheath, to come away at his command.

The cords of the outlaw's neck swelled to enormous proportions from the fearful strain he was subjecting them to.

He sought to accomplish his ends, in another way. Biting the hilt as if he would sever it in twain, Jesse pushed against it with all the weight of his body. The keen edge, under his irresistable pressure, cut its way into the Indian's flesh at right angles to his body, thus widening the wound and making its sheath less binding.

Back and forth did the blood-thirsty outlaw work the blade.

He pushed and he pulled like a dog wrestling with a bone. He shook it like a rat. Then he gave it a long, vicious tug.

The bloody blade came away with a sickening sound.

And the desperado fell backward with a terrible curse. Yet, withal, his grip on the bloody hilt did not relax.

Now came the most arduous task of all, that of crawling over the body of his victim and rolling to the remaining savage, without losing the knife from his teeth. The feat was not so easy as it would seem, and he could accomplish it only by keeping his head from touching the ground over every inch of the way.

He struggled desperately.

Minutes elapsed.

But the second redskin died more speedily than had the first, Jesse having given him a terrible thrust with the deadly blade. And with eager, fascinated eyes he watched the death agonies of his victim. In a moment all movement ceased. The man was dead.

Jesse's work of vengeance, for the time, was ended. And now to roll for safety, if that were possible. Should he be caught, he knew that this time his punishment would be swift and sure. Great Bear would take no chances with him after this.

But just as the outlaw was about to start on his unequal journey, he suddenly espied the figure of an Indian standing a few paces away, in the gloom, gazing intently in his direction.

The desperado fairly held his breath. He wished now that he had brought away the bowie from his second victim. But it was too late to rectify his mistake.

Still, defenceless as he was, the great bandit devoutly hoped the savage redskin would throw himself upon him. Jesse believed that, with a well directed kick he could silence the fellow and put an end to him afterwards, for his thirst for blood had not yet been satisfied.

Though it would be a desperate chance he was willing and anxious to take it. But he was not given a chance to put his foolhardy plan into operation. The redskin emitted a sudden grunt, and dropping into a long lope, sped noiselessly toward the main part of the village, that lay some twenty rods to the west.

Jesse was off like a flash.

His one supreme object now was to put as much distance as possible between himself and his savage enemies.

But the laborious rolling process was too slow for him.

He had rolled himself clear of the bodies of his victims, when all at once, acting upon sudden impulse, he adopted a new and unique method of facilitating his progress. With a tremendous effort he raised himself on his manacled feet.

Despite the fact that his hands were tied behind him, the desperate man threw himself head first to the ground. None but the toughest skull could have survived the impact when his head struck the hard ground.

Jesse's object was now obvious.

The instant he sensed the feel of the ground under his head, by a sudden twist of the body, using his head as a pivot, the desperado threw himself to his feet again, thus finishing as pretty a head spring as ever a trained performer in a circus had done.

With movements so lightning-like that the eye, in the uncertain light, would scarcely have been able to follow them, the great bandit hurled himself into a mad whirl of somersaults that carried him away from the scene of his recent exploits almost as fast as his legs could have done had they been free.

He heard a loud commotion in the Indian village behind him. But whether the savages had learned of the death of the two men or that they simply had been told by the Indian who came upon him so suddenly, that the sentinels were asleep, he neither knew nor cared.

Jesse reasoned shrewdly that in any event the Indians would be delayed a few moments in their surprise at finding their companions murdered, and then the search for him in the wigwam and its immediate vicinity following, all of which would give him a fair start.

Still he knew his trail was as plainly marked as if it had been made by a log-rolling gang, a trail which they would have no difficulty in following at top speed. Therefore haste was all imperative if he hoped to keep his scalp fitted in its proper place. And the world's greatest bandit was not ready to part with that portion of his anatomy just yet.

On dashed the desperado, his movements resembling the evolutions of a cart wheel down a mountain road. And so rapid was his flight that he was unable to take note of either direction or location.

The savages were now hot on his trail.

He could hear their shouts as they discovered it. Like the bay of the hounds when close upon their prey they came rushing down upon him.

Jesse redoubled his efforts. Bending every nerve to the tremendous task before him, the terrible outlaw sprang far up into the air to increase the reach of his next leap.

He stiffened his nerves to meet the impact when his feet should next touch the ground.

But to his intense surprise, the feet did not touch at all. They were kicking wildly in empty space.

All at once the great desperado realized that he was falling through space.

Like a rock, hurled with terrific force, he had thrown himself over a sheer precipice whose rocky bottom lay two hundred feet below him.

Chapter XIV.

JESSE TAKES A TERRIBLE REVENGE.

"Danged queer about Jess," declared Comanche Tony.

"Something sure has happened to him and I for one am going to look for him," returned Frank.

The bandits were gathered on a broad, shelving rock looking down into the canyon, where they had remained when Dew Drop left them after conveying them to safety after the explosion in the cave.

Acting upon her advice they had remained there until she should have gone to the village to learn if Jesse had been taken prisoner or killed, perhaps, by the savages. She had promised them a speedy return, but hours had elapsed since her departure and the men were getting restive. Little had been said by them, they being too full of the thoughts of the lively incidents that had happened since they first set foot in the mountains of Southern Colorado.

"Better not try it till the moon comes up," advised Wild Bill who knew the treacherous nature of the country where they were. "I calkerlate you'd break yer danged neck tryin' to git out of here in the dark without a guide. When it gits lighter we'd better all vamoose. We'll find Jesse if we can, and if not we'll mosey over to tother side of the gulch and make camp in a place I know of. From there we kin scout for him. The gal said we was to stay here—"

"Sure, she did," added Texas. "I reckon she knew what she was doing. We'd better bide here a bit I reckon."

Under their urging, Frank gave a reluctant consent, for he knew that Jesse would expect him—would expect every one of them to come to him at once, had they reason to believe he was in trouble.

So they waited. One hour, two hours, and three passed, and the men had finally decided to make an investigation, provided they could discover the trail that led up the mountain side. They had only a general idea of where the Indian village lay, but reasoned that they could easily locate it by the camp fires that surely would be burning. They decided that it would be safest to start in single file, the leader holding to the hand of the next to him, and so on, making a human chain, the last man to at all times make sure that he had firm hold of a tree or rock.

"Hark," warned Frank after they had decided upon the direction in which they would make their first attempt.

"What is it?" asked Tony.

"I didn't hear anything," returned Texas.

"Keep still," commanded the elder of the James boys, listening intently. "I am sure I heard a yell."

"Mebby 'twas a cat," suggested Bill. "There's a lot of them in these hills, and they're a danged tough proposition to run into when a fellow's afoot."

"There it is again," cried Frank in a suppressed voice.

They all heard the cry this time and it seemed to be drawing near them.

"Indians agin," breathed Tony.

"By the great jumpin' cats," exclaimed Texas. "What do you suppose they're up to?"

"They are chasing somebody," declared Wild Bill confidently, knowing the ways of the savages thereabouts as he did. "The question is, who or what is it."

"Dew Drop, mebby," suggested Harry.

"Yes, mebby the skunks have got wise to her," added Texas. "But if the cutthroats do her dirt they'll have to reckon with me. She's been the squarest little pard that a bunch ever come up with. She's got some white blood in her, I'll bet my spurs on that."

The outlaws listened in awed silence as the yells grew louder, increasing steadily in volume.

"More of 'em joined in the chase," nodded Bill. "Guess the whole village is out on the warpath."

"And they're coming this way," asserted Frank.

