Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.

THE HOLD-UP AT THE STE. GENEVIEVE BANK.

Jesse James' Desperate Game

OR

THE ROBBERY OF THE
STE. GENEVIEVE BANK

With dare-devil recklessness the notorious bandit eludes a posse of
detectives and, assisted by only three companions, steals $10,000.

BY

WILLIAM WARD

Adventure Series No. 18

Published by
THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY
CLEVELAND, U. S. A.

CONTENTS

Jesse James' Desperate Game

OR

The Robbery of the Ste. Genevieve Bank.

Chapter I.

A THRILLING RESCUE.

The population of Monegaw Springs was transitory. Situated in the central part of St. Clair county, in Missouri, the town was famed far and wide for the medicinal qualities of its waters. And when the war of the rebellion came to an end and the countryfolk could once more live without fear of a raid by Federal troops or guerrillas, they flocked thither from far and near.

No luxurious hotels were there, as in present-day health resorts, with maws agape for money of their patrons; those who were early on the ground secured board and lodging in the few houses of the hamlet, while those who arrived later were forced to be satisfied with tents.

But the life of the place was not impaired by the lack of accommodations or conveniences. Rather was it enhanced.

Convention was thrown to the winds. Campers, whose tents were near together, spoke without waiting the formality of introductions; mothers exchanged confidences, knitting and gossiping; fathers swapped yarns and played cards together, while their children, both young and grown-up, indulged in the pastimes of wide awake, red-blooded youth. About the Springs all sorts and conditions of men were to be seen; army officers, still believing in the subtle powers of their faded uniforms, vied with civilians for the favour of the vivacious, rosy-cheeked belles; men who lived by their wits hobnobbed with men who possessed substantial incomes; churchmen rubbed elbows with criminals—and never a question was asked.

Not a night passed without some excitement; often the silence that fell only with the early hours of the morning was rent by the crack of a pistol; men, their blood heated with copious draughts of the "stuff that cheers," wrangled over the merits of their horses or families, settling the former by quickly organized races and the latter by recourse to fists or shooting-irons.

For those who wished to toy with fortune, there were always games of poker and faro in the shanties that served as saloons; and far from these bacchanalian orgies, on canvasses spread over the fragrant needles in the pine groves, through whose boughs the moonlight glinted, youths and maidens danced to the lively melodies of banjos and guitars, played by grinning darkies.

Now and then, the rivals for the favour of some sloe-eyed beauty clashed, there were a few excited, whispered words, giving and accepting a challenge for a fight to the death on the morrow, and the frolic was resumed.

And from sunrise to sunrise, the Springs throbbed with the emotions and passions of the shifting, cosmopolitan throng.

In this Mecca of license uncontrolled, the world-famous Jesse James had bidden his men join him. In the complexities of its life, he knew they would be able to forget the godless act of the killing of Daniel Askew, a murder that baffled police and public alike. Secure in its very openness, they could laugh at the futile attempts to corral those members of their gang who had raided the town of Chouteau, in the Indian Territory, so effectually freeing the desperadoes from suspicion of complicity in the act of cowardly assassination.

And little did the patrons of the Springs think, as they watched the arrival, one beautiful spring afternoon, of three well-dressed, bearded men, whose dash and debonair appearance sent many a maiden's heart aflutter, that they were gazing upon three of the most desperate men the world has ever produced, for whose corpses, even, the police and railroad officials would pay thousands upon thousands of dollars.

For Jesse had not ridden to Monegaw Springs with Clell Miller and his brother, Frank, in the garb of woolen shirts, "chaps," high boots, black slouch hats, with knives and guns bristling from their belts, in which alone the public fancy seemed able to picture them, but clad in the height of the fashion of the day.

Guns they had—and cartridges and knives—but so cleverly were they carried in their pockets that the presence of the death-dealing weapons would escape even the most suspicious eye.

Reining in their mettlesome thoroughbreds, the outlaws dismounted in front of one of the stores and passed inside to purchase tents and such other things as they might need.

Those who had seen them eagerly asked who the new arrivals were, attracted by their confident bearing and well put-up figures.

But none could answer and when they reappeared from the store, they were followed by a curious coterie of idlers who watched them select a place and pitch their tents, at the extreme southwestern corner of the grove that had been set apart for the campers.

This very necessary work completed, the bandits had remounted and were riding through the camp on a tour of reconnaissance to learn if any of their enemies, the detectives and sheriffs, were among the sojourners at the Springs when they were startled by a frenzied cry of warning that swelled to a hoarse roar as throat after throat took it up.

Turning in their saddles as they heard the inarticulate shouts, the three desperadoes dropped their hands to the pockets in which they carried their shooting-irons.

With hundreds of man-hunters on their trail, whenever a hue and cry was raised, the outlaws naturally believed themselves to be the cause.

"It may be Cole and Texas in from Chouteau with a pack of devils at their heels," exclaimed Clell in a low voice.

But the next instant their apprehension was banished.

With frantic haste, the throng that had raised the alarm parted, shoving and pushing those behind them in their effort to break through to places of safety.

And tearing along the lane thus opened, the outlaws beheld a runaway horse, nostrils distended, eyes wild, ears laid back, a young girl clinging with the desperation of terror to its mane.

Maddened by the shouts of the people, the animal leaped from side to side of its narrow path.

"Pull your foot out of the stirrup and slide off!" cried a score of voices.

And as the silence of fear fell over the throng, the terrified voice of the girl responded:

"I can't! It's caught!"

With a gasp of horror, the crowd heard.

Several men leaped for the bridle, but the infuriated horse dodged them or shook them off.

Straight for the gate of a corral, less than two hundred yards away, was the animal rushing.

The opening had been cut in a solid wall and the lintel was so low that it would barely clear the saddle pommel.

If the horse were not stopped, it would dash inside.

Unable to release her foot, the girl would be knocked from her seat and horribly crushed, if her leg were not torn from her body.

"Shut the gate!" yelled somebody.

A score of men sprang forward, but the distance was too great.

With a groan the spectators realized it. Women turned away their heads that they might not see the awful sight, men nerved themselves for the crash of the impact.

Suddenly through the lane dashed a young fellow, his coarse, sensual face white with terror.

Seeing him, the crowd took hope.

"Ride, Consollas! Hurry, man! Use your spurs! Head him off!" rose from an hundred throats.

Yet it did not take the anxious men and women long to realize that the youth was too scared to be of service in the emergency and once again despair seized them.

Engrossed in following the runaway, the people had not seen three horsemen riding like the wind toward the helpless girl and it was not till a sharp command, "make way!" rang in their ears that they were aware of their existence, turning to see the handsome, bearded strangers, whose advent had aroused so much speculation, bearing down on them.

Their surprise did not paralyze their limbs, however, and, as if by magic, the dense throng parted and Jesse, Clell and Frank dashed between them.

Fully an eighth of a mile away had the outlaws been when the shouts had come to them, but the instant they had discovered their cause, they raced to the rescue.

Skilled in the art of short dashes, they worked their thoroughbreds to wonderful speed.

Not fifty yards from the corral was the runaway when the bandits swept between the spectators. And all of twenty yards behind were they.

Their quick eyes noted the horrible fate that awaited the girl should they fail to help her.

Caring not who might see, Jesse jerked his bowie-knife from its place of concealment and jabbed it into the flank of his mount.

Unaccustomed to such treatment and terrified by the pain, the animal leaped forward.

The burst of speed won cheers from the crowd, while cries of "go it! good man!" broke from many lips.

Emulating their leader, Clell and Frank, knifed their horses.

As though the runaway were standing still did the outlaws gain on it.

Hearing the shouts and the thunder of hoofs behind her, the girl looked back.

"Keep your nerve! We'll save you!" yelled the famous desperado while the crowd howled its approval.

The boy who had been addressed as Consollas was far behind. Less than twenty yards away was the corral and two yards separated the bandits from the runaway.

Yet though they rode for all they knew, only inches, it seemed, could they cut this distance down.

With wicked jabs, the knives laid bare the flesh of the thoroughbreds.

Neck and neck the three horses were running.

"Spread out!" snapped Jesse. "When we get to the horse, reach over and cut the saddle-girth, Clell. Frank, you ride him off. Wake up! We mustn't fail now we're so near!"

In amazement, the spectators beheld the three riders separate, two bearing to the right, the brown bearded man to the left.

"They're gaining! They're gaining!" shouted the crowd, then held their breath the next instant.

As though they were pieces of a machine, worked by the same power, Clell and his leader closed in simultaneously on both sides of the runaway.

"Now!" cried the latter.

As they dropped their reins, Jesse leaned far from his saddle and seized the terror-paralyzed girl about the waist.

Failing to comprehend the movement men and women stared, believing that precious moments were being lost, then some of them roared:

"Ride the horse off! Her foot's caught in the stirrup!"

But at the very instant, Clell slashed with all his might at the saddle-girth.

True was his hand. The leather parted and before the spectators could realize how it happened, the great outlaw jerked the girl, the saddle hanging to her foot, from her horse, swayed a moment as he regained his balance, then swung her in front of him.

Salvos of applause broke from the throng of men and women.

But the spectacular work was not yet ended.

So close were the outlaws to the corral when the sensational rescue was effected that it seemed that they must crash into it.

Once more the crowd grew silent as it realized the new danger.

Yet even as the hush fell, Frank swerved his horse, riding straight at Clell's.

There was the rubbing of saddle leather, an awful instant of suspense as the colliding animals struggled to keep their feet, then both, weathering the impact, bore down onto Jesse and his burden.

"They'll go down! They'll be crushed!" gasped the spectators.

But the famous desperado had anticipated the danger.

The instant he had set the girl in front of him, he had pulled on his reins with his right hand, changing the course of his mount to such an extent that when the other two rode into him, his horse only turned more quickly, and shoulder to shoulder the three animals galloped along the side of the enclosure.

Yet so narrow was the margin by which the rescue was accomplished that as they swept up the length of the corral, Frank was forced to throw his left leg over the pommel of his saddle to keep it from being scraped and crushed against the rough boards.

A trice the crowd stood motionless, then with thunderous cheers swarmed round the outlaws and the girl they had rescued.

Chapter II.

CONSOLLAS' ACCUSATION.

Bringing his thoroughbred to a stop as quickly as he could, Jesse shook his feet clear of the stirrups, swung one leg over the saddle pommel and slid to the ground, placing the limp form of the girl tenderly on the grass.

In the belief that nothing could save her, the maiden had closed her eyes to shut out the low gate that seemed to grin at her like some hideous monster gloating over its victim. As she felt the strong arm clasp her waist, then lift her in the air, the relief was more than her overwrought nerves could bear and she had fainted.

Kneeling beside her, the great outlaw wet his kerchief with brandy from his flask, moistened her lips and bathed her forehead.

"Don't let them crowd round her," he said to his companions as, looking up, he caught sight of the excited crowd of men and women surging toward them.

In obedience, Clell and Frank faced about, shouting:

"Keep back! Keep back! The girl wants air!"

But as well might they have commanded the sun to stand still for all the effect their words had.

"Make 'em stand back!" snapped the bandit-chief.

The meaning of his tone was obvious and, whipping out their guns, the two desperadoes pointed them menacingly at the mob, crying:

"The girl must have air! Stop where you are!"

Their respect for the business-like muzzles of the four guns, backed by men whose faces were so calm and determined, was greater than their curiosity and the crowd paused in their tracks.

One man, stout of figure, well-groomed and well-fed, with every appearance of affluence, did not stop, however.

Ominously, the hammers of the pistols clicked.

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! I'm her father, Forman A. Rozier, of Ste. Genevieve!" he gasped.

Recognizing his right, Clell and Frank bade him approach.

Arrived at the girl's side, the father dropped to his knees, seized her in his arms and clutched her to his breast.

"Sally, my child, my darling! Are you hurt?" he asked, holding back her head and looking at her ashen cheeks.

"I think she's only swooned," replied her rescuer. "If you'll force some of this brandy down her throat, I fancy it'll revive her," and he extended his flask.

But as her parent reached out his hand to take it, the girl opened her eyes.

"Daddy! Daddy!" she murmured as she beheld her father's face, then, turning her head, asked: "Where is the gentleman who saved my life?"

Before he could reply, however, his daughter had freed herself from his embrace and, springing lightly to her feet, rushed to Jesse, taking both his hands in hers, impulsively, while she exclaimed:

"How can I ever thank you? If it hadn't been for you—ugh!" and she shuddered, turning her head away that she might not see the low lintelled gate that had come so near being her execution block.

