With movements so lightning-like that the eye, in the uncertain light, would scarcely have been able to follow them, the great bandit hurled himself into a mad whirl of somersaults that carried him away from the scene of his recent exploits almost as fast as his legs could have done had they been free.
He heard a loud commotion in the Indian village behind him. But whether the savages had learned of the death of the two men or that they simply had been told by the Indian who came upon him so suddenly, that the sentinels were asleep, he neither knew nor cared.
Jesse reasoned shrewdly that in any event the Indians would be delayed a few moments in their surprise at finding their companions murdered, and then the search for him in the wigwam and its immediate vicinity following, all of which would give him a fair start.
Still he knew his trail was as plainly marked as if it had been made by a log-rolling gang, a trail which they would have no difficulty in following at top speed. Therefore haste was all imperative if he hoped to keep his scalp fitted in its proper place. And the world's greatest bandit was not ready to part with that portion of his anatomy just yet.
On dashed the desperado, his movements resembling the evolutions of a cart wheel down a mountain road. And so rapid was his flight that he was unable to take note of either direction or location.
The savages were now hot on his trail.
He could hear their shouts as they discovered it. Like the bay of the hounds when close upon their prey they came rushing down upon him.
Jesse redoubled his efforts. Bending every nerve to the tremendous task before him, the terrible outlaw sprang far up into the air to increase the reach of his next leap.
He stiffened his nerves to meet the impact when his feet should next touch the ground.
But to his intense surprise, the feet did not touch at all. They were kicking wildly in empty space.