"Mebby we'd a better git back in the cave," urged Texas. "We can watch out from there."

"No, we'll stay right here," returned Frank, savagely. "We may have to take a hand in this. Perhaps they are after Jess."

"After Jess?" replied Comanche Tony laughing sardonically. "You haven't heard any shooting going on, have you? You don't suppose Jesse James would let a lot of dirty Indians chase him out of their village without potting a few of them in the meantime, do you?" he demanded.

His reasoning appealed to them.

"I guess you are right," agreed Frank. "But squeeze up closer to the rocks. They may take it into their heads to roll a few more boulders down on us. Bowling with hard-heads seems to be a favorite occupation with these copper-colored curs."

"Yes, it's a heap o' fun for the chap on top, but it's hell for the feller down below," agreed Homely Harry humorously. "Excuse me from the job of settin' up the pins in this alley."

"Silence," commanded their leader. "We may have to do some shooting pretty soon."

Not a word was spoken and for several minutes they waited with bated breaths.

Every man sensed danger and every man felt instinctively that they were on the verge of a sudden and unexpected explosion.

And, indeed, it did come, but in a manner totally unexpected by them.

There occurred a sudden rattle of fine stone from above that pelted down on the rocks like a volley from a gatling gun.

"Crash!"

A heavy body landed in a broad-topped tree that grew out of a deep fissure in the rocks some twenty paces to the south of them. Then sudden silence in the tree.

Up above them they could hear the Indians chattering volubly, but so far away were they that the outlaws could make nothing of what they were saying, nor could any of the men have understood them if they had heard them.

"What the—" began Texas.

Frank pushed his elbow viciously into the outlaw's ribs, to silence him.

"What do you make of that?" whispered Tony.

"Somebody's gone over the cliff. Or something has—I don't know."

"In that tree?"

"Yes. Wait till they go away up there."

For several minutes the savages continued their talking, then their receding voices told the anxious outlaws on the ledge far below, that they were retracing their steps.

"We must find out what's in that tree," spoke up Frank with emphasis, after assuring himself that all the savages had left.

"Hadn't we better wait till daylight," suggested Comanche. "We'll break our necks or worse in this blackness."

"No. That's what the redskins are going to do. At the first touch of dawn the whole pack and parcel of them will be up on the edge of the cliff there peering down. We've got to act now and quickly for it's near morning."

"Yes, the dawn breaks all of a sudden up here," added Wild Bill.

But how to reach the tree was another matter. A wall of smooth perpendicular rock lay between them and the tree whose outlines they could only faintly make out in the darkness.

"A fly couldn't walk that," averred Harry with his usual facetiousness.

"No, we must find another way," agreed Frank.

"Anybody got any suggestions to make?"

"Not bein' a bird I don't know how I'd git over there," replied Harry.

"We might cast a lariat and the lightest of us go over," suggested Texas.

"No, it is too far, and besides no lariat would hold us that way. You've got to think of something better. Perhaps we can—"

"I say, I've got an idee," interrupted Wild Bill. "I remember that when we first came out, it being lighter, I seen a shelf of rock right above that tree. It was twenty feet wide I opine. Now if we can manage to git up on the rock we can turn the trick."

"Now you are talking," commented their leader. "Bill supposing you make the try for it. Be careful, and don't send any rocks rolling down or you'll have the Indians back on us. Give the owl call if you make it and then we'll try to follow you. Or better still, come back here and show us the way. It will be safer."

Anxious to be off, Bill threw off his coat, tightened his belt and disappeared in the shadows silently. With cat-like movements he scaled the jagged side of the mountain without a sound or so much as disturbing a particle of shale from the rocks over which he was creeping.

To the waiting bandits down below him it seemed an age, as they stood with strained ears to catch the signal agreed upon.

Suddenly Wild Bill appeared before them. So quietly had he approached that not a man of them had heard or seen him. They clutched their guns instinctively.

"It goes," was Bill's succinct summing up of the result of his trip. "You've got to crawl. A snake couldn't get over that trail without falling off," he concluded.

"Could you make out anything in the tree?" demanded Frank impatiently.

"Nary a thing. Blacker'n an Alabamy coon down there. And about as slippery along the trail," he added.

"How we going to work it, Cap'n?" asked Comanche as the outlaws, with Wild Bill in the lead, began their perilous climb over the side of the mountain, a single misstep in which would precipitate them to the rocks more than a hundred feet below.

"We will see when we get there. Be careful there Harry. Do you want to pull the whole bunch of us down? Your feet are as clumsy as an elephant's."

At last the hardy outlaws stood upon the shelving rock peering down curiously into the dark abyss below them. It was not an inviting outlook, but Frank was determined to learn who or what it was down there in the tree top. After looking over the ground with a critical eye, he told the men to braid their lariats into one single rope. This done he tested its length by letting it down over the edge of the cliff. It reached the tree as nearly as he could make out, then he made an end fast around a projecting arm of rock on the ledge where they were standing.

"Well," he demanded, "who is going down? I am not going to ask any of you to take the risk. I would do it myself only I am afraid I shouldn't be much good with my game leg."

"Let me take a chance at this game, Captain," urged Comanche Tony.

"No, you're too heavy," objected Frank.

"I'll try it," said Texas.

"Very well, you will do."

They bound the rope tightly about his waist. All hands took strong hold of it and Texas sitting down on the edge of the cliff, boldly slipped off into space.

The end of the rope had nearly been reached when a short sharp whistle from below and a slacking off of the weight told them that he had gained the goal and found for himself a foothold.

"Hey, up there," he called softly after several minutes of aggravating silence.

"Yes," answered Frank quickly, lying down on his stomach and peering over the edge. "What is it?"

"I've made the lariat fast around his waist. Pull him up then send the rope down for me. He can't help himself—"

"Who can't—who is it—do you know him?"

"It's Jess," came the answer faintly from the dark pit below.

"Pull boys, it is Jesse," exclaimed Frank springing up more excited than they ever had seen him before.

"Is—is he dead?" asked Comanche apprehensively.

"I don't know. Don't stop to ask questions now, but pull."

Their new burden was a dead weight and it was all the outlaws could do to get him up to the edge, where the body awkwardly caught under the shelf of the ledge.

"Make it fast around the rock!" commanded Frank, sharply. "Bill, you get your arm around the rock and all join hands. All lie down."

Quickly was the human chain forged, and with Harry holding him by the feet, Frank leaned far out over the dizzy height and exerting every ounce of strength that he possessed pulled the body of the great bandit over onto the rock.

"He's bound!" hissed Frank.

It was but the work of a moment to sever the thongs that held him. The elder brother already had slipped his hand over Jesse's heart and learned that he still lived.

"Bill where's that flask?" he demanded.

Wild Bill passed it over and a large draught was quickly forced down the throat of the great bandit.

The result was gratifying. He began to choke and at a signal from Frank they picked him up and carried him just within the mouth of the cave.

"Hey," hailed a voice from below. "Going to leave me down here all night? This tree's liable to give way and send me to kingdom come."

"Pull him up," directed Frank, redoubling his efforts to bring his brother back to consciousness.

In this he was aided by the wonderful recuperative power of his outlaw brother. And in a few moments Jesse sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking in the light of the fire they had started in the cave.

"Hello, boys," he greeted. "What's happened?"

"That is what we want to know," responded Frank without the suspicion of a smile, though the others were grinning broadly. "You fell off the mountain, that's all we know about it. We heard the redskins hitting the trail of some one, and the next thing you did a high dive and landed in the tree."