As the bandit-chieftain had felt the touch of her hands, a thrill ran through him and looking closely at her, he discovered that her face was of unusual beauty.

Her skin was as the olive, the bloom of the rose glowed in her cheeks; deep and limpid, black bottomless wells of love-joy were her eyes; her lips seemed crimson Cupid's bows and in unruly ringlets, her wavy, raven black hair fell about her full throat and shell-like ears.

"It is I who should thank you for allowing me to save your life," returned Jesse in a low voice, his eyes uttering the admiration he would not let his tongue.

Blushing at what she read in them, the girl's embarrassment was relieved by her father, who approached, holding out his hand to the outlaw.

"Whatever reward you wish for the great service you have rendered me in snatching my child from death, you may ask. I am Forman A. Rozier, president of the Savings Association Bank of Ste. Genevieve, and I can afford to be gen—"

But the insulting sentence was never finished.

Drawing himself proudly to his full stature, the world-famous desperado's eyes shone with the look his men had learned to fear and his voice was cold and incisive as he snapped:

"Sirrah!"

While his daughter gasped, in amazement:

"Father!"

Staring from one to another, the banker, who worshipped money and felt that his offer of reward was more than magnanimous, flushed hotly, mumbling:

"No offence was intended. Come Sally, your mother will be frantic till she sees you," and turned on his heel.

"Please don't feel hurt," whispered the girl, "he thinks money is everything and he meant it to thank you."

"Don't men—" began Jesse.

But the girl interrupted:

"When we see each other again I can thank you better—I'm so upset now."

Noting that his daughter was not at his side, Mr. Rozier called, peremptorily:

"Come this instant, Sally!"

Grabbing the skirt of her riding-habit, the girl breathed an au revoir to the bandit-chieftain and ran to her father.

As he followed her lithesome figure with his eyes, Jesse beheld the pompous banker scowling at him, his expression indicating that he was angry at the very natural gratitude his daughter evinced toward her handsome rescuer.

And as he returned the stare, with interest, there flashed through Jesse's mind an idea that would give him ample revenge for the public insult.

By his arrogance, Banker Rozier had made a terrible enemy.

But though the contretemps would be food delicious for the gossip-mongers who had witnessed it, there were men and women in the crowd who were ashamed of the humiliating return for an act so brave, and, in the endeavour to wipe out the unpleasant memory, they surged about the three outlaws, expressing their admiration of their bravery and congratulating them upon their horsemanship.

Stung to the quick by the undeserved treatment, however, the bandits replied only in monosyllables, devoting their attention to staunching the flow of blood from the gashes they had inflicted on their horses.

"We'll lead them to our tent," declared the great outlaw, "we can't attend to them properly here." And quickly the heroes took their departure.

Their advances repulsed, the spectators fell to discussing the incident when suddenly they remembered that they had not learned the strangers' names.

Quickly were husbands, brothers and sons commissioned to learn them and eagerly they set out to the errand.

Arriving at the bandits' tents, they assisted in caring for the thoroughbreds, adroitly interspersing their aid with questions to which Jesse replied, goodnaturedly, endowing Clell with the alias of Hal Prentiss, Frank with Sam Sloan and himself with Tom Howard, volunteering that they were miners who had struck it rich in Colorado and were on their way to New York to raise more capital to purchase some valuable ore lands.

Like wild-fire the news was spread through the Springs and before evening the three desperadoes were surrounded with the glamour of fabulous wealth, in addition to their bravery.

One there was, however, among those who heard the imaginative rumors who gnashed his teeth—the coarse, sensual-faced boy who had been hailed by the crowd as Consollas when he had made his futile attempt to overtake the runaway horse.

Only son of one of the shopkeepers at the Springs, the youth had taken advantage of a business acquaintance between his father and Banker Rozier to secure an introduction to the exquisite Sally—and with him to see had been to love.

Morning, noon and night he pressed his suit, impervious to hints and snubs alike.

In his turgid brain he had conceived the notion that he would marry the beauty and when he suggested the plan to his father, the elder Consollas, keenly alive to the benefits that would accrue from such an alliance with a family both wealthy and of established social position, bade him godspeed, offering to help him in any way that lay in his power.

Sally loathed the man's repulsive appearance, only forcing herself to treat the fellow, whom she dubbed "the toad," civilly because her father had ordered her to do so to protect his business relations.

As her train of admirers increased day by day, Consollas became sulky and morose, his churlishness casting a damper on the mirth of the young people. But the lad continued to haunt the dainty creature, seldom uttering a word, content to devour her with his eyes.

Finding it impossible to drive the boor away, the coterie of young folks finally accepted his presence as a necessary evil and ignored him altogether—a course that was much more to the liking of the dull-witted youth than the thrusts and jests he had been too slow to parry or return.

When the alarm had been raised, young Consollas' pony was tied to the rail in front of his father's store.

Immediately upon learning its cause, the latter had whispered eagerly to his son:

"Lively, Fred, onto your horse and stop the runaway! You'll never have another such opportunity! You'll save her life, boy, and she'll be grateful."

Slow of comprehension usually, in this instance the fellow was quick to see the point and vaulted into the saddle—with what result the reader already knows.

As he beheld the girl snatched from a terrible death by the hands of another, a great rage burned in his heart. In his ears, the words of his father, "you'll save her life and she'll be grateful" kept ringing. But instead of being grateful to him she would be grateful to the handsome stranger and his jealousy pictured the rest.

No incident of the scene between the rescued girl, her father and the rescuers had escaped his eye. As he heard the banker's offer and the stranger's retort, a malignant grin overspread his ugly countenance, only to disappear the next instant at the expression on Sally's face as she ran to join her father.

With a savage oath, Consollas wheeled his pony, rowelling the animal viciously with his spurs, and dashed off to the store.

But his father had witnessed the abortive attempt of his son and when the latter burst into his private office, he checked his wild words, waving him to a chair.

"It's too bad, Fred, you didn't do better," he began, but the lad blurted:

"Too bad? I'll be the laughing stock of the Springs and it'll be your fault because you told me to get on my pony. The people have gone crazy over those strangers."

Surprised at the vicious ring in his son's voice, the elder Consollas watched him a few minutes before continuing:

"What I was going to say was that while it was too bad you couldn't have saved the girl yourself, we can take the wind out of those men's sails."

"How?" snapped the fellow, his dull eyes brightening.

"Just close the transom over my door and I'll tell you. That's it, now draw your chair up closer to mine. What I'm going to say is for your ears alone."

Wondering what scheme had been evolved in his father's brain, the youth obeyed.

"Did you notice anything about the horse that brown bearded man rode?" whispered the storekeeper.

"No," returned Fred, more mystified than ever.

"Where are your eyes, boy? That horse is the living image of my roan mare, Betty!"

As the elder Consollas breathed the significant words, he scanned the face of his son for some gleam of intelligence.

Several moments the youth blinked his eyes, then slowly they shone with the light of understanding and excitedly he exclaimed:

"They stole the horse, you mean?"

"Good boy. We'll raise the cry that my mare has disappeared. While you're riding to the pasture to drive Betty into the woods, I'll drop down to the tent where the strangers are, look at their ponies and swear that the roan is mine.

"The people will do the rest. There's only one end for horse thieves and that's the hangman's noose.

"The rescue will be forgotten when your rival is dangling from a tree."

The plot met with the unqualified approval of the lad and his toad-like body quivered with excitement.

"Now be off to the pasture," commanded his father. And as Fred galloped away to drive the mare into the woods, the storekeeper picked up his hat and set forth to attend to his part of the dirty business.

Around the unsuspecting outlaws was an admiring gallery of men and women, the latter predominating.

Forcing his way through them till he reached the horses, the elder Consollas approached Jesse's, eyeing the splendid creature critically.

Several acquaintances spoke to him, but without noticing them, he opened the mare's mouth and looked at her teeth.

Summoning an angry expression, the storekeeper turned to the bandits and demanded:

"Where did you get that roan?"

Taken aback by the abruptness of the question, the great outlaw stared at his interrogator blankly.

"Afraid to tell, eh?" snarled the storekeeper. "I don't wonder."

Amazed at the words, three or four of the onlookers asked:

"What's the trouble? Anything wrong?"

"Wrong? Well, rather. That's my roan mare, Betty! She was stolen from my pasture last night!"

Chapter III.

THE PLOT PROVES A BOOMERANG.

No greater consternation could have been caused among the witnesses to the accusation had a bomb exploded in their midst.

Aghast at the seriousness of the charge, the men and women fell back, glancing from the outlaws to Consollas. Then angry murmurs rose from their throats and several of the men stepped forward, menacingly, while from those at the rear of the crowd broke the cry:

"Horse thieves! Horse thieves!"

In a twinkling, the shout was taken up by those passing till it echoed from one end of the campground to the other.

Seizing ropes and guns, men rushed from their tents, eager to take a hand in the execution of the miscreants.

And in less time than it takes to tell it, the outlaws were surrounded by a hostile, threatening mob.

Realizing that the moments were crucial, Jesse sprang at his accuser, clutching him by the throat and shook him as a terrier does a rat.

"You lie—and you know you lie!" he thundered. "That mare was bought in Kansas City and I can prove it.

"What your reason is for accusing me, I don't know. But I do know you've got to tell these people you lied when you said the mare was yours! Now speak up lively!" And with a parting shake, he released Consollas' throat that he might obey.

But instead, the moment the storekeeper felt the terrible grip about his neck relax, he yelled:

"Help! Help! It's my m—"

With a look of terrible fury as he heard the words, the famous desperado's powerful right shot out, driving the false utterance back into Consollas' mouth as it struck him full in the face, and sent him to the ground like a log.

"Seize him! Seize him!" yelled the mob, surging forward as the merchant fell.

But the great outlaw was ready for them.

Whipping out his trusty "Colts," he cried:

"The first man who steps into this clearing about me will pay for his rashness with his life!"

The situation was grave.

The storekeeper had a reputation for probity and many an one of the sojourners at the Springs knew that he possessed a roan mare.

Furthermore, no one knew the three strangers, whence they came or what was their business, save the meagre information vouchsafed by the bandit-chieftain, and horse-thieves were not confined to any one class. The fact that the outlaws were armed with knives as well as shooting-irons and were so perfectly at ease in their use had not failed to impress the patrons of the resort and free were their comments.

On the other hand, the men bore themselves with confidence and assurance, characteristics that the popular mind did not associate with horse-thieves. Their clothes were of the finest quality, and they had the appearance of men of means.

But Consollas' accusation had been direct and unequivocal.

In the crowd he had many friends and these, when they saw the merchant felled, clamoured for the capture of the outlaws.

Yet no one was eager to make the attempt for Frank and Clell had placed themselves back to back against their leader, keeping the mob at bay in the other directions.

Smiling at the respect for their weapons, Jesse determined to make the most of his enemy's silence.

"Do we look like men who would steal horses?" he demanded, appealing to the crowd. "We can buy all we want and—"

"Prove it!" cried a voice.

"With pleasure," laughed the great outlaw and slipping one of his revolvers in a pocket he drew from another a fat roll of bills and peeled off several of large denomination, waving them about him. "And my friends are equally well supplied."

Acting on the hint, his two companions displayed their money.

The effect was instantaneous.

It seemed preposterous that men so amply supplied with funds would run the risk incurred in stealing horses and several in the crowd were not slow to say so.

Quick to take advantage of the reaction of feeling, Jesse continued:

"Do we look like fools enough to steal a horse belonging to an inhabitant of Monegaw Springs and then pitch our tent right here where any who pass can see our animals?"

"No, you don't," chorused several.

"I hope not," grinned the famous desperado. "Another point, you'll notice this man, whoever he is—"

"Consollas," prompted one of the crowd.

"This Consollas only laid claim to one of our horses," continued the bandit-chieftain. "If I appropriated one of his ponies, why didn't my companions help themselves?"

The argument caught the people and, to make his vindication convincing, Jesse cried:

"If this man has lost a horse by thieves, I'm willing to lead a posse to hunt them."

"Good man! I'll go with you! That's the stuff! You're all right!" came from many throats, and leaving the still unconscious storekeeper where he lay, the crowd trooped off, the bandits at their head, to secure their mounts.

Unwilling to use their thoroughbreds in the condition in which they were after the harsh treatment to which they had been subjected, the three desperadoes asked for other horses and the very men who had been most eager to hang them were the most importunate in urging them to accept some of theirs.

"You won't accuse us of stealing 'em if we ride 'em, will you?" grinned Frank.

The thrust took with the crowd, putting them in rare good humour and, laughing and chatting, they rode forth to hunt the thieves.

By tacit agreement, the leadership of the posse was yielded to the world-famous desperado.

"Which way do we take to get to Consollas' farms?" he asked as they gained the highway.

"To the right," came the answer while others protested that it would be only a waste of time to go there.

But Jesse insisted that he wished to question the farm hands to get a description of the thieves and to learn the time when the mare had been missed and where she was when last seen and the others withdrew their objections.

Setting a smart pace, the bandit-chieftain, his pals on each side, and the posse were "burning up" the road when they beheld a cloud of dust ahead of them from which, as it drew nearer, emerged a horseman.

"Halt! We'll see who is it who's in such a hurry," commanded the great outlaw.

Drawing rein, the posse spread out across the highway, eagerly watching the approaching rider.

Suddenly one of the men in front ejaculated:

"Why, it's Fred Consollas!"

Apparently at the same time, the son of the storekeeper had recognized the form of his hated rival for he pulled his pony to its haunches, then whirled it and started back over the way he had come.

The action mystified the members of the posse and they shouted to the fellow to stop.

But the only effect of their words was to make Fred ride the faster.

"There's some crooked business about this," snapped Clell.

Impressed with the idea, Jesse rose in his stirrups and fired a bullet over the youth's head, shouting:

"If you don't stop, the next one will knock you out of your saddle."

A craven at heart, Fred Consollas thought more of saving his skin than of the danger of the discovery of the plot and quickly reined in.

"What are you doing here?" demanded the leader of the bandits as he and his posse overtook the fear-trembling lad.

His voice was stern and he bit off his words ominously.

Vainly searching the faces surrounding him, Fred stammered:

"I was l-looking for the mare."

"The roan your father said was stolen?" pursued the bandit-chieftain.

"U-huh."

"Then why were you going back to the Springs?"

"To see father."

"Did you learn anything about the thieves?"

"No."

"What's the use of wasting time over the boy?" snapped Frank. "He doesn't look as though he knew enough to tell whether the mare was stolen or not. Let him go on his way."

"Not much," returned Jesse, noting the look of relief that had appeared in Fred's eyes at his brother's words. "We'll take him with us.

"Take your place beside me, boy. All ready, men."

Three or four miles the posse rode in silence, then, rounding a turn in the highway, they caught sight of a farmhouse and buildings which the supposed miners were told were Consollas'.

Increasing their speed, the posse galloped along when all at once a shrill neigh sounded from the woods beside them and directly a horse broke through the underbrush and stopped with its head over the fence.

"That's the roan! That's Consollas' mare!" cried several voices at once.

Amazed, the great outlaw ordered a halt, then demanded:

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I'd know her anywhere," chorused several of the surprised members of the posse.

For a moment Jesse looked at the animal intently. In general form and colour she resembled his own, back at the camp-ground, but none of the fine points of the thoroughbred did she possess.

Turning full upon the ashen-hued youth, the world-famous bandit snarled, with a blood-curdling oath:

"Is that the mare your father accused me of stealing?"

Too terrified at the demeanor of the wrathful man before him to realize the pitfall in the question, Consollas blurted:

"Yes."

A buzz of amazed exchange of opinions had broken from the men in the party at the unexpected appearance of the roan, but at Jesse's question they grew silent.

"When did you leave the Springs?"

"About an hour and a half ago."

"Then you couldn't have heard your father claim my mare as his."

The utterance produced a sensation among the posse. But ere they could recover from it, the inquisitor roared:

"If you weren't at the camp ground, how did you know your father accused me?"

"I didn't," growled the boy.

"But you just said you did. When I asked you if that mare by the fence was the one your father charged me with stealing, you said 'yes.' Now, how did you know if you weren't at the camp ground?"

Realizing when it was too late, that he had been trapped, the fellow maintained a sullen silence.

"Answer me!" bellowed Jesse.

But the lad only cowered in his saddle.

"There's dirty work somewhere," declared Jesse, addressing his companions, "and I intend to find out where.

"Now, sirrah, will you answer me?" and he thrust the muzzle of his six-shooter against the youth's head.

"Don't kill him! He's foolish!" cried a voice.

"Then let him answer," retorted the great outlaw. "No one can accuse me of being a horse thief and get away with it when the stolen nag is in her own pasture all the time.

"There's something at the bottom of all this and I intend to find it out!"

Acquiescing in the justice of Jesse's stand, the others stared at the quaking boy.

"You'd best make a clean breast of it," counselled the bandit-chieftain, "you won't get any aid from these gentlemen.

"Just tell me how you knew I was to be accused."

An instant the helpless conspirator said nothing.

With a wink at the members of the posse, Jesse clicked the hammer of his "Colt."

"Spare me! Spare me!" groaned Fred. "I'll tell. I'll tell." And hurriedly he blurted the details of the plot to discredit the rescuers.

Incredulous, the men stared at one another as the story was told.

Unwilling to believe that the merchant would stoop to such an act, they examined the boy with a merciless fire of cross-questions.

But the lad doggedly maintained he was telling the truth and when at last the members of the posse were reluctantly forced to believe, their anger at the dastardly plot knew no bounds.

"Lynch him! Shoot him!" rang from many a throat as the men urged their horses forward that they might lay hands on the wretch.

Enraged as he was, the great bandit cried:

"Steady, men, steady! The lad isn't so much to blame as his father."

Realizing the truth of the words, the thief-hunters dropped back, waiting for their orders, muttering angry threats against the plotters.

Strange indeed was the caprice of fate that had made the man he had striven to wrong so grievously his defender, yet such had the brown bearded desperado become.

Terrified by the black looks about him, Fred moved closer to his protector's side.

After a short interval, during which Jesse had consulted with Clell and Frank, the men grew restless, demanding that the lad be given to them.

The world-famous desperado, however, had other plans.

"Some of you ride back to the Springs and get Consollas. Get some tar and feathers and a big kettle at the same time.

"We'll give the precious pair a lesson they won't forget right away."

The suggestion met with noisy approval and quickly a score or more of the posse dashed off to find the merchant and the stuff necessary for the torture while the others set about erecting a tripod for the kettle and gathering firewood.

Consollas' plot had proved a boomerang.

Chapter IV.

YOUNG ROZIER MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

As the members of the posse who had been sent back to the Springs neared the village the clouds of dust kicked up by their horses were seen.

"Here they come! They've got the thieves!" shouted several of the more excitable loungers.

From lip to lip, the word was passed along that the posse was returning with the miscreants who had stolen Consollas' roan and when the horsemen drew rein in front of the merchant's store they were greeted by every man, woman and child who was able to get to the square, on which all the shops were located.

Throwing their reins over their ponies' heads, the volunteers leaped to the ground and ran into Consollas' place of business, never pausing to answer the bombardment of questions hurled at them by the crowd when it was discovered that only part of the posse had returned and without any prisoners.

But the merchant was not in his shop.

"Where's your boss?" snapped one of the men of the frightened clerks who were gathered in one corner, watching the search of the intruders.

"He hasn't been here for two hours or more," responded one of them.

"Don't lie!"

"That's the solemn truth," asserted another. "He has not come back since he left just after Fred."

Satisfied that the employes were not deceiving them, the spokesman of the posse ordered four of his men to remain in the store, against the return of the elder Consollas, telling the others to follow him to the tent where the merchant had made his accusation and had been knocked unconscious by Jesse's terrific blow.

Mystified by the actions of the men who had set out to apprehend the supposed horse thieves, the crowd surged about them as they emerged from the store, demanding enlightenment.

An effective barrier between the posse and their ponies, they resisted the attempts of the men to force their way through.

Flushing with anger, fearing that should he tell them the facts some of the shopkeeper's friends might warn him, giving him the chance to escape, the spokesman consulted with his fellows before replying:

"When we get Consollas we'll tell you everything. The sooner we lay hands on him, the sooner you'll know."

By making the one contingent upon the other, the leader of the posse had still further roused the curiosity of the sojourners at the Springs.

And the shrewdness of the move was quickly apparent.

"Everybody hunt for Consollas," cried a voice from the crowd.

Instantly men, women and children turned and scurried in all directions, bent on locating the storekeeper while the horsemen vaulted into their saddles and dashed for the campground.

But when they arrived at the spot where they had left the unconscious merchant he was nowhere to be seen.

With ejaculations of disappointment they began to question the occupants of the nearby tents.

One after another declared that they had not seen Consollas, explaining that they had either followed the crowd to see the posse start and had only just returned or had been too busy to notice.

In despair, the searchers gave up the task, going back to where they had left their mounts when a little girl ran up.

"I seen the man," she piped in her excited, childish voice, "he got up jes' as the mens rode away. He looked roun' 's though he was lost an' rubbed his head an' felt of his nose. He said an awful word an' got up. I was standin' watchin' him an' when he seen me, he asked what had happened. When I tole him he said some more bad words an' runned into the woods."

By the time the little girl had finished her story she was the centre of an excited throng.

"That settles all chance of getting the sneak for the present," declared the leader of the squad of man-hunters. "All we can do is to wait till he comes back—if he ever does, which I doubt."

"What's the trouble? Tell us what he did!" clamoured the crowd.

"You might as well, Jeff," chorused several of the posse.

Mounting his horse, that he might the better be heard, the man quickly narrated the meeting with the vanished merchant's son, his actions, the appearance of the roan and Fred's confession.

As each amazing statement in the story was made, the people expressed their opinions in no uncertain terms, breaking out into cries for vengeance at its completion.

"Let's sack the shop!" suggested some one.

Eagerly was the idea seized and with angry murmurings, like the growls of some gigantic beast of prey enraged, the crowd started toward the store.

"Hold on!" yelled the spokesman. "Don't do that! We're going to tar and feather Fred and old Consollas—if we can catch him! If you want to do anything, get feathers. We'll take out the tar and a cauldron."

Few of the men and women had ever witnessed such a punishment, and, inspired with the desire to be present, they rushed in all directions, some to get horses and teams to carry them to where the strangers with their prisoner were waiting, others to get feathers, but most of them to strike a short cut to the pasture.

Only one of the Roziers, the son, who bore the same name as his father, a chap about twenty years of age, swelled with the wealth and prestige of his family, had been in the crowd.

As it dispersed, he rushed to acquaint the others with the startling information of the plot and the penalty that was to be inflicted.

With characteristic assumption of prescience, the banker declared that he had always suspected there was a yellow streak in the merchant and set out to find a lawyer that he might attach the goods in the store immediately to protect some notes of Consollas that his bank held.

But to the dainty Sally, the punishment seemed cruel and unmerited.

"I'm going out to see if I can't save Fred," she announced, springing to her feet and arranging the habit she still wore, after which she gave a few deft touches to her hair.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," contradicted her mother, sharply. "The idea of the presumptuous clout thinking you would marry him!" And she gave a sniff more eloquent than words.

"That's just why I'm going. The poor fellow isn't all there in his head or he would never have thought of such a thing and it isn't right to do such dreadful things to a half-witted creature."

Mrs. Rozier, however, was firm in her refusal to allow her daughter to interfere in the business and her stand was endorsed by her son who protested that Fred had brought ridicule enough on the family without Sally's adding to it by interceding for him.

"Then if I can't go, I'll send a note to Mr. Howard. I don't think he'll refuse my request," she flashed, and, before either her mother or brother could prevent, darted from the house which they had rented in a location close to the square.

"You must go after her, Forman. I never heard of such a thing. If you don't catch her, ride out to where this horrible business is to take place. You can stand beside Mr. Howard and if anyone tries to give him Sally's note you can take it, telling him that it was written in a burst of impulse and that now Sally regrets it and wishes it back unread."

Bidding his mother not to worry, that he would intercept the missive, young Rozier ran to the barn to get his pony and was soon riding hard in the direction of the farm.

Rushing into a store, his sister had begged some paper, ink and an envelope and hurriedly wrote:

"My dear Mr. Howard:

A man so brave as you can afford to be generous to his enemies. Fred is only half-witted and isn't as much to blame as his father.

Won't you please, at the request of the girl whose life you saved, spare the poor fellow the awful punishment?

I'll do anything you ask in return.

Anxiously and gratefully,
Sally Rozier."

Little realizing the rash length to which her sympathetic nature had led her, the girl sealed the envelope, addressed it and darting onto the street, gave it to a man she knew, who was passing, with the request that he give it with his own hands as soon as possible to Mr. Thomas Howard.