At the mention of the word "redskin" Jesse's face suddenly was filled with an expression of terrible, malignant rage. He swore a fearful oath, and rising, rather unsteadily paced back and forth in the narrow cave while he related all that had befallen him. Black were the faces of the hardy band and many were the curses that the men uttered under their breaths as they listened in strained silence.

"And I'm going back there and wipe the curs off the face of the mountain," concluded Jesse.

Frank objected emphatically, to any such proceeding. He argued that they all were worn out with the hardships they had been subjected to, and to such good purpose that Jesse began to lean toward the point of view of his men.

"Well," he began when a sudden thud outside the entrance caused him to wheel sharply, whipping out both his "Colts" as he turned. "What in—"

The desperado chieftain sprang out and was down on his knees in a flash. And the others followed just in time to hear him swear a blood-thirsty oath of revenge.

Without another word he picked up the object that had fallen in front of their hiding place and carried it into the cave. There he laid it down, kneeling beside it with his head bent low.

"Who—," began Texas drawing near.

"Why it's—" interrupted Harry.

"By the great pizen snakes, it is."

"It's a girl," marveled Frank, bending over the inanimate body.

"Dew Drop," answered Jesse, in a strange voice of constraint.

He opened the child's mouth gently and peered within.

"The little Indian maiden's tongue has been cut out. She was then thrown over the precipice after me," announced Jesse in a voice that brought a chill to every human being within hearing of it.

All the great outlaw's bodily ills were forgotten now, and in the stress of the moment his strength had come back. He was the man of iron once more and vengeance was written in the stern lines of his face.

"What are you going to do?" demanded Frank.

Jesse pointed to the body of the child.

"There is your answer," he retorted.

"But," began his elder brother.

"Am I the master here or are you?" he demanded, an ugly glitter flashing into his eyes.

"I'll take it back; you are right, Jess," apologized Frank.

"Any of you got any dynamite? I left some in the cave, where is it?"

"I reckon we can't git that now," grinned Tony sheepishly, "But I 'low we can scare up a few sticks."

From various receptacles in their clothing, the desperadoes drew little white sticks of the harmless-looking, but deadly explosive, all of which they handed over to their chief. Next came a coil of fine copper wire and a small compact battery.

Jesse took the collection and examined it closely.

"Good," he exclaimed.

"Are we with you in this?" asked Wild Bill. "I allow the boys would like to pay off a little of your score," pointing to the livid marks on his shoulders, discernible through the bandit chieftain's torn shirt.

"I reckon we would," added Comanche Tony.

Jesse looked at them steadily for a moment, the lines of his face softening almost imperceptibly.

"No boys. This is my kettle of fish. And I'm going to fry them alone. If I should fail to get back in an hour and you don't hear anything doing, send Bill up to the Indian village to size things up. You will know what to do after he gets back."

"Be careful, Jess."

"Put the little one in a hole in the rocks some where hereabouts and block it up with stone so she can rest easy. We don't want any buzzards nosing around her tender little body," was the great desperado's parting injunction as he passed out from the circle of light and strode away on his mission of death.

Very tenderly they bore the body of Dew Drop, deeper into the cave. Finding a suitable place they laid her away, blocking the opening as directed by their chief. Then these hardy men—these men to whom murder was merely an incident in following their vocation of rapine and plunder, with one accord clutched their hats from their heads and stood bowed before the shrine of the child who had given her life to save them.

"I reckon she war no less'n twenty-four carat fine," opined Tony, turning away slowly.

"She war that," chorused the others solemnly, nervously crushing their sombreros in their awkward hands, and following slowly after him.

Just within the entrance they paused and with one accord squatted down on the hard rocks where they lighted their pipes.

Few words, were spoken, for the thought that was in the minds of all was not one to be lightly discussed, nor could they form the sentences to frame the thought itself.

"I reckon it's about time we heard something from Jess," suggested Tony after a long silence.

Frank consulted his watch anxiously.

The men relapsed into silence again. But somehow the deadly stillness seemed to get on their nerves and one by one they rose and began pacing back and forth on the narrow platform of rock that hung over the great canyon.

Suddenly the earth began to tremble beneath their feet.

They grasped the projecting rocks fearful that they would be thrown over the precipice.

A great sheet of flame lighted up the sky. And a report that seemed as if earth and sky had suddenly been rent asunder crashed on their expectant ears, and went thundering off from mountain peak to mountain peak.

"Get inside!" commanded Frank sharply.

They obeyed the summons in the nick of time, for in a few seconds more a rain of rocks and debris began to shower down on the ledge in front of them.

Comanche stepped out again, once the shower had ceased and curiously picked up an object that had caught his eye.

He brought it within the circle of light, holding it at arm's length and gazed at it with fascinated eyes.

What he held was a battered human head. The cruel, blood-thirsty, malignant eyes of a savage redskin were gazing out at him from the tangle of hair and lacerated flesh that he held in his hand.

"Bah!" exclaimed Tony in a tone of disgust as he threw the horrible object far from him over the precipice.

Tony wiped his hand gingerly on his trousers, holding the hand up to the light to see that no traces of his recent burden remained.

"Ugh! It makes me feel hollow under the belt," averred Harry, turning away and knocking the ashes from his pipe.

Chapter XV.

THE BATTLE OF THE BLADES.

"Well, boys," greeted Jesse suddenly appearing among them.

"That was a clean up for sartin," answered Texas, grinning. "One of 'em come down here and Tony here picked him up. He was going to kiss the fellow, but we wouldn't let him. Ha, ha."

Tony went outside for a breath of fresh air.

"Tell us about it, Jess," urged Frank.

"There isn't much to tell," informed Jesse.

"The fools didn't even have pickets out. I managed to shove a stick of the stuff under the chief's wigwam—"

"Who, Great Bear?" interrupted Wild Bill.

"Yes. The rest of the stuff I distributed around where it would do the most good and crawling under a rock back of the village I let 'er rip."

"I should say you did," interjected Frank. "How many of them do you think you blew up?"

"I'll gamble my pistols that there isn't enough of that community left, if patched together, to make six whole men—maybe even less than that. It rained Indians and pieces of Indians for ten minutes steady. And you know a lot of redskins could rain down in ten minutes. What's left of them will never trouble Jesse James again. Eh, boys?"

The gang nodded their approval of the sentiment.

"What are your plans now?" asked Frank.

"That's what I was coming to," answered Jesse. "First of all I want to corral a side of beef or a leg of mutton. It has been so long since I had anything to eat that my pipes have nearly growed shut. How is your appetite, Harry?"

"Me?" replied the homely one. "I could eat a sheep, from hoof to wool. I've drawed my belt so tight already that the end of it trips me up every time I try to walk. I'—I'm ready to be one of them fellers—what do they call them fellers that eat men?"

"Cannibals?" suggested Jesse.

"That's the breed. That's what I'd be if I had half a chance."

Jesse laughed good-naturedly.

"I move we get out of this place as soon as possible. We shall probably not be able to get a meal before morning, but as soon as we decide on what direction we shall take, we can be on our way and out of the canyon before morning. The first thing for us to do, it seems to me, is to get some horses. Ours have gone. Either the soldiers or the Indians got them. Most of the Indian ponies went up in my little explosion, and those that did not, ran away.

"I know where there was some ponies yesterday," spoke up Comanche. "I saw a whole bunch of them grazing on the mountain on the other side of the canyon over there."

"We'll see about that later," replied Jesse. "The question is, what direction shall we take? It won't do to go north, for we are liable to run into more of the troops. The fort is off in that direction, and they would be glad to see us.