Surprised at the entreaty, her acquaintance, nevertheless, promised to deliver it and urged his horse into a fast gallop.

Intent upon recovering the note, young Rozier asked every one whom he overtook if they bore a letter from his sister to Mr. Howard, apparently forgetting that by so doing he was but increasing the scandal he wished to avoid by making the existence of such a communication known.

Those to whom he put the surprising question could truthfully deny all knowledge of the note, which they did, for the messenger was behind the banker's son, and as he rode on, they discussed the latest development with their companions with great gusto.

Arrived at the scene of preparations, young Rozier quickly tied his pony and then took his place by the side of the world-famous outlaw masquerading as Tom Howard.

The members of the posse had returned with the cauldron and tar and each arrival seemed to be provided with a bag of feathers, so rapidly did the pile accumulate.

Standing by the tripod from which the kettle was suspended, Jesse and Frank superintended the melting of the tar while Clell stood guard over the sobbing victim in some underbrush where the bandit-chieftain had sent him that he might be spared the stares and comments of the crowd.

As those whom the banker's son had asked about the note arrived, they quickly informed the others already on the ground, embellishing the news as they saw fit and soon everyone was aware that some communication of importance was on the way concerning Fred Consollas.

Finding the time required for the heating of the tar irksome, the crowd fell to speculating on the contents of the mysterious letter. Some declared it was a plea for mercy, others that it advocated more drastic punishment. The adherents of the former idea offered to back their opinions with coin of the realm and those of the latter persuasion snapped up the money, announcing their willingness to wager more that, if it should prove to be a request for clemency, Howard would not heed it.

So excited did the factions become that they failed to see the messenger approach the outlaw and the banker's son and it was not till they heard the angry voice of the latter exclaim:

"As a member of the family I demand that note before you open it!" that they knew the document had arrived.

Instantly a hush fell on the assemblage and they craned their necks the better to hear and see all that transpired.

Jesse, Frank, the messenger and young Rozier were beside the smoking kettle.

The bearer of the note held it firmly in his hand, resisting the effort of the writer's brother to secure it.

"It was given to me to deliver to Mr. Howard and I shall do so unless he orders otherwise," declared the former.

"Tell him to give it to me," cried young Rozier. "Can't you understand it will com—"

"You'll do more harm by talking than by letting me receive it," interrupted the bandit-chieftain. "You've got everybody listening and watching now."

"I don't care. I will have that letter!" stormed the banker's son.

Angered at the tone of the remonstrant, Jesse quickly put an end to the wrangle by seizing him by the shoulder and sending him spinning into the bushes while with his other hand he took the note from the messenger.

Murmurs of excitement rose from the crowd but they died away as the famous desperado tore open the flap of the envelope.

Taking out the enclosure, Jesse read it carefully, refolded it, put it back in the envelope and placed both in the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

Breathlessly the throng watched Frank approach.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing," returned his brother, with a slight quiver of his left eyelid that only Frank could see.

Young Rozier had been within earshot and as the stranger had made his reply, he shook with anger.

He had thought only of the ridicule to which his family would be subjected because of his sister's intercession, but that her appeal should be treated so lightly wounded his pride.

But this pride was destined to a more severe shock when Jesse called:

"Bring up Consollas. The tar's ready!"

"You mean that you refuse a Rozier's request?" snarled the fellow, his rage overcoming his discretion.

"Keep your tongue in your head or I'll give you a coat of feathers, too," snapped the great outlaw. And the expression on his face told the banker's son that he meant what he said and the youth subsided.

In such a state of terror that he could not walk, the victim was dragged to the cauldron by Clell.

The sharp breathing of the spectators proved intense excitement.

Looking over the crowd, Jesse frowned.

"There are so many women 'round that we can't strip him," he exclaimed as he took Consollas by the collar of his coat and swung him to the side of the kettle. "We'll give him a thin coat next his skin and lay it on thick over his clothes. Loosen 'em, Sam; Hal, get some feathers."

Quickly were his commands obeyed.

When all was ready, the world famous desperado, masquerading as Tom Howard, mine owner, reached out his right hand and lifted a ladle full of the redolent tar from the cauldron.

Barely melted, it was not hot enough to more than sting as it touched the skin.

But as Fred saw the black liquid thrust toward his shirt whose collar Clell held open, his terror lent him the strength of a wild man.

Twisting and squirming, he made a grab for Jesse's beard.

With a furious oath, the great outlaw let go the lad's collar and struck him a blow in the face that sent him sprawling into the embers of the fire beneath the kettle.

A gasp of dismay broke from the crowd.

But in a trice Jesse had his victim out of the coals and again brought the ladle to his neck.

Fearing a repetition of his struggle, Frank held him tight.

Quickly the bandit-chieftain poured the molten tar inside his clothes, repeating the movement three times.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, Consollas writhed.

"Close his mouth with feathers, then jam some down into the tar," snapped Jesse.

Quickly, Clell obeyed.

Fred's contortions redoubled. The soft fluffy things got down his throat and he spluttered frantically.

Again was the ladle thrust into the cauldron and the contents thrown on his clothes.

The writhings of the luckless youth amused the crowd and they howled and chuckled with glee.

"Duck him in the kettle," cried a score of voices.

Acting on the suggestion, the famous desperado lifted his victim from the ground and doused him in the tar.

But as he was thrust down into the cauldron, Consollas made a ferocious grab for his tormentor.

And this time his fingers clutched the hair in Jesse's false beard.

Releasing his hold of his coat, the bandit-chieftain seized his wrists in such a terrible grip, boring his spike like thumbs between the cords, that the lad let go with a shriek of agony.

The wires by which the whiskers were attached had held yet the sudden yank had drawn the beard from Jesse's face for an instant before he could bend forward and end the strain.

"A—ha!" exclaimed a voice, amazed and gloating, behind him.

Only Frank and Clell were close to him and the ejaculation made Jesse start.

With a suppressed oath, he whirled to see who had uttered it.

But no one was in sight.

Yet had the outlaws rushed into the bushes, they would have seen young Rozier stealthily working his way through them till he reached the spot where he had left his pony, then hastily untie it, mount and dash away for the Springs.

Chapter V.

GATHERING CLOUDS.

More wrought up by the incident than he cared to let even Frank and Clell see, Jesse cursed savagely to himself as he turned his attention again to his victim in the tar kettle.

The buzz that rose from the assemblage told him that the men and women were aware that something had happened though their ignorance of exactly what was disclosed by cries of "Did he hurt you? Did he knife you?" that came from all directions.

"Thank goodness, they're not next," breathed Clell while his chief, straightening as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, responded: "He only pulled out a few whiskers."

Assured that their hero had received no injury, the crowd considered the matter a huge joke and laughed boisterously, offering all sorts of advice for the restoration of the beard.

But the great outlaw was in no mood for jesting. That someone had discovered that his whiskers were false the exclamation disclosed and the consequences might be far-reaching, especially as both he and his pals were ignorant of who had uttered it.

Consollas had ceased to struggle and was watching his tormentors with fascinated eyes.

"Give a hand here, boys," commanded Jesse. "We'll get this business through and go back to camp as soon as we can."

"Dump the feathers in a pile and we'll chuck the runt into them."

Quickly Clell sprang to the heap of bags, emptying them of their contents, while Frank laid hold of one shoulder of Fred's coat.

"Lift," exclaimed the bandit-chieftain.

With all their strength, the two outlaws pulled at the boy. For a moment he did not move, held fast by the cooling tar, then the strain told, and, with a loud sucking noise, he was hauled from the kettle.

A moment the desperadoes held him in the air that the crowd might see the unfortunate lad.

Covered with the shiny, glistening tar from his neck to the soles of his shoes, with generous daubs on his cheeks and in his hair, his appearance was ludicrous.

Howls of delight broke from the throats of the men and women and even Jesse was forced to smile at the forlorn sight.

"Get a firm hold so we can swing him," he directed his brother then raising his voice, addressed his victim: "I'm sorry we haven't got your father as well as you. Let this be a lesson to you. The next time you think of charging respectable strangers with stealing horses, don't do it. You may not get off so easily."

And while the people laughed at the advice, the great outlaw nodded to Frank, they swung Consollas back and forth several times to gain momentum, then sent him swirling, head over heels, into the stack of feathers.

As the fluffy things closed over him, the crowd cheered, rushing forward to join in the fun of rolling the lad about in them.

Struggling to his feet, Fred screamed and tore at the mass of tar and feathers, looking for all the world like some monster fledgling.

But his breathing spell was short. Grasping him by the heels, the men tumbled him into the heap again, repeating the performance as fast as he could scramble out.

"This'll be a good time to break away," suggested the brother of the bandit-chieftain as he watched the wild frolic.

"Right," returned Jesse and, without attracting attention to themselves, the three outlaws went to their horses, mounted and headed for the Springs.

Riding for a while in silence, when they were out of sight of the pasture Frank demanded:

"What was in that note?"

"A request from Miss Rozier," replied his brother and, taking the note from his pocket, he read it.

"Phew!" ejaculated Clell, "so she's sweet on the booby, eh? I'll bet old Rozier 'll try to make trouble for us for paying no attention to the appeal. He seems to think he's 'it' with a big I."

"Let him if he wants to. I've got a scheme to fix him all right, all right. What's worrying me at the present moment is who the person was who cried out when Consollas pulled my beard."

The matter that was uppermost in the minds of each thus broached, the trio discussed it from all sides. Well were they aware that if the unknown had really noticed the whiskers move from Jesse's face, their positions would be like that of men living among buried powder mines whose exact location they did not know—an explosion might come at any time.

The opinion that the exclamation was but the utterance of some overwrought spectator was hazarded. But the great outlaw disposed of it by asserting that the tone was that of some enemy gloating over an important discovery and his pals accepted his view.

"I don't like it," declared Frank at last. "If you take my advice, Jess, you'll break camp tonight. We've got trouble enough without exposing ourselves to hidden danger."

"I know that," returned his brother, "but to go away now would be the worst possible move. If the people of the Springs should wake up in the morning and find that we were missing, they would immediately become suspicious. Whoever it was who saw my beard move, if anyone did, would jump to the conclusion that we got frightened. He would spread the story, people would get to discussing it, some one would think of us and before you could say 'Jack Robinson' the alarm would be sent broadcast that Jesse James and his men were in the neighborhood and we'd have another game of hide and seek on our hands which I don't want, at least not till Cole and Texas show up.

"We'll just lay low and keep our ears open. We—"

"By thunder! you don't suppose it was young Rozier, do you?" asked Clell, interrupting his leader as the thought came to him.

"Ha! I hadn't thought of him," returned the bandit-chieftain. "If it were he, we shall know it and mighty soon. Mad as he and his father will be at my refusal to heed the request of Miss Rozier, they'll soon show their hands if they have such information.

"When they do, we can act."

Never had the great outlaw spoken truer words. The banker and his son, their family pride incensed, showed their hands with a vengeance and in a manner so unexpected that when the outlaws woke to the reality, there was time for only the most desperate acts!

But all unconscious of the impending danger, the three desperadoes rode into the camp-ground, made their way to their tent, prepared their supper, ate it and set out to return their borrowed horses.

His mind inflamed with the slight put upon his sister by the ignoring of her intercession on behalf of Fred, young Rozier rode his pony like mad to report the insult to his father that methods might be devised for the atonement.

Clattering into the barn, he left his lather-dripping pony to the care of a groom and burst into the banker's study.

In no pleasant frame of mind at the disappearance of the merchant whose notes he had guaranteed, the president of the savings institution was thrown into a violent rage when his wife had informed him of their daughter's indiscretion.

With instructions that his son be sent to him instantly upon his return, he retired to his den.

As the sound of the rapid hoof-beats rang in the yard, he sprang to his feet and was pacing to and fro, like a caged lion, when the lad entered.

Pausing when the boy closed the door behind him, he snarled:

"Did you get it?"

"No."

So furious at the failure that, for a moment, he could only gurgle, the banker finally blurted:

"Why not?"

Abashed at his father's wrath, the heir to the Rozier wealth shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Speak, you fool!" roared his sire. "I'll wager you botched it—as you do everything. Take that chair by my desk and tell me why you didn't recover the note—if you can." And dropping into his leather-upholstered chair, he glowered at his son.

Stung to the quick by the sneer in his parent's tone, young Rozier forgot his fear of the man staring at him and graphically and concisely related all that had occurred from the time his mother had sent him on his mission.

With beetling brows and frequent outbursts of profanity, the banker listened to the description of the manner in which the supposed miner had refused to give up the note and his pride-wounding comment that it's contents were of no importance.

"He thinks the request of a Rozier is 'nothing,' does he?" he snarled. "I'll teach him it is very much of a something."

But his rage was forgotten when his offspring told of Fred's struggle with his tormentor and the startling incident of the beard.

"Are you positive that you saw the whiskers clear of his face?" he demanded. "It might have seemed that way if Consollas pulled out a handful of hairs."

"I'm willing to take my oath that the beard is false, sir," returned the young man.

From under his bushy brows the banker scrutinized his son's face, thrumming on his desk the while.

What he saw made him believe that the boy was telling the truth to the best of his knowledge and at last he observed:

"I'm not surprised. I'm not surprised. I didn't like the man's looks from the first. He was too impudent when I offered to pay him for saving Sally, altogether too impudent."

"Well, you're so much in," rejoined his son, aware of his sire's weakness. "He might have asked you twenty-five thousand for doing it. You're lucky to get off so easy."

"So I am, so I am," repeated the elder man, but his voice sounded far away and from long experience the heir to his property knew that he was thinking deeply.

While the hands of the old-fashioned clock, that stood in one corner of the study, ticked off a quarter of an hour, the two sat in silence.

"Have you heard anything about these men being mine owners on their way to New York to raise capital?" inquired his father at last.

"Yes. They've told all 'round that they struck it rich in Colorado."

"They flashed a big roll of bills?"

"So I hear."

"Then that's why they're disguised," announced the banker with characteristic positiveness. "You mark my words, Forman, if these men have any mines, they obtained them by fraud or perhaps by even killing the rightful owners.

"By bringing them to book, we'll get revenge for their insults to our family."

"How?" inquired the boy, his eyes big with excitement at the prospect of proving the strangers criminals.

But his father was too busy writing to answer him and when he finished, he exclaimed:

"Take this message to the telegraph office and have it rushed. Stay there till you see the operator send it, then come back to me and I'll tell you my plan, for I'm going to use you as the decoy to lure our birds to their destruction."

Afire with curiosity, nevertheless young Rozier knew his father too well to linger and hurried to the telegraph office.

Entering the room, he unfolded the message to read it before giving it to the sender and as his eyes ran through the lines, he quivered with amazement.

"Monegaw Springs, Mo.

Pinkerton Detective Agency,
Kansas City, Mo.

Send six of your best men to me here immediately. Wire train they leave on.

Forman A Rozier."

Obedient to his orders, the young aristocrat waited till the portentous despatch had been sent, then hurried to his home, eager to learn the details of the part he was to play.

Finding his father at supper upon his return, the youth was forced to curb his curiosity as best he might till the meal, which was served with pomp and ceremony ill-befitting the country village in which they were, was at an end.

Sally, her face and eyes showing traces of weeping, though whether from the scolding of her mother or the refusal of "Mr. Howard" to heed her appeal only she could tell, ate in silence, answering the few remarks addressed to her in monosyllables.

Usually the life of elaborate meals, with her caustic comments on her companions and merry prattle, her reticence cast a gloom over the others and they finished the repast as soon as possible.

"Sally is not to go to the hop tonight," declared the banker to his wife as he rose from the table. "If anyone calls to see me, I am engaged, but be sure they leave their names. Come, Forman." And he led the way to his study, locking the doors and stuffing the key holes with paper.

Surprised at the unusual precautions, the boy looked at his father.

"You never can be too careful about the servants," observed the latter, interpreting the unasked question.

"If our talk should be overheard, it might defeat my plans."

If anything were needed to strain the boy's wonder to the breaking point, the mysterious words and actions furnished it and eagerly he demanded:

"Why have you sent for detectives?"

"Ah, you read my message," smiled his father. "Well, I suppose it's natural. I sent for them because I want to use them in the role of friends of mine of great wealth."

"Then where do I come in?"

"Just have patience and I'll tell you," returned the banker, lighting a cigar.

"Now listen attentively. If there's anything that isn't clear to you, ask about it. I've time to explain now, and later I might not have.

"In the morning you are to drop around to this 'Howard's' tent. I don't believe that's his right name, but never mind. You are to forget all unpleasantness and to act as though you wished to be friendly with him.

"During the course of your conversation you can mention that you have heard that he and his companions have some rich mines in Colorado. Ask him where they are and get him to talk about them as much as he will.

"And be sure you remember where he says they are."

"But suppose he won't talk?"

"Then you are to say that you have some money you want to invest and that when you heard he was on his way to New York to raise money to buy some more mines you spoke to me about it and that I told you if Mr. Howard could prove that the mines were all right, show us his maps, and by the way, make a special point of that, I would let you put in your money and might interest some of my friends.

"In this way, we can find out where the supposed mines are and wire out there to see if anyone by the name of Howard is known."

"But if they are swindlers won't they get wise and jump before you can receive a reply?"

"Not if I know it. That's where the detectives will come in.

"When they get here, I shall let it be known that they are capitalists come to arrange some deals with me. When I have laid the case before them, we'll call on this Howard, giving as an excuse my supposed friends' desire to get a chance at the mines.

"When the detectives have seen the strangers, some of them will keep them under surveillance all the time.

"If you do your part and find out where the properties are, one of them will be stationed at the telegraph office to await the reply.

"Should they take alarm and try to get away, it will be evidence that they are guilty of fraud and we'll arrest them on the spot. If the answer proves that the men are what they pretend to be and that the mines really exist, no one will be the wiser. The detectives can say they have decided to put their money nearer home and go back to Kansas City.

"But I don't believe the answer will say they are known!"

"Now, is what you are to do clear in your mind?"

Ere his son could reply, however, there was a knock on the door and a servant announced that a telegram had arrived for Mr. Rozier.

Noiselessly removing the paper from the keyhole and unlocking the door, the banker took the despatch.

"The messenger boy wants to know if there's any answer," said the maid.

Hastily tearing open the envelope, the president of the savings institution glanced at the contents, then replied:

"Tell him 'no.'"

When the retreating footsteps of the servant sounded on the hardwood floor of the hall, the banker turned to his son.

"It's all right. The message says the men will leave tonight and arrive about seven in the morning.

"Now leave me. I have some other matters to attend to. Don't stay out late to-night for you'll need a clear head and all your wits about you in the morning.

"The unmasking of the scoundrels and the revenge for the insults to our family rest practically on you."

Clouds were gathering about the heads of the bandits of which they were unwitting.

Chapter VI.

THE BATTLE OF WITS.

Declining the invitations to tarry a while of the men who had loaned them their ponies, the outlaws were returning to their tents when they heard the whistle of an engine.

"I'll bet that's the evening train," declared Frank. "Let's go down to the station. Cole and Texas ought to be showing up soon and if they should, it might mix things up badly if they started to ask questions in order to find us."

"Good idea," assented his brother and accordingly the trio turned their footsteps toward the station.

The train had brought its usual influx of people come to try the medicinal waters of the Springs and they were thronging into the town, some in carriages, others on foot, as the desperadoes turned into the street that led to the depot.

Walking slowly, they scanned the faces of the new arrivals.

At last the rush was over and the forms of only a few belated stragglers were visible.

"Guess the boys didn't come," observed Clell.

"It doesn't seem—hello, there they are," murmured Jesse hurriedly as he espied the broad shoulders and familiar, swinging gait of his pals.

The recognition had been mutual and quickening their steps, Cole and Texas Jack were soon grasping the hands of their leader.

Without returning their greetings the famous outlaw whispered:

"Cole, your name for the present will be Ted Bemis; Jack, yours will be Ned Haskell." And he told them the aliases with which he had endowed Frank and Clell and himself, adding, "we're miners from Colorado on the way to New York to raise the wind to buy more mines."

These important instructions delivered, the bandit-chieftain, with Cole at his side, led the way back to their tent, avoiding the square.

During the walk, the new arrivals were briefly made aware of the incidents of the day, especially of the exclamation as Jesse's beard was started from its place that caused them so much anxiety.

"At a rough guess, I should say it was young what's-his-name," vouchsafed Cole.

"Young Rozier, you mean," interposed Clell. "That's my idea, too."

"Time will tell," said the bandit-chieftain, irritably, for the annoying lack of positive assurance was getting on his nerves. "But there's one thing sure and that is the sooner we drop the subject the better. Some one may overhear us."

So dark was it as they reached the camp-ground that they easily gained their tent by skirting the park without being seen.

Cole and Texas had taken their supper on the train so there was no need of rekindling a fire and the reunited bandits stretched out on blankets like the spokes of a wheel, their heads forming the hub that they might be near enough together to converse in low tones.

When the shooting up of Chouteau and their uneventful journey from there to the Springs had been narrated, the men fell to discussing their next move.

That the health resort was none too safe a place for them, all were agreed but that was the only point on which they did agree.

Frank was for striking to the north, into regions unknown to them and where, in consequence, there would be less chance of their being recognized.

To the others, save the world-famous desperado, the suggestion seemed a good one. But Jesse pointed out that their escapes from capture, narrow as many of them had been, were due to the fact that their knowledge of the country in which they had operated was so intimate that they had been able to give their pursuers the slip, an advantage they would forfeit should they strike into a section with whose highways and byways they were unfamiliar.

"Well, what do you propose instead?" demanded his brother, realizing from long association with him, that his opposition to the suggestion was largely because he had already made his plans.

"I'm not ready to say, just yet. It depends upon what to-morrow brings forth," returned Jesse. "There's a rich bank in Ste. Genevieve. This man, Rozier, and his dandified son stick in my crop and I intend to be quits with him before I do anything else."

"I should think you were already," grinned Frank. "You've saved his daughter, called him down for offering you money and refused the girl's request to let her sweetheart off from the tar and feathering.

"I don't know what more you want.

"If you take my advice, you'll let well enough alone and duck out of here while we have the chance. I've got a hunch that if we stay here we're going to get into trouble!"

With a superstitious respect for his brother's intuitions, the great outlaw puffed at his pipe in silence for several minutes.

"I have no right to insist on your remaining here when it's only a private grudge to be settled," said he at last. "If you boys want to go into Nebraska, Iowa or even farther north, you may. But mind you, you are only going to look over the ground, get acquainted with the lay of the land and find out some likely places to raid. There's to be no work done till I join you.

"If you can find Bill Chadwell, take him along. He knows every hog path in that country."

With their customary desire to be with their idol day and night when possible, Clell and Cole announced their determination to remain with him.

"I'd like to stay and I'd like to go," observed the man from the Lone Star State. "I've never been so far up north and I've always wanted to."

"Then go, by all means," assented the bandit-chieftain. "I don't want Frank to go alone, in case of accident. But the two of you ought to be able to take care of yourselves."

The matter thus settled, it was decided that the sooner the scouts started the better. And accordingly they saddled two of the horses, leaving the roan which had caused so much trouble, and made ready their clothes.

"Won't it make the people here ask questions if two men come and two go at night?" inquired Cole.

"Oh, I'll take care of that," returned his leader. "You boys keep your wits about you. We'll meet at the cave at Sni Mills in five weeks. Mind the time.

"Good bye and good luck."

And watching his pals until they disappeared in the woods, Jesse pegged down the flap of the tent, buttoned it and prepared for turning in.

At the saloons and in the gambling dens, the bandits were the chief topic of conversation. The wildest fabrications of imagination found ready believers. Some of those more under the influence of liquor than others asserted they had known the rich miners when they were grub-staking and prospecting in the mountains.

Every time the doors of the entrance swung open, an expectant hush fell on the inmates as they turned toward them to see if the arrivals should be the men about whom they were talking, only to be disappointed. Wondrous tales of their drinking and gambling abilities were told by their self-styled acquaintances and confidently these promised their fellows that before the night was out they would see goings on that would open their eyes. But as midnight came without any signs of the subjects of the stories, those who had swallowed the yarns began to grow skeptical and many a fight was the result of their freely expressed doubts.

Those who thronged to the dancing pavilion in the hope that they might see the heroes of the rescue at close range, perhaps even manage to secure them as partners, were likewise disappointed at the failure of the outlaws to show themselves. Many a maiden who had made her toilet with elaborate care that it might attract the attention of the rumor-created millionaires vented her vexation on her favourite swain, causing the latter to leave in a huff. And because of these lover's tiffs, the young people forsook the canvas at an unusually early hour.

But the disappointment of the evening was forgotten in the excitement of the morning!

Early risers had discovered that of the thoroughbreds two were missing.