"How about it, Bill? You know this country. Is there any place near here where we can lay up for a while and not get sold out—a good safe hang-out where the grub is plenty and not too many babblers around?"

Wild Bill considered the question carefully for a moment.

"I opine I could find such a shack," he answered with a grin. "I know a fellow who would take us in and be danged glad of the chance—"

"Is he all right?" demanded the desperado.

"Well, they'll all bear watchin', I reckon. He makes his living out of a stage coach now and then. When business is poor he catches a prospector or something of the sort. Guess he'll do though."

After long and laborious effort the outlaws succeeded in picking their way down the steep mountain side. Instead, however, of following on down the canyon toward its foot, they turned abruptly south, and the dawn was appearing in the eastern sky, when, foot-sore and weary, as well as ill-tempered, they finally ascended to the broad plateau to the west of the canyon, but as they looked across, nothing was to be seen of the Indian village where the stirring incidents of the previous day had occurred.

"Any almost-food places hereabouts, that you know of?" demanded Jesse of Wild Bill.

"No, but there's a ranch about two miles west of here. And the fellow used to have a fine bunch of Kentucky thoroughbreds. Probably stole them at that, but they were dandies—"

"Good. Me for the ranch," exclaimed the great desperado as the men settled down in a long lope with anticipations of a steaming breakfast at the end of their journey.

It was just sun-up when the bandits finally approached the ranch, and Jesse announced his intention of going to the rancher's cabin alone, while the others remained in the background. But upon second thought, he told Wild Bill to accompany him.

No sign of life was observable about the place, and the outlaws were of the opinion that the household had not yet awakened.

The great desperado struck the door of the cabin, several thunderous blows with the butt of his revolver. But there was no response to his noisy summons. Stepping back a few paces he gave vent to a roar that should have awakened the soundest sleeper.

"Hullo the house!" he shouted several times, but without result.

Having failed to bring any response at all, the outlaw adopted a more drastic method of arousing the inmates of the place. He heaved a rock through an upper window, then set to with a will kicking the door with his heavy boots.

Then a most surprising thing happened.

The door suddenly flew open. A brawny hand grasped the outlaw by the collar and jerked him violently inside. Then the door was slammed to behind him.

At the instant of the occurrence, Bill's attention was directed in another direction. He had observed a bunch of likely looking horses grazing in a large corral on beyond the cabin. He was watching them with envious eyes. And his surprise was therefore great, when, upon turning he found that Jesse had suddenly disappeared. Not twenty seconds had elapsed since he first turned his attention to the horses, and he had heard no sound of voices nor the opening and closing of doors.

Bill did not like the look of things, and dodged behind a tree to wait further developments, though just what he expected might occur, he was unable to define to himself. There had been no commotion within the cabin so far as he had been able to observe. He could not relieve his mind of the feeling, however, that his chief was inside and that he was in difficulty of some sort. But what to do under the circumstance, he did not know. Perhaps the bandit-chieftain was working out some suddenly laid plan of his own, and to interfere with which would be fully as serious for Bill as would be the leaving of his chief in danger.

Wild Bill finally made up his mind to hurry back for consultation with his companions. Acting upon this impulse he turned and ran swiftly back, dodging in among the trees to screen his movements as much as possible, from any prying eyes that might be about. Seeking out the men he quickly made known to them the strange situation.

Frank's keen perception reached a solution of the problem instantly.

"Of course Jess is inside. They opened the door and pulled him in. That's what there is to it. You heard no shots?"

"Nary a shot."

"Then there is a bunch of them in there," he emphasized conclusively. "Can we get near the place without being seen from the cabin?"

"Yes, the trees run down pretty close to it on one side. At the back they are further away. The corral is in back and there is a bunch of fine nags there too."

"Ah," exclaimed Frank, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Come on boys, we have got some more work on hand."

"And danged little grub," added Homely Harry ruefully.

"I calkerlate we'll corral some of that too," grinned Comanche Tony.

"Yes, but we will be lucky if we don't get a belly full of lead," warned Frank with his customary pessimism.

By this time they had come within sight of the cabin, but still, no sign of life was discoverable to their keen eyes. The place might have been deserted for aught they could observe.

The leader decided to wait, and, placing a man on either side of the clearing so that no one could leave the place without being seen by one of them, the bandits settled down as patiently as their empty stomachs would permit. They were well supplied with rifles and ammunition, provided for them by Dew Drop, and so far as fire arms were concerned were in position to do effective work.

"Why not give 'em a volley?" suggested Comanche Tony.

"Yes, and probably kill Jess," growled Frank. "That would be a fool thing to do for sure."

"I've got a plan," suggested Wild Bill. "If there's any duffers inside, it'll smoke 'em out sure enough, I reckon."

"Quick, out with it," commanded their leader. "We must do something."

"It's this. Supposing one of us goes over to the corral there and cuts out a hoss. Let him bring the critter along and tether him out here somewhere in the bushes. I reckon they'll show their hand about that time if there's anybody there," grinned Bill.

Frank appreciated the force of the argument.

"I should imagine they would," he agreed. "Better leave your rifle here, but see to it that your side arms are in working order. We will support you from the bushes with our rifles if necessary."

Wild Bill, skirting the clearing, kept well within the line of trees until he had arrived opposite the corral. The latter now being between him and the cabin, effectually screened his approach to the horses.

There still was no movement about the place, and the bandit, crouching low, roped a fine, rangy thorough-bred and led it out through the rear of the corral where saddles and bridles were hanging in a row on the fence.

"This is like gittin' money from home," muttered Bill as he saddled and bridled the supple-limbed animal.

All being in readiness, the hardy desperado swung himself into the saddle. But instead of adopting the safer course and cutting into the forest at his right, Bill dug the rowels of his spurs into the sleek sides of his mount, and with a wild whoop dashed straight across the clearing to where his companions were waiting with guns trained on the cabin.

To their surprise and mystification, however, not a word nor protest was raised from the mysterious cabin.

"Well, I'll be—" began Bill, pulling up and surveying the clearing in perplexity.

"Try it again," suggested Frank.

"We have got a good horse, anyhow. Go back the way you went before, don't hurry. If they see the performance is not to be repeated they will turn their attention this way."

The desperado's plans had been laid with savage cunning, but the fruition of them seemed as far away as when they began.

Again had the clever outlaw reached the corral without being detected. And as before, he made a choice of the best animal in it, which he quickly roped, led out and mounted. But before setting out on his journey to the other side of the clearing, he drew one of his trusty "Colts," grasped the reins firmly and dug in the spurs.

This time, however, the outlaw rough rider adopted a different plan acting on his own initiative. He drove the animal first straight over the course previously followed, but when almost opposite the cabin, suddenly whirled toward it, passing within a rod of it at express train speed.

As the desperado swept by a rifle crashed from an upper window, but Wild Bill's sudden and unexpected change of course had destroyed the marksman's aim and his bullet flew harmlessly over the rider's head.

Like a flash, Bill threw down his gun on his assailant who stood in plain view up there in the window, with rifle poised for another shot.

Rising in his stirrups the outlaw took a quick pot shot back at his adversary, uttering a savage yell of triumph and challenge as the man lunged head first from the window with a bullet through his heart.

Still, the outlaws off under the trees, divining his purpose, held their fire, and Wild Bill made safe cover with his second capture.

A shout of triumph from the assembled outlaws was quickly suppressed by Frank's stern command.

It was his purpose to leave those in the cabin, if persons there were there, in ignorance of their presence until the moment for action should have arrived.

It came too, unexpectedly. Two men, who somehow had managed to leave the place unobserved, were driving toward them on fleet horses that they had quickly taken from the corral.

"Well, of all the tarnation fools," exclaimed Wild Bill as he observed them coming.

"This simplifies matters," breathed Frank.

"Halt!" he commanded stepping to the edge of the clearing.

A fusilade of revolver shots greeted his order.

"Then take your medicine," he snarled.

The desperado's Winchester crashed twice. The two foolhardy horsemen toppled from their mounts dead. And to complete the coup, Wild Bill dashed from cover and skillfully roped the two animals, leading them in triumph to the outlaws' hiding place.

"If we wait long enough things will come right to us," he laughed tethering the horses in the bushes.

"Know that bunch?" demanded the leader.

"Never sot eyes on 'em before. They don't belong in these parts. I shouldn't be surprised if they was in here on a raid of some sort. And I'll gamble too that the fellow what own's the place ain't there. If he is he ain't takin' any part in this ruction."

"Well, what do we do next? Want some more nags?"

"Yes, better go back. We'll draw the rest of them out, if there are any more in the place. I would charge it, but it would be sure death to Jess and suicide for the rest of us. We must draw them out without showing our hand if possible. Failing in that we shall have to wait until night. Jesse is a captive and—"

"But what's the game?" asked Texas. "I never see such a queer one in my time."

"We will find that out later. Mebby the answer won't please us and mebby it will," was Frank's enigmatic reply.

Suddenly Wild Bill held up his hand for silence, his head extended forward in front of his body in an intense listening attitude.

"By heavens they're shooting!" he cried.

"To horse, all that have them!" roared the leader. "The rest jump on behind. Unsling your rifles as you go.

"Half go to the rear and the other half to the front. Smash the door in and shoot quick and fast."

By this time they were half way down the clearing. But those within were too busily engaged with their own affairs now to notice the bandits sweeping down upon them.

"You fellows in the rear duck and look out for our bullets if we get in first. If you break in before we do, we'll lay low!" was Frank's parting injunction to his men as they separated.

Leaping from their saddles the outlaws rushed on the door which went crashing in under their combined weight.

The room was so full of powder smoke that at first they were unable to distinguish a single object.

"Here I am over in this corner," roared Jesse. "Shoot the other way!"

And they did.

A volley of rifle shots rang out from both sides, but the bandits had dropped to their knees and fired up at their adversaries, whose bullets had whistled over the newcomers' heads and buried themselves in the logs of the cabin.

"Once more!" thundered Jesse.

Again the outlaws poured their deadly fire into the ranks of their enemy. And just then the door of the cabin at the rear crashed in and Wild Bill and the rest of the bandits rushed in.

With them came the sunshine and the gentle morning breeze that swept away the smoke.

Seven men lay dead and groaning on the floor.

"Jess, where are you?" cried Frank, peering over the ghastly array of faces.

"Here," answered Jesse. "Come and release me." And sure enough the notorious outlaw lay over in one corner. His hands were free, but his feet were securely bound, and in this condition he had been holding his desperate adversaries at bay, after surreptitiously freeing his hands.

Wild Bill's revolver cracked spitefully, and one of the fellows who had scrambled to his feet and sought to sneak away, went down with a bullet in his leg.

"Get him Bill!" roared the desperado chief. "He's the leader of this gang. But don't kill him."

And while Frank was releasing his brother, the others turned their attention to the men on the floor, all of whom were dead save two, besides the fellow Bill had winged in his attempt to escape.

Jesse's face was stern and those of his followers who chanced to observe the expression knew that the blood lust was once more strong upon their leader.

"Bring that fellow here! He seems to be the leader of this gang."

Tony jerked the cowering wretch to his feet and turned his face so the full morning light shone upon it.

"Hello, Sam," greeted Wild Bill with a grin.

"Know him, do you?" questioned Jesse.

"Know him? I should say yes. He's Sagebrush Sam, one of the orneriest coyotes that ever pulled a trigger."

"He is the fellow that laid me out with an iron bar when they jerked me into this place," announced Jesse grimly. "Now Mr. Sam, I reckon you'll answer a few questions."

"I ain't answerin' questions for the likes of you," snarled the captive.

"There is a ring up there in the joist boys, trice him up by his thumbs."

They did so, so that only the fellow's toes touched the floor. In a few moments he was writhing in agony.

"Did you know me when you saw me coming up to the cabin?" demanded Jesse.

No answer.

"Trice him up higher!" commanded the great desperado. "He'll come around in a minute or two."

Great beads of perspiration were rolling from the victim's face and signs of weakening were already noticeable in his agonized features. Jesse grinned appreciatively.

"Let me down! Kill me! I can't stand this!" groaned the unhappy wretch, his head dropping forward listlessly.

"Let him down. He's fainted," announced Jesse.

They forced a draught of whiskey down the man's throat after having laid him on the floor.

"Now get up!" commanded Jesse administering a vicious kick as Sam came back to consciousness. "Where is the man who owns this joint?" was his first question.

Sam pointed to the floor. "Down cellar."

"Dead?"

"No. We tied him up and left him there yesterday."

"What for?"

"We allowed we'd take his money and his horses. He sorter didn't take to the notion, so we put him away—"

"Wait a minute. Texas, go down cellar. Now go on. What next?"

"That's all."

"You lie!" roared Jesse striding forward and pressing his bowie against the fellow's throat. "You wanted those horses—what did you want them for? Quick!"

Jesse's keen mind had instinctively divined that the fellow had possessed some motive that he did not want to make known to them, and therefore, the desperado reasoned that this self-same information might prove useful to Jesse James.

"For to go to Silver City."

"Silver City? What for?"

"We 'lowed we'd stake out a claim thereabouts."

"String him up again boys," commanded the bandit chieftain. "He can't tell the truth any other way."

"I'll tell, I'll tell," cried Sam. "Kill me, for God's sake don't do that again."

"I am waiting. Go on."

"It was this way," began the captive hesitatingly. "They's been some big strikes in the mountains there and the bank we'd heard was keeping a lot of the dust and like, for a big shipment east in about a week."

"So, you were going to soar high—you were planning to rob a bank, eh?" sneered Jesse.

Sam nodded wearily.

"Where is this bank?"

"It's in the half of the building where they has the postoffice. It's an easy job if a fellow's got the nerve to go in in the daytime when the safe is open—"

"So you got a gang of cutthroats together and were going to steal the horses to go down there and try it, hey?"

"I could do it as well as Jesse James—"

"That will do," warned the notorious outlaw. "How many banks are there in Silver City?"

"Two. But I reckon the other one don't amount to much. It's in the back of a store about two streets down."

"What is the name of the first one?"

"The Silver City National. It's run by a man named Kemp from the east. But they do say he's stole more money by giving the miners underweight, than the whole pack of 'em has got out of it. I reckon it wouldn't do no harm to trim up that kind of a skunk."

"No, one skunk is as bad as another," returned Jesse significantly. "How much money or how much gold did you figure old man Kemp would have in his money bags?"

"We figured there'd be close onto fifty thousand," was the startling reply.

The bandits pricked up their ears and evinced a sudden interest in the conversation, but Jesse continued with his examination as carelessly as if the matter were of no moment to him at all.

"How do you happen to know all about this, Sagebrush Sam?"

"I wuz over there last week—"

"And of course you blabbed your plans to your cronies. Oh, you make me sick."