Jumping to the conclusion that their disappearance was the work of some of Consollas' friends, these men had rushed to Jesse's tent, yelling for him to come out only to have their, as they supposed, startling information driven from their minds by the astonishment at seeing the strange face of Cole and the absence of Frank.

"What's the row?" asked the great outlaw, gazing from one to another of the bewildered faces before him, though he was well aware that the missing thoroughbreds were the cause.

"Y—your horses, t—two of them are g—gone," stammered someone.

"I know it," returned Jesse in a quiet tone.

For a moment, he was tempted to offer no explanation, then deeming it unwise to leave the mystery unsolved, added:

"I was obliged to send out two messengers in the night."

The provokingly matter of fact way in which he made his statement perplexed the hearers all the more.

Only one of his companions of the day before, known to them as Sam Sloan, did they miss, yet he had said that he had despatched two men, and in his place was a new face.

As they tried to reconcile these facts, it suddenly dawned on them that events had transpired during the night of which they were in ignorance. Startled by the thought, with one accord they hurried away without making excuses, eager to circulate the latest news about the interesting strangers.

His face breaking into a smile as he watched their unceremonious departure, the bandit-chieftain chuckled.

"There'll be lots of folks in this burg that won't wait to eat their usual breakfasts in their haste to get to this tent to see for themselves. Cole, I've a good mind to tie you inside and charge admission for a look at you." Then dropping his banter, he continued: "Before they come, and while we have the chance, we'll look to our shooting-irons. There's no telling how far a calf can jump by looking at him, and the situation may get beyond our control at any moment."

Thus recalled to the smoldering volcano of suspicious curiosity on which they were standing, Clell and Cole inspected their guns carefully, put new cartridges in the chambers and a plentiful supply in their pockets.

Scarcely had they completed the task when the first of the inquisitive crowd arrived, their number increasing each minute.

As people watch a sleeping animal in a menagerie, hoping that it may rouse itself and do something, so the throng watched the closed flap of the supposed miners' tent after having hurriedly verified the fact that only the roan mare was left where the three horses had been at twilight.

One family at the resort there was, however, who were ignorant of the change in the personnel of occupiers of the tent—the Roziers.

Agog over the coming of the detectives and the events the day would disclose, the banker and his son had got up at an hour unheard of for them and driven to the station in two carriages that they might get the sleuths from the depot to their house in the least possible time and with the least possible publicity.

Surprise at their appearance was forgotten by the regular hack and 'bus drivers in their eagerness to secure fares from the arrivals by the train and when they did remember them the Rozier turnouts were nowhere to be seen.

With little difficulty, the president of the savings institution had picked out the detectives. Quickly assuring himself that he was right, he bundled them into the carriages and drove them rapidly to his home.

Declining to broach the reason for their summons till the men had breakfasted, the banker took them to his den as soon as the meal was finished.

Employing the same precautions against eavesdroppers that he had when talking with his son, Mr. Rozier motioned them to chairs, offered them cigars and, taking his place at his desk, laid the case before them.

"Allow me to compliment you, sir, on your lucid exposition of the facts," remarked the man in charge of the detectives, patronizingly, as the banker concluded. "If I had been directing the case myself I couldn't have done it better.

"May I suggest that young Mr. Rozier be sent on his mission at once? The sooner he makes a report on the case, the sooner shall we be able to get to work."

Acquiescing readily, the bank president ordered his son to start, with the injunction to keep his head about him.

Astonished at the crowd surrounding his destination so early, young Rozier quickly learned its cause.

Perplexed by the information, he nevertheless elbowed his way to the still closed tent flap.

After vainly trying to attract the attention of the inmates by scratching on the canvas, he called:

"I say, Mr. Howard, let a fellow in, won't you? I'm Rozier, Forman A. Rozier, Jr."

Although the outlaws had heard the first tampering with the tent, they made no move till the request was uttered.

"The fun's begun," breathed Jesse to his chums as he got up from his camp stool and unbuttoned the flap.

Inwardly glad that it was the boy instead of his father against whom he was to match his brains, for that the visit would develop into a battle of wits he had no doubt, the world-famous bandit threw open the canvas, exclaiming blandly:

"This is an unexpected pleasure! Come in, won't you? Because your fellow townsmen persist in treating us as though we were animals on exhibition we are obliged to keep the flap down."

Jumping to the conclusion that his task was already as good as done because of the cordiality of the greeting when he had anticipated a brusqueness that would tax his diplomacy to overcome, the boy entered while his host once more closed and buttoned the canvass.

Yet could he have seen the wink that Jesse sent to his pals from behind his back, the youth would have lost his confidence.

His work which had taken but a few seconds, ended, the great outlaw turned to his guest.

"This is Mr. Prentiss, Mr. Rozier and this is Mr. Bemis," he said introducing Clell and Cole. "Take a camp stool, won't you? I can't offer you a chair."

Now that he was in the presence of the men he hoped to unmask and brand as villains, the banker's son was at a loss how to proceed and sat in embarrassed silence after acknowledging the introductions.

Determined to leave the opening of the conversation to their caller, Jesse held his peace, enjoying the lad's increasing discomfiture.

Taking their cues from their leader, Clell and Cole said nothing.

The pause was awkward and each moment made it more so—for young Rozier.

Try as he would, however, the lad could think of no way to make an opening for his questions. Obviously it would not do to ask about the mines abruptly.

Finally, getting desperate, he took out his cigar case, stammering:

"Have a—have a cigar?"

"No thank you," responded Jesse. "My partner, Mr. Bemis, brought on a supply of a special kind we have made for us from Mexican tobacco and I prefer those." But despite his words, the bandit-chieftain made no move to get any.

Nettled by the refusal, for he realized that it meant that the men before him would accept nothing, not even a smoke, from his hands, the banker's son summoned all his courage and asked:

"Mr. Bemis wasn't here yesterday when you made your wonderful rescue of my sister, was he?"

"No, he was not," returned the great outlaw.

"I heard that some friends of yours had come—and gone—" he emphasized, "in the night. You should have got here before, Mr. Bemis. I never saw such remarkable nerve in my life."

Ere Cole could reply, however, Jesse interposed:

"By the way, your recalling the incident makes me think. Were you anywhere near me when we were punishing Consollas?"

Unable to understand at what his questioner was driving when he knew that the latter must remember the quarrel over his sister's note, young Rozier replied, significantly:

"I was at your elbow."

"Oh, were you? There were so many strange faces I failed to recall yours."

"He's trying to wriggle out of refusing Sally's request by pretending he didn't recognize me," thought the boy to himself and vowing not to let him, he was racking his brains for some way to block him when Jesse continued:

"I'm glad. You may be able to help me.

"While the little wretch was struggling to prevent my putting him in the kettle, I lost a watch charm, a gold nugget, that I wouldn't part with for ten—no, nor for twenty—thousand dollars.

"Did you see any one near me who might have picked it up, unnoticed in the excitement?"

The question was asked quietly, with no unusual emphasis. But it was loaded!

By it the great bandit sought to learn whether or not the banker's son was the person who had uttered the exclamation as his beard was pulled from his face.

Its answer would tell if the call of young Rozier was an act of friendliness or of hostility.

The unsuspecting lad, however, accepted it at its face value, responding:

"There was no one near you but Mr. Sloan and myself. If I had seen it, I should have called your attention to it. Probably it was trampled in the dirt."

As he heard the admission, Jesse's eyes grew steely.

There was no longer any doubt in his mind that his caller had discovered his disguise. Yet it was necessary to learn the plans and purpose of the banker before acting.

The battle of wits was on!

Instinctively the occupants of the tent realized that the apparently harmless question and answer had changed their relations.

Not clever enough to understand that his guns had been spiked, the banker's son, considering it an unhoped-for opportunity, prattled on:

"I suppose it was associated with some of your early diggings."

Unwilling to commit himself, the bandit-chieftain made no comment, an omission, the youth decided, that showed his reluctance to speak about his mines and the more eagerly he determined to make him.

"I hear you have some very valuable mines," he continued, apparently ignoring "Howard's" silence.

"Who told you?" demanded Jesse.

"Oh, it's common talk. They say you're on your way to New York to raise funds to buy others. If you don't mind my saying so, I think you, or your—friends, ought to be more close mouthed. Still, for my part I'm glad you weren't. I've some money to invest and I want to talk about going in with you."

The ice broken, young Rozier no longer found difficulty in playing his part and rattled on glibly.

"I asked father about it and he said he would consider it if he could be convinced that they were good mines. You know there are so many swindling schemes," he added maliciously.

Had he been older or more accustomed to reading men, he would have understood from the expression in the bandit-chieftain's eyes that he had overshot his mark. But in the blind confidence of his youth, he rushed out the questions uppermost in his mind.

"Of course, Mr. Howard, father doesn't mean that your mines aren't all right. What he wants to know is where they are.

"Have you any map of them or, rather, as of course you have one to show in New York, will you let me take it and show it to father?

"He has some capitalists consulting with him at the house now and he might be able to interest them so that it would not be necessary for you to go to New York for the money."

The purpose to unmask him through the mines he, himself, had said he owned was as clear to the great desperado as though he had been in the banker's study the previous evening when the plan was unfolded.

Remembering the old adage "forewarned is forearmed," Jesse determined to balk the attempt to catch him in the lie, yet not so bluntly as to let the bank president know that he had discovered his purpose.

"I am deeply obliged for your father's interest," he dissembled, "but I do not need any outside assistance. Mr. Bemis brought a gentleman here last night who has arranged for the money and Mr. Sloan went away with him to pass the papers.

"And now, if you'll excuse us, we have some business to discuss. Mr. Prentiss is returning to the mines in a day or so."

Bewildered by the dashing of his hopes, young Rozier allowed himself to be bowed from the tent.

As he stood on the other side of the canvass, Jesse's mocking laugh reached him.

With a start, the banker's son realized that he had done all talking, had shown his hand and learned nothing in return.

Flushing with rage, he scowled blackly at the tent, hissing:

"Wait! Just wait!" and hurried to rejoin his father and the detectives.

Chapter VII.

JESSE BESTS THE DETECTIVES AT THEIR OWN GAME.

Reading failure in the dejected expression on his son's countenance as he entered the study, Mr. Rozier waved his hand toward a chair.

"There's no use telling us you haven't succeeded, your face shows it all too plainly," he said as the boy sat down. "All we want to know is how it happened. Begin at the beginning and don't omit anything."

"Not even the slightest detail," added one of the detectives. "What might seem trivial to you may be of the utmost importance to us."

Desirous of getting through the ordeal as soon as possible, young Rozier related all that had occurred from the moment he had reached the crowd about the tent till he had been given his dismissal, even to the words he hurled at the canvas when he heard the gloating laugh.

With many wise nods of their heads and frequent ejaculations, the man-hunters listened to the narrative.

"You're quite right, my boy, only wait," exclaimed their leader as the story was concluded. "They were too smart for you, but they may not get off so easily when we tackle them." Then turning to the bank president he went on:

"You did well, Mr. Rozier, in sending for us. The way this Howard evaded all your son's questions proves that he is a slick article, one that isn't easily to be trapped. However, I think we will succeed in landing him and his two confederates."

Disgusted at the conceit of the man, the bank president waited a few moments to see if the sleuth would suggest any line of action and finding that he did not, snapped:

"That remains to be seen. I've found, in my experience in the world, that it's best to act first and talk afterward.

"What do you propose to do?"

Disconcerted by the putting into words of the very question that was puzzling him, the detective replied:

"Why, go 'round to see them."

"And talk about the mines again, eh?" interrupted Mr. Rozier. "Stuff and nonsense! You might just as well say we're detectives and we're trying to find some grounds for arresting you."

"Well, what do you suggest?" asked the man, nettled at the speech and manner of the banker.

With the burden of the responsibility for the success or failure of their purpose thus shifted to his shoulders, Mr. Rozier thrummed on his desk, scowling.

"I should say the thing for you to do was to mingle with the crowd that's watching them, if there is any now, so that if they come out you can shadow them, that's the word you detectives use, isn't it? If they try to get away, stop them."

"How? We've no right to interfere with a man's movements unless we can make some specific charge against him. If we did, he'd have an action at law against us. They're not vagrants because they have money and if we should arrest them as suspicious characters what could we prove?"

"Could you get at them, or Howard at any rate, for wearing false whiskers?" inquired young Rozier.

"There's no law against that, of which I'm aware," qualified the man-hunter, "but you've given me an idea.

"We might hire some tough to pick a row with them and snatch off the beard."