"No, no, honest to God, I didn't. I never told a living soul except—except a fellow that helps around the post office. He was to meet us when we got there and tell us how the wind blew—"

"And he was to get—how much?"

"We 'lowed we'd give him ten per cent of the rake off."

"H'm," mused Jesse. "What is the fellow's name?"

"Jake Fowler."

"Well, what next?"

"There ain't no next. I've told you all there is."

"I'll tend to you in a minute. Where's that rancher?"

"Here," answered Texas, leading in a very much bedraggled and sullen individual.

The notorious desperado related to him what Sam had just told them in so far as it concerned the rancher himself and asked the man if it were true. The latter said that it was.

"Then you haven't got any particular love for Sam here, eh?" chortled the desperado.

His men knew that their leader had some scheme in mind, but what it was they could not imagine.

The rancher's face suddenly filled with murderous hate.

"I'd like the chance to show you—and him," replied the other, turning a malignant look on their prisoner.

"Mebby we'll give you the chance. But first I want to make a little bargain with you. We want some horses. We're prospecting through here, and the Indians attacked us on the other side of the gulch, stampeding our ponies, and we barely got away with our lives."

The rancher nodded.

"I hearn them tell there was doings across the gulch."

"We will give you a thousand dollars for six, our own pick."

The owner started to protest.

"And here's your money," continued Jesse, without giving the fellow an opportunity to object. "Not a cent more. You've had one experience today and you'd better take the offer."

The rancher looked from one to the other of the stern faces about him.

"And besides we have saved your life, eh?"

"I'll take it," was the terse reply, as he reached for the roll of bills that the desperado extended in his open palm. "What about the pup over there?"

"Got a gun?" asked Jesse.

"They took 'em away from me."

"Here's mine. Use it if you want to," replied the outlaw carelessly.

"You, you mean—"

"Oh hurry up, or give me back the gun," retorted Jesse.

"You ain't goin' ter kill me be yer?" begged the miserable captive.

The rancher was fingering the gun at his side with convulsive fingers, his face growing more malignant with deadly hate from moment to moment.

"Bang!"

Sagebrush Sam wavered and plunged forward on his face, dead.

"Good job," commented the desperado.

The rancher had fired the fatal shot without so much as raising the revolver from his hip.

"You ain't no slouch on the trigger," commended the bandit chieftain. "There are two more fellows over there who haven't had enough medicine yet. I observe they are trying to crawl away now. Wait, don't shoot. Bill, straighten them up. Can they stand?"

"I reckon they can," grinned Wild Bill.

Jesse strode over to them and handed each a keen-edged bowie.

"Fight," he commanded tersely.

The horror of it sent a shiver down the spine of every man in the room.

The men were friends, and the hands bearing the knives settled slowly to their sides as they looked into each other's eyes.

Two guns in the notorious outlaw's hands barked viciously at the same instant and each of the unwilling combatants lost a portion of one ear.

"By Judas that was a shot," exulted the rancher. "Mine ain't in it with that. Fight, you measly spalpeens!" he roared and Jesse smiled as he noted that the blood lust had taken supreme possession of the man.

"Yes, fight," added Jesse, notching the ends of the arses of both men with another of his wonderful shots as if to emphasize his command.

In blind despair the unhappy wretches raised their knives and with tightly closed eyes struck blindly out into the air.

"Close in," commanded Jesse sternly, sending a bullet ploughing through the upper lip of either man.

And now in blind consuming rage the victims began to strike. Their eyes were wide and in the desperateness of the moment, friendship turned to un-dying hate.

Each proved an expert with the knife. Their blades flashed in the sunlight whose rays slanted down through window and door.

It was thrust and parry as they leaped from side to side, forgetful of the wounds that the bandits had inflicted on them in the earlier battle.

Now and then a bowie would come away stained half way to its hilt.

Not a word was spoken.

The labored breathing of the combatants and the chilling clash of blades, were the only sounds that broke in upon the sweet-scented stillness of the mountain morning.

The scene held the spectators breathless. Even the great outlaw found himself interested in the desperate battle.

Blood was over everything, but the desperadoes heeded it not. The rancher's eyes were strained and the eyelids, drawn far up against the forehead, never once closed in a wink.

The blade of one antagonist went through the other's scalp, and a crimson stream spurted half way across the room. The faces of each were scarred with crimson rivulets that were constantly fed from the blood springs above.

The blade of the other sheathed itself in the shoulder of his antagonist, and in the next second each was tugging at the hilt of a knife in his opponent's shoulder.

The shirts of the desperate combatants were hanging in ribbons where the keen blades had been drawn in hopes of finding a human path and through the rents livid streaks showed in strong relief against the white flesh.

Weak from exertion and loss of blood, the fighters staggered together and with arms thrown about each other's necks, hung resting each upon the other.

"Break away!" thundered Jesse.

His voice seemed to rouse them suddenly—to renew the hate that for the moment had been allowed to slip like a mantle from the hearts of the two friends.

Their movements were slower now and less certain.

Finally each with a hand upon the other's shoulder began swinging the free arm to give it momentum and even then their blades did not reach.

"Thrust!" roared the blood-thirsty bandit chieftain.

Exerting a supreme effort a hand swung away from each body and returning empty hung listlessly at its owner's side.

Each had buried his blade in the abdomen of the other.

For a full moment the antagonists stood with hand on each other's shoulders.

At last their bodies began to sway.

They toppled and fell.

The body of one lay sprawling upon that of his friend.

And neither man moved again.

"I guess that will be about all," said the notorious outlaw in a harsh rasping tone that chilled them through and through.

Chapter XVI.

THE FIGHT IN THE "GOLDEN ARROW."

Silver City lay at the base of two great mountain ranges.

It was, like most mining towns of that time, filled with a floating population of gamblers, prospectors, miners and bad men. However, a semblance of law and order had been established by the new sheriff, Ben Teall, whose courage and quickness on the trigger had gained for him no little respect among the gun-toters of that rough country. Some who had doubted both these qualities, were now occupying six-foot claims in Silver City's graveyard.

Ben never pulled a trigger unless convinced that his own life was in danger, and then he shot to kill. The fact that he still lived was evidence that he had never yet failed of accomplishing that much desired result.

Bill was standing back to the bar in the Golden Arrow saloon one evening two days after Jesse and his companions had departed from the cabin of the rancher, headed for Silver City.

The green baize door that was the pride of the Golden Arrow, swung in and two strangers entered, who attracted Ben's attention instantly. They were well set up, sharp-featured and clear-eyed fellows, and though there was nothing about their dress to distinguish them from the other habitues of the place, Ben mentally put them down as secret service men; but what mission they could possibly be bent on there, he could not understand.

The two sat down at a table and ordered whiskey with "rain water" on the side, and the keen-eyed sheriff noted that while they only took one sip of the fire-water, they took down the "rain water" with evident satisfaction. The rest of the whisky was dumped onto the floor. All this he noted under half-closed eyelids.

"If they ain't service men, they'll bear watching," was his comment.

After a little the newcomers and the sheriff's eyes met, and each saw in the other something of interest.

"That's the sheriff over there sizing us up, or I'm a goat," mumbled Jesse to his companion, who was none other than his elder brother.

"Is he next, do you think?" asked Frank.

"No, he don't know us. He's looking for somebody and he ain't sure whether we are the ones or not."

"Hadn't we better make believe we have finished and walk out? I don't like the idea of hanging around and letting the whole town spot us, anyway," growled Frank.

"You can go. You ain't tied," sneered Jesse. "But come on, let's be good-natured. There ain't no call for you and I being sore on each other."