"After the experience with young Consollas I fancy no one could get near enough to them," observed the banker.

"True," admitted the detective, reluctantly. Then his face brightened:

"You don't suppose your daughter could cozzen Howard into talking about his mines, do you?"

His face livid with rage, the president of the savings institution brought his fist down on his desk with a bang, thundering:

"No sir, I don't! And what's more, Miss Rozier is not to be brought into our conversation again, just understand that. The quicker you do the better. If you can't devise any plan of getting around these men by yourselves or with my son's or my assistance just say so and I'll pay your bill and you can go back to Kansas City."

Alarmed at the fervor of the outburst, the man-hunter set himself about making reparation for his unlucky suggestion and finally succeeded in pacifying the enraged banker.

But when this had been accomplished, they were no nearer the solution of their problem than before.

One by one, various plans were proposed, discussed and rejected.

"There's one thing we can do," remarked a sleuth who had taken no previous part in the debate.

Expectantly the others looked at him.

"Out with it, man!" commanded the banker. "If you've got an idea, for goodness' sake let's hear it."

"What I was going to say was that we could wait till night and when they are asleep go through their clothes and luggage."

"But they may leave the Springs before dark or just after," objected Forman, Jr.

The new line of thought roused by the proposition, however, bore fruit.

"I have it!" exclaimed the banker, all of a tremble. "We'll drug 'em! I'll send 'round a couple of bottles of doctored wine. If they're miners, they drink—it's a safe bet they do, anyway. They'll take the stuff and then when they're under, you men can go into the tent and ransack it to your hearts' content."

"But they won't accept anything coming from us," protested his namesake. "If they wouldn't take a cigar from me, they won't a bottle of wine from you."

The objection was easily overridden, however, by the suggestion that the gift could be sent anonymously, with a note simply saying that it was from a friend.

This point decided, there only remained the procuring of the drug with which to doctor the wine.

In utter ignorance of what to use, the banker inquired of the detectives.

The question caused an argument among them as to the most efficacious kind of dope, the decision finally falling upon chloral as the one that would act upon the victim the quickest and the most powerfully.

Realizing that it would be no easy matter to obtain the drug, Mr. Rozier announced his willingness to get it and went to the apothecary shop. Yet before he secured it, he was obliged to use all the influence of his wealth and position. But at last, upon his solemn assurance that it was to be used for no improper purpose, the pharmacist gave some of the poison to him and he hurried back to his home.

Ordering two bottles of some rare old Madeira to be brought from his wine cellar, the banker and the man-hunters set about putting in the drug as soon as they were placed upon the desk by the servant.

Yet the task was no easy one. Should the recipients of the gift discover that the corks had been tampered with, they would, of course, become suspicious of them instantly.

With much care and many expletives, the elder Rozier finally succeeded in pushing to one side, unbroken, the age-rusted wires that held the corks intact and gradually worked the stoppers out.

This done, the requisite number of drops were put in each bottle, the corks were driven back in and the wires readjusted in their proper places.

The dust and cobwebs, so dear to the eye of the connoisseur of old vintages, had been sadly brushed off and torn in the operation, however.

After vainly trying to attach substitutes, the difficulty was finally solved by wiping them all off entirely.

When the bottles had been wrapped in heavy paper, one of the man-hunters addressed the package to "Mr. Thomas Howard, with the best wishes of an admirer."

Satisfied with their work, it was decided that the banker's son should accompany one of the detectives to the tent of their intended victims, while the others followed at a distance that would not attract attention, and that when they reached their destination, young Rozier should conceal himself, allowing the sleuth to deliver the package alone. In the event of the absence of the miners, the package was to be put inside the tent and the detective was to find some place from which he could watch their return.

Confident of their ultimate success, the conspirators set out.

Had they had any inkling that the men they planned to trap were the terrible outlaws who had played so fast and loose with them in Kansas City, when they escaped from their clutches with the daughter of Banker Ormsby, their assurance would doubtless have been less great.

But in blissful ignorance of the fact, they descended upon the tent.

In the time consumed by these preparations the outlaws, themselves, had not been idle.

As soon as their caller had taken his departure, they put their heads together to decide upon their best move.

All doubt as to who had seen the incident of the beard-snatching removed by young Rozier's own words, and his purpose in calling evident in his questions regarding the mines, even Jesse was compelled to admit that nothing was to be gained, while everything might be lost, by a longer sojourn at the Springs.

When the method of their going was broached, the great outlaw declared that it must be on horseback, for to depart by train and leave the roan would be tacit admission that they had been driven to flight.

And accordingly they went out to purchase two horses and the necessary saddles and bridles.

As they emerged from their tent, they were agreeably surprised to find that the crowd had dispersed.

Picking their way among the outlying avenues of canvas, the bandits were able to reach the square almost unnoticed but immediately upon their arrival in the business part of the town they became the center of all eyes.

Smiling at the freely expressed comments upon their appearance, Jesse led the way into a harness shop and made his wants known.

Visions of exorbitant prices for his best saddles in his mind, the proprietor declared he could take them to the best animals in the Springs and, glancing proudly upon his friends and neighbours as he emerged from his store at the side of "Mr. Howard," he conducted the outlaws to where the horses were.

Apprised of the strangers' purpose, the owner brought out two splendid creatures from his stable and quickly the bargain was struck, though to the detriment of the bandits' bank rolls.

With instructions that the animals be fitted with saddles and bridles and delivered at their tent, they thanked the harness maker, paid him liberally and set out upon their return, arriving in their corner of the grove just in time to see young Rozier point out their camp to the detective and disappear.

"What do you suppose that means?" asked Cole.

But the actions of the man-hunter were his answer.

Approaching the tent, he shook the flap and, receiving no response, raised one corner, thrusting the package of doped wine underneath.

Their suspicions excited, especially as the intruder taking advantage of their absence to peer at everything he could see of their belongings, Jesse yelled:

"Hi there! Get out of that tent! What are you up to, anyhow?"

Springing back at the unexpected challenge the man-hunter turned to see who had hailed him.

"Dillaby, the Pinkerton superintendent in Kansas City, as I live," breathed the bandit-chieftain to his pals. "This is getting hot. Come on till we see what he's up to. If he tries to get away draw your guns." Then, raising his voice he cried:

"What are you doing, down on your hands and knees, spying into my camp?"

The shouts of the world-famous desperado quickly drew a crowd to the spot.

Turning to them, he complained bitterly:

"It seems strange that three gentlemen can't come to Monegaw Springs and live in quiet, without you all haunting them day and night and gawping at them. Why, we can't even leave our tent without some one trying to enter it.

"This man, here," and he pointed to the detective, "was just crawling in when we happened to come along and saw him."

"That's not so," protested Dillaby, realizing that his position was becoming uncomfortable.

"Then what were you doing? Are you in the habit of going 'round sticking your head into every camp you see?"

"I was merely delivering a package."

"That's a likely story."

"You can see for yourself by looking in. As I found no one at home, I stooped to place it under the canvas and—"

"Staid to see what you could see," interrupted Jesse. "Ted," looking at Cole, "find out if there is any bundle inside."

Eagerly the crowd awaited his reply.

"Yes, there is one," he called.

"Now will you believe me?" demanded the man-hunter, anxious to escape from his inquisitors.

"Not yet. That may be just a blind to be used in case we were at home or you were caught sneaking in, as you were.

"It's my opinion you are a thief!"

Crimsoning at the charge, Dillaby looked about him helplessly. No suspicion was there in his mind as to the true identity of the man before him. That he was the Mr. Howard he had no doubt from the clever manner in which the outlaw had twisted appearances against him and so serious was his predicament that he feared it would be necessary to call upon Mr. Rozier to extricate him—an event that would lay bare the whole plot.

Enjoying the man's misery, the world famous desperado determined to make him disclose his purpose.

"Do you know what's in the package?" he asked.

"I do."

"What?"

"Wine."

"There's some writing on the wrapper," interrupted Cole. "It says 'for Mr. Thomas Howard, with best wishes from an admirer.'"

"Ah! how romantic," grinned Jesse. "Can it be, sir, that you are the one who sent me the wine?"

The detective had gone too far to falter now and he replied:

"Yes."

"I don't seem to remember your face," purred the bandit-chieftain, "when did I ever see you before?"

"We have never met, but I saw your magnificent work yesterday afternoon and wished to show you my appreciation."

"Rubbish!" snapped Jesse. "I don't believe you were ever in Monegaw Springs in your life before this morning." Then turning again to the astounded onlookers, he asked: "Do any of you know this man? Have you ever seen him before?"

But nobody had and they said so in no uncertain terms.

"You hear what these gentlemen and ladies say," observed the bandit-chieftain. "None of them have ever laid eyes on you till just now.

"You're a slick talker, but you can't fool me. I owe it to the other sojourners at the Springs to see that you're taken care of so you can't try to work the gag on them.

"Will some of you gentlemen kindly send for the constable? I wish to have this man locked up as a thief. If he can establish his innocence, the judge will give him the opportunity."

The look of malignant hatred that Dillaby bestowed upon his tormentor as he heard the request made Jesse grin and he watched him with keen enjoyment as several of the men rushed off to summon a guardian of the law.

Standing On the edge of the crowd, young Rozier had been an indignant witness of all that had transpired.

Realizing that the tracing of the wine to his father would spell defeat for their second plan, he had held his tongue. But when he heard his foe's call for a constable and saw people start to get one, he could contain himself no longer.

Pushing his way to the side of the man-hunter, he exclaimed:

"I can vouch for this man, Mr. Howard. This is an outrage to treat him so."

"Is this one of your father's guests, the capitalists?" asked the great outlaw, innocently.

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you interfere before the matter had gone so far?"

"Because I only just got here."

"Where have you been since you pointed my tent out to your friend?"

This question was uttered in a voice inaudible to any save the banker's son and the man-hunter. But it told them that their connection had been known from the first and that the by-play had been indulged in merely for the purpose of compelling them to acknowledge it publicly.

Ere either could recover from the shock of the discovery, Jessie was saying to the crowd:

"Mr. Rosier says that a cruel mistake has been made and that the man I thought was a thief is in reality a special friend of his father—a capitalist, who is his house guest."

And then to their amazement, instead of apologizing to the stranger, he continued:

"I beg your pardon for having sent any of you after the constable. But there is so little difference between some men of wealth and thieves that my mistake is not unnatural."

With this parting shot, whose meaning there was no mistaking, the world-famous desperado turned his back on the banker's son and the detective who posed as a capitalist, motioned to Clell and Cole to enter the tent and followed, taking the wine from the latter, while the crowd gasped at the public affront and the startling innuendo.

For the second time Jesse had outwitted the banker. But he was playing a desperate game. And danger, of which he never dreamed, looming dark and terrible, was closing in on him even in the moment of his triumph!

Chapter VIII.

AN UNEXPECTED COMPLICATION.

Protected by the heavy canvas from the impertinent stares of the patrons of the medicinal waters, the three outlaws looked at one another and then at the package presented to them in silence.

"Jess, you sure are a corker," exclaimed Clell in undisguised admiration. "Whatever put it into your head to charge Dillaby with being a thief?"

Smiling at the tribute to his cleverness, the great outlaw replied:

"I wanted to find out whether he was acting in conjunction with the Roziers or whether he had traced us here in some way and merely chanced to hit upon the banker's son when he sought to learn where our camp was."

"Well, you found out all right, all right," commented Cole.

"I certainly did," chuckled his leader.

"I'd give a good deal to hear what Dillaby says when he reports to the old man. They'll go almost nutty in trying to decide if we are on to the fact that his friends the capitalists are really detectives."

"And while they're puzzling over it, why wouldn't it be the wisest move for us to vamoose?" inquired Clell.

"Did you ever know me to run away under fire?" retorted his leader, answering one question with another.

"That's all right, but there's such a thing as going too far. 'Three times and out,' you know. You may have got the best of them twice, but will you come off so well the third time?"

"You forget that we have one great advantage; we know exactly who they are while they are all up in the air as to our identities.

"I'm going to fight old Rozier to the last ditch!"

But within three short hours Jesse was destined bitterly to repent his decision and to regret that he had not followed his chum's advice.

No premonition did they have of the storm that was about to break around their heads, however, and, flushed with their success in the two encounters they had had with their enemies, the bandits prepared for a master stroke.

Springing to his feet as an idea flashed into his mind, the great outlaw seized the package and opened it.

Picking up one of the bottles, he turned it round and round in his hand, gazing intently at the cork.

"Ha! Look here," he exclaimed, all of a sudden.