"No, that's so," agreed Frank swallowing his resentment toward his brother for the time being. But try as he honestly did, not to hate his brother, at times the old feeling would come out. Yet on the other hand, between the two was a strong bond, perhaps due more to the strenuous scenes through which they had passed together, than to any tie of brotherly love.

"That man and I are going to mix it up some day," mused the sheriff.

"Say," said Jesse to his companion, "if that fellow don't quit boring into me with his eyes I'm going over and hand him something hotter than the fire-water he gits over the bar of the Golden Arrow. It's beginning to get on my nerves.

"But watch out. He's got something else on his mind now I reckon," warned Jesse suddenly.

The green baize door had swung in and the man who was entering let it close to behind him with a snap, as he quickly stepped inside. His hands fell to his holsters as he swept the room in one quick comprehensive glance.

"One of Silver City's bullies," decided Jesse under his breath.

"I know the breed. I believe the pup is going to shoot."

At that moment Jesse's glance alighted appreciatively on the sheriff. He was standing with folded arms gazing at the bad man with a challenge in his eyes.

"Steve," said the sheriff in a quiet voice, "I've told you to get out of town before sun-up tomorrow; I've told you to keep out of the gin mills tonight. If you're here five minutes from now I'll kill you."

With that the sheriff turned away.

"Jim," he said to the bartender, "give me a cigar."

But the move came near to being a fatal one for the little officer of the law.

The instant his back was turned, one of the bad man's guns came out with a flash and his eyes blazing with terrible rage he was throwing it down on the man who had given him his final notice to quit.

But he was not quick enough.

"Bang!"

The notorious outlaw's trusty "Colt" had spoken first, and the bad man's gun fell to the floor, as its owner uttered a howl of mingled rage and pain.

He reached for his other gun with the left.

"Hands up!" commanded the desperado in an even voice. "I reckon we don't 'low curs like you to shoot men in the back."

Instantly the room was in an uproar. There were those present who, though they had not deemed it wise to express their sentiments in the presence of the sheriff, were Steve's cronies on the side.

Their hands flew to their guns.

"Hands up, every mother's son of you!" roared the desperado in a terrible voice that thrilled every man in the room. "Come over here," he said jerking his head to one side for the sheriff to join them, and while Jesse's eyes swept the evil faces about them the sheriff calmly walked over to where the two outlaws were standing, and took his place beside them.

"Thanks, pard," he breathed. "You winged him. He won't use that hand again right away."

A gun flashed at the far end of the room.

Jesse's 44 barked viciously and the other's bullet buried itself in the wall behind him. But his assailant fared not so well. He sank to the floor with a dull red mark placed fairly between his eyes.

Now guns crashed everywhere. The sheriff worked his weapons with the rapidity of a gatling gun. But Jesse and Frank fired now slowly. They were at a disadvantage. They were unable to distinguish friend from foe, while the sheriff knew every man there. So the two outlaws kept their sharp eyes dancing from face to face and at the least sign of treachery, the man went down with a bullet well placed somewhere in his anatomy.

By now the battle was getting too hot for most of the miners and bad men and they took to the windows like a flock of frightened sheep. The temptation was too great for the notorious outlaw to resist. He was in a devil-may-care mood this night, and his recent exploits had whetted his appetite for more desperate deeds.

He discharged a quick volley after the fleeing men, and though not once shooting to kill, inflicted wounds from which many an unfortunate fellow never recovered.

The firing ceased.

Jesse laughed harshly.

The bar tender poked his head above the bar cautiously.

"Gentlemen all finished?" he asked, peering suspiciously at the three men on the other side of the room.

"That depends," answered the desperado easily, "upon whether there are any other gentlemen in need of pills around here. If you know of any more would-be bad men go out and get them. We might as well clean out the whole danged town while we are at it, eh, sheriff?"

Suddenly Jesse wheeled and sent a bullet crashing through the green baize door.

This was followed instantly by a yell of pain and one of the bad man's friends, plunged headlong into the room dead. He had been taking careful aim at the great desperado, who suddenly sensing that danger lurked beyond the door, had fired.

"Say pard," glowed the sheriff, "I've seen some pretty tall shooting in my time and I'm something on the trigger myself, but you fellows have got anything in Silver City backed clear off into the gulch. Shake."

Jesse extended his hand and bowed with mock gentility.

"There's only one man that I ever heard of who could handle a gun like you do," continued the officer of the law.

"And he?" smiled the outlaw.

"And he is Jesse James."

"And it is Jesse James who stands before you," was the outlaw's startling and unexpected reply, one of those devil-may-care impulses that now and then stirred him on to acts that from their very daring, overcame all obstacles and brought him out victorious.

Chapter XVII.

THE DOUBLE BANK ROBBERY.

For a moment the sheriff stood like a man stricken suddenly dumb. Jesse faced him with a mocking smile on his face.

"You—you are—Get out of here! Vamoose quicker'n a streak of greased lightning. Don't you know I'm an officer of the law?" exclaimed the gamey little sheriff suddenly turning his back on Jesse and Frank. And the latter two with a laugh walked from the scene of carnage and disappeared in the night.

"Well," snarled Frank, "you have put your foot in it this time everlastingly."

"Oh, I don't know. We'll see," was his laconic answer.

The two men walked across a vacant lot, picked up their horses, mounted and rode out to a mountain gulch nearby, where they joined their fellows. It was no unusual thing for horsemen to be seen on the streets of Silver City, and therefore it excited no comment when seven men rode in from different directions on the following morning. The uniform quality of their horseflesh, however, did attract the attention of the mountaineers, but though each carried a Winchester in his saddle holster, the men excited no more than ordinary interest.

So changed in appearance were the notorious outlaw and his brother that it would have been a keen eye indeed, that would have been able to discover, under their disguises, the men whose guns had done such deadly work in the Golden Arrow on the previous evening.

None of the newcomers appeared to be traveling together. Now and then one would drop from his horse and visit a saloon, two visited the postoffice and others took in a general store below in which was the second bank.

But had one been suspicious he might have noted a certain method in the actions of these newcomers who seemed to be everywhere at once, and yet acting without any apparent motive.

After a time the band seemed to have formed in two sections—one at the north end of the main street and the other at the south, the latter section consisting of fewer men than the northern group.

On the north might have been found the great outlaw, his brother having cast his lot with the band to the south.

Jesse sauntered carelessly into the postoffice and asked if there was any mail for Jim Howard.

While the postmaster was looking over his letters Wild Bill slipped behind the case and dealt the postmaster a terrific blow with the butt of his revolver.

While the act was in plain view of the street through the large front window, there chanced to be no one passing at the moment, and neither was the brutal assault observable to those in the bank on the other side of the partition.

"Who are you?" demanded Jesse as a fellow, hideous in his hunchbacked deformity leered up into his face.

"I reckon I don't know you either?" was the enigmatical reply.

"You're Jake Fowler. I know you."

"But you ain't Sagebrush Sam. What do you want here?"

"S-h-h," whispered Jesse. "He sent me here. How many men are over there behind the counter of the bank?"

"Two, the owner and the cashier," informed the other, his eye twinkling with intelligence.

"Call them over here. Tell them the postmaster has been hurt. They won't see me, but my pard here will cover them the minute they get behind the case, and we'll hold you in here till we get through. No tricks or I'll shoot you full of holes," hissed the desperado, dropping behind a barrel and motioning to Bill to make himself scarce, as Jake ran to the bank counter in great excitement.

"Come quick!" cried Jake. "The postmaster has been hurt or else he's fallen in a fit."

"What—where?" cried the two bankers excitedly.

"Over here. Hurry."

Jake was playing his part as if he had been studying it for months and Jesse grinned approvingly.

The three had stooped to raise the body of the prostrate man when they were startled by the sudden command:

"Move an inch and you're both dead men."

The owner of the bank started to utter an exclamation, but the words froze in his mouth as looking sideways he found himself gazing along the black, menacing barrel of a heavy "Colt's."

Jesse, not wasting the time to go around into the enclosure, had leaped the counter and was down on his knees in front of the large open safe whose doors were swung wide, displaying their glittering contents to his avaricious gaze.

Gold, bills, little sacks of precious dust were swept with ruthless hand into the yawning gunny sack like meal from a miller's hopper.

Meanwhile two mounted men in front had dismounted and were busily engaged in tightening their saddle girths, apparently oblivious to anything that was going on around them.

Not a soul save those directly connected with the daring robbery had been disturbed.

With a sweeping glance around him, Jesse, observed with a grin that the coast was clear, and came around the counter with the bag of precious loot in his hand.

Not a word was spoken as he passed around to the rear of the Postoffice case.

Raising his gun by the barrel he brought it down with terrific force, first on the head of one and then on the other of the bankers. They fell forward groaning.

"Follow me and guard the rear," announced Jesse to Wild Bill. "Here's a drunk for you baby," he added, tossing a thousand dollar bill to the hunch-back. "Better mosey or they'll be stringing you up before the sun is over the gulch. You'll get drunk and that'll be the end of you."

"Can't I go with you?" leered the outlaw. "I ain't no tenderfoot."

"Not unless you are ready to die," retorted Jesse

"Then I'll peach," was the sudden and unexpected reply.

A sudden rage leaped into the eyes of the outlaw.

Throwing his gun down on the horrible dwarf he pulled the trigger. "I guess that'll hold him a while," decided the outlaw with a cruel smile, as the dwarf fell over dead.

"Shall I get the money you gave 'im?" asked Bill

"No," snapped the desperado. "Jesse James does not rob dead men's pockets. It's his. Let him have it."

Strangely enough to the outlaws the shot had attracted no attention. And mounting they rode leisurely up the street toward the store where the second bank was located. He could see the remaining members of the band lounging recklessly about in the street in front of the place, and wondering at the delay.

"Something must have gone wrong," he muttered, urging his horse along a little faster.

Just then the ground under them was shaken by a dull heavy explosion. People came flocking from shop and saloon and curious scared faces appeared at the open windows of upper stories.

"Dynamite," he growled.

"It's the bank!" was the startling cry, taken up from mouth to mouth and passed along down the village street, as a shouting, gesticulating, yelling mob rushed to the store where the second bank was located.

The desperado saw his men coolly swing themselves into their saddles and face the mob with leveled Winchesters.

A rain of scattered shots began to patter about those in front of the bank. But the men held their fire, ordering the people back on the pain of instant death.

A thirty-two stung Comanche Tony in the cheek.

Throwing his Winchester to his shoulder he shot the man who had wounded him, dead.

The citizens answered with a volley. At that the desperadoes pumped their magazines, into the crowd, until they were emptied and then released their revolvers from their holsters began fanning the mad mob with deadly effect.

Jesse, having secured the gunny sack firmly to his saddle, and so that it might not impede his movements, rode still leisurely along.

Suddenly he espied Frank running down the steps of the store. Like his younger brother, Frank also bore a gunny sack and from the manner in which Frank was carrying it, Jesse understood that his brother had succeeded in his mission of plunder.

Frank swung into his saddle under a perfect storm of bullets.

With a wild whoop and a savage yell the great desperado and his immediate companions dug the rowels of their spurs into their horses and charged down on the crowd.

The mob taken suddenly by surprise at this attack on their flank, ceased firing and fell swiftly back.

"Forward!" roared the great desperado.

Frank and his men heard and understood.

Their horses sprang away under the pressure of the cruel spurs.

Now Jesse and his companions thundered down on the crowd in the wake of the first line of fleeing desperadoes.

All at once a slight, wiry figure sprang out into the middle of the street.

"Halt! I know you, Jesse James."

But the desperado threw himself suddenly forward on the neck of his horse as the sheriff's bullets sang over him so close to his head that he could feel the hair on the top of his head, slightly pulled back by the sudden suction of air from the leaden pellets.

Both his revolvers flashed up on either side of the horse's neck. They barked in unison and the sheriff fell dead.

The outlaw's horse leaping over the body of the fallen officer of the law, sped away.

Jesse rose in his saddle and sent a volley of shots from his Winchester into the crowd in his rear. Then he was obliged to cease firing because of the fear of hitting one of his own men, whose bodies were now between him and the mob. The men had swung half way round in their saddles, reins on their horses' necks, and were pumping lead into the mad mob with deadly effect.

Jesse fired a signal shot high into the air.

Their fusilade suddenly ceased.

With a wild, blood-curdling yell, the desperadoes dug their spurs deep into the sleek sides of the sensitive thoroughbreds and sped off like the wind headed for the protection of the mountain fastness.

Chapter XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

Not until the shadows of night were falling did the desperate band halt to make camp.

So far as they had been able to observe there had been no organized pursuit of them attempted. But they knew full well that they would not be permitted to escape without some effort being made to apprehend them.

But instead of following on south as they had started, Jesse after an hour or so changed his course and turned due east, thus carrying them away at right angles to the scene of their late operations. This, he reasoned shrewdly would send any posse that might follow them, off on a blind trail for a long distance before they discovered their mistake. To accomplish this the men had to dismount and lead their horses up a steep mountain side where the least misstep would have precipitated them to certain death on the rocks below.

But the hard rocky sides of the mountain left no trail for the mountaineers to follow.

It was with intense relief that the men dismounted after their trying ride, and their appetites, whetted by the day's strenuous doings, were soon satisfied with a hearty meal of bacon and potatoes, sizzling hot from their improvised stone stove.

And by the light of the camp fire, Jesse and Frank spread out their ill-gotten gains on a slab of rock.

The eyes of the bandits glowed avariciously as package after package of bills was thrown out, to be followed by many bags of rich, yellow gold dust.

A careful count of the money and a rough estimate of the gold dust was made, Jesse figuring the total by marking on the slab of rock with a sharp stone.

"How much?" asked Frank.

"It'll run better than a hundred thousand, I reckon," answered Jesse, calmly.

The desperadoes gave a long, low whistle of surprise.

"I calkerlate I'd be willing to go hungry for three days any time for such a bunch of the long green as that," averred Homely Harry facetiously.

THE END.

TO THE READER.

Only in the Adventure Series can you get the absolutely true and authentic history of the lives and exploits of the

JAMES BOYS,
YOUNGER BROTHERS,
HARRY TRACY,
THE DALTON GANG,
RUBE BURROW,

and the other Notorious Outlaws of the Far West.

We are the authorized and exclusive publishers for Jesse James' only son,

JESSE JAMES, JR.

and are the publishers of his great book,

JESSE JAMES, MY FATHER,

which is for sale everywhere. Buy it where you bought this book, and read the inside history of the life of Jesse James.

Be sure to read the next story, JESSE JAMES MIDNIGHT ATTACK, or THE BANDIT'S REVENGE ON THE VIGILANTES. In this story will be chronicled a series of startling adventures in which the noted outlaw turns the tables on the man-hunters who are on his trail, to their complete undoing. It is No. 32 in the Adventure Series.