As his pals examined the bottle, he went on, excitedly:

"I've got old Rozier where I want him! This cork has been drawn out and put back! You can see beside the wires, there, where it's been cut."

"You mean the stuff's been doped?" asked Clell and Cole, almost in the same breath as they inspected the spot their leader indicated on the stopper and realized its significance.

"You're on. A—ah! I thought so. Taste of it and then tell me what you think."

During the brief interval following the discovery that the bottle had been tampered with, the bandit-chieftain had hurriedly pulled off the wires, yanked out the cork and raised the snout to his lips.

"It's sure got a peculiar flavour," declared the eldest of the Younger brothers as he passed the bottle to his companion. "Tastes bitter."

As soon as the wine had touched Clell's tongue, he confirmed their suspicions.

"I was knocked out once with 'peter' drops and I'd know the taste of the poison any time. You can stake your bottom dollar that there's a liberal dose of chloral in that bottle."

"That's all I want to know," chuckled Jesse. "Old money bags, you've got yourself into a mess that'll make you open your purse-strings before you see the end of it.

"Cole, go up to the square and get a lawyer. I'm going to have Rozier arrested if there's anything in the law against trying to drug a person."

Too amazed at the purpose of their chief to speak, the outlaws glanced at one another and then at him, their lips puckered as though they would whistle.

"It's nothing to get so stirred up about," continued the famous desperado, noting the effect his words produced. "If it is a crime, I'll swear out the warrant. We'll turn these bottles over to the police through the lawyer and while the Springs are convulsed with the arrest of the banker, we'll slip out unnoticed. There's evidence enough in these bottles to convict him without our presence and, from the crowd who heard Dillaby say he sent the stuff, witnesses can be found who will establish the connection between the 'fly mug,' the wine and both young and old Rozier."

Elated at the prospect, the eldest of the Younger brothers picked up his hat and hurried from the tent to summon a member of the legal profession.

But he never reached his destination!

As he wound in and out among the side streets, the whistle of the noonday train rang loud and shrill. Slowing up that he might not run into the crowd of arrivals, he so timed his gait that he reached the intersecting road just as the last of them seemed to have passed.

At the corner of the two streets, on the side on which he was walking, a hedge obstructed his view, however. Yet as he had seen no one cross the road, he deemed it safe for him to increase his pace.

Scarce three feet away from the sidewalk up which he intended to turn was he, when suddenly a black-garbed young woman, struggling along with a heavy satchel, appeared from behind the hedge.

Hearing the sound of footsteps so close to her, she turned her head toward them to see who was coming.

As Cole beheld the rosy-cheeked face he with difficulty suppressed an exclamation.

He knew the girl!

Recovering quickly from his surprise he bowed, saying at the same time:

"Let me carry your bag for you?" And he extended his hand to take it.

But no sooner did she hear the voice, than the young woman shot a quick glance across the street, then hastened her steps without heeding the offer.

Unable to fathom such treatment, the outlaw looked in the same direction the black gowned girl had.

Scrutinizing him with undisguised interest were two men. Yet though they watched him closely, they never paused and continued up the opposite sidewalk from that occupied by the young woman, keeping a couple of yards behind her.

Cole's first impulse was to turn on his heel and run to the tent to bear the startling news to his chief. But he resisted it, entering the street from the station which he followed till he came to the next block, dividing his attention between the girl and the men.

Twice the latter looked over their shoulders as the bandit trailed them.

"Those are detectives or I don't know one," mused the eldest of the Younger brothers. "I guess the lawyer business can wait."

Never had a block seemed so long to the outlaw, who was impatient to announce to his pals the unexpected complication that confronted them, as did the one between where he had met the young woman and the next.

But at last he turned into the side street and without a glance in the direction of the persons whose appearance had so upset him, Cole continued his leisurely gait till he felt that he was beyond their sight, then quickly lengthened his stride.

Approaching the tent, he noticed, with a feeling of relief, that the horses they had purchased had been delivered.

"Thank goodness they're here," he muttered, then as he arrived at the flap cried in a low voice, "let me in, quick!"

Realizing from the excitement in the tone that something untoward had happened, Jesse hurriedly admitted his chum.

"What is it?" he demanded, noticing the worried look in the latter's eyes.

Thrusting his head from the flap to be certain that no eavesdroppers were about, Cole withdrew it hastily, exclaiming:

"Sue's come!"

"Susie, my sister, in Monegaw Springs?" gasped the great outlaw in amazement.

"Sure's you're standing in front of me. And that isn't the worst. Two man-hunters are shadowing her!"

In blank dismay, the bandit-chieftain looked from one to another of his chums, then snapped:

"Tell us about it, man."

With no unnecessary words, Cole complied.

"This knocks my plans galley west," commented the famous desperado at the conclusion of the story of the meeting.

"I wonder what on earth brought Sue down here. She evidently knows she's being trailed from the way she refused to answer you and looked across at the detectives.

"Blast the luck, anyhow. If she'd only kept away till tomorrow, or even tonight, we'd have had old Rozier in the toils. But now we've got to chuck the whole business and light out. We can only strike him through his bank.

"It won't be long before Dillaby and his men run into these other man-hunters and when they do, it won't take even them long to come to the conclusion that we're the men they want.

"For concocting theories, you can't beat a detective. It's when they try to reconcile them with facts that they get balled up. But in this case, they won't have much trouble.

"Saddle up while I gather our duds together."

This sudden change of front in their leader recalled to his pals his recent observation about running away under fire, but they knew him too well to taunt him with it. His bravery and recklessness needed no proof; they had witnessed both too many times and they realized fully the desperateness of their situation.

With the rapidity that characterized all the movements of the notorious band when once they were in action, the horses were made ready and as Clell and Cole led them to the tent, Jesse emerged with their saddle bags which were hurriedly adjusted.

Fortunately for the bandits, their neighbors were engaged in eating their dinners and no inquisitive eyes spied on their departure.

"Into the woods!" commanded the world-famous desperado as his chums mounted.

Thanking their leader's foresight for pitching their tent on the edge of the grove, they obeyed and soon were out of sight of the camp ground.

"Whereaway?" asked the eldest of the Younger brothers as Jesse now and then changed the direction of their course, indicating that he had a definite objective point in view.

"To see Sue, of course, and find out why she came here."

"But Cole didn't follow her. How do you know where to look?" asked Clell.

"We've only got one family who are 'true blue' here, the Priors," returned his leader, "and I'm going to see them. If she isn't there or they can't locate her, I shan't try.

"I didn't want to go near 'em while we were at the Springs: 'What people don't know won't hurt 'em.' But Sue's coming makes a difference."

And it didn't take long for the outlaws to learn that the arrival of the sister of the notorious Jesse did, indeed, make a vast difference!

When the altercation between Dillaby and the supposed miner had reached the point where the latter sent for the constables, the rest of the Pinkertons, who had been trailing behind their superintendent, scurried in all directions, some to reach the chief of police in time to make themselves known and get him to countermand the order, others to report the failure, with its unforeseen result, to the banker.

Upon young Rozier's intercession, however, the former dropped the idea of calling on the head of the police department though they continued to the heart of the village.

As they were walking about, looking at the people and the stores, one of them suddenly espied the two men trailing Susie.

"There's Jones and Higgins," he gasped in surprise. "What are they doing here?"

No satisfactory answer occurring to any of them, they decided to speak to their fellow sleuths.

The surprise of Jones and Higgins as they were accosted was no less than that of the others had been at seeing them.

Questions flew thick and fast.

The man-hunters who had been summoned by the bank president gave a hurried resumé of their case.

"Where are these fellows?" asked Higgins, when the story was finished.

"In their tent, I suppose. Why?"

"Because I want to look at them. We're down here trailing Susie James. She probably expects to meet her brothers here and from what you tell me, these miners may be our birds."

"You don't mean you think they're Jesse and some of his men?" gasped one of the "capitalists."

"I sure do. It's worth trying anyhow. You all round up Dillaby and the others and when we've tracked Susie to where she's going, we'll come back and meet you here in the square. Mum's the word."

And the two latest arrivals of the celebrated Pinkerton force hastened after the girl whom they had watched, as she continued up the street, while talking to their fellows.

Jones and Higgins were two of the detectives assigned to keep the Samuel's homestead, in Kearney, under constant vigil, following the inmates on their travels, which were few and far between, whenever it seemed advisable.

Knowing these facts, the others acquiesced in their leadership and, excited at the thought that the much wanted desperado might be the mysterious Mr. Howard who had made them so ridiculous, they hurried to acquaint Dillaby and Mr. Rozier with the startling development.

As the suggestion was made that the miner was no other than Jesse James, the banker grew deathly pale.

"You can't mean it!" he murmured.

"But we do," returned one of the detectives. "Won't it be great if he is?" continued the fellow, enthusiastically.

"No it won't," snapped Mr. Rozier. "Oh! why did I ever get you down here, anyway? I'll give you a hundred dollars apiece to drop the matter and go back to Kansas City on the next train!"

Amazed at the sudden change in the man who had employed them, the detectives gazed at one another in bewilderment.

"We can't do that," returned Dillaby, at last. "If your men should turn out to be the bandits, the chief'll be so tickled he won't charge you a cent. We'll let you know how things come out."

"But I engaged you. If I order you to go back, why shouldn't you go?" fumed the banker.

"Because if the miners and the outlaws are one and the same, Jones and Higgins will need help in landing them and the men on the trail of Jesse James can press all the other Pinkertons into service they want.

"I don't see, sir, however, why, when you were so keen to prove the strangers frauds, you developed such an aversion to the idea when the trail may lead to the desperadoes?"

"You don't, eh?" returned Mr. Rozier. "Well, if you were the president of a bank you would! Here I've been insulting and hounding Jesse James, if it is really he. Oh! What a fool I've been. He'll get even with me some way!"

"There's no need of getting so unnerved, sir," rejoined Dillaby. "If he prove the man we want, his capture will remove all danger from you."

"If you could catch him, yes. But you haven't done it yet—and you won't either. A man who can make a monkey of you the way this 'Howard' did, won't be caught easily. He knows you are detectives. If he's Jesse, I'll wager he isn't in his tent now!

"Forman," the president of the savings institution exclaimed, as he looked at his watch, "you've got just time to catch the train north. Don't stop to get a bag. I want you to go to Ste. Genevieve at once and warn Harris to send out our funds to Kansas City on the first train, keeping only ten thousand dollars on hand.

"Jesse James, if he and 'Howard' are one, may raid my bank!"

Chapter IX.

THE STORM BREAKS.

Angered by the lack of confidence in their shrewdness and ability the banker's words and actions disclosed, Dillaby rose from his chair, bowed stiffly and said:

"You'll think differently, sir, within twenty-four hours. Come, boys."

But Mr. Rozier's response was a snort of disgust that further enraged the man-hunters.

"The old mutton-head! I wish Jesse would rob his bank! It would serve him right!" snapped one of them.

No comment, however, did his comrades vouchsafe. Each was occupied with his own thoughts and chief among these thoughts was a grim determination to prove to the banker that his opinion of them was erroneous.

Arrived at the rendezvous in the square, Dillaby and his men were forced to wait some minutes before they beheld their fellows hurrying to join them.

Without wasting any time, the eight men, with Higgins and the superintendent of the Kansas City office in lead, set out for the campground.

Nearing the place, Jones said:

"When we get to the tent, the rest of you surround it. Higgins and I will go inside and interview the miners."

"But there are three of them," protested Dillaby.

"What if there are? We can call for help if we need any."

As the reader knows, there was no need.

When the detectives had reached a point from which the camp the suspects had occupied could be seen, they instantly noticed that the roan mare was gone. Ordering a double-quick as the information was imparted to him, Higgins dashed up to the tent.

A glance at the overturned chairs and tables inside told of the haste of the supposed miners' departure.

"Ha! they opened your package of wine, Dillaby," cried Jones when he and his side partner had vented their disappointment at finding the men had taken alarm and vanished.

"If we could only trail 'em we could examine them at our leisure. There's enough dope in that Madeira to knock 'em out for hours, if it doesn't put 'em out of the way altogether."

"There's no use in going 'ifs' and 'buts' when you're working against Jesse James," snapped Higgins. "The fact that the three lit out so soon after the shindy over the wine makes me almost certain the 'miners' are, in reality, the bandits. They realized they were attracting too much attention and made their get-away while they had a chance.

"We've got just one recourse left—to watch Susie. The sooner we get back to the house where she is, the sooner we'll know whether or not it amounts to anything.