He reached for his other gun with the left.
"Hands up!" commanded the desperado in an even voice. "I reckon we don't 'low curs like you to shoot men in the back."
Instantly the room was in an uproar. There were those present who, though they had not deemed it wise to express their sentiments in the presence of the sheriff, were Steve's cronies on the side.
Their hands flew to their guns.
"Hands up, every mother's son of you!" roared the desperado in a terrible voice that thrilled every man in the room. "Come over here," he said jerking his head to one side for the sheriff to join them, and while Jesse's eyes swept the evil faces about them the sheriff calmly walked over to where the two outlaws were standing, and took his place beside them.
"Thanks, pard," he breathed. "You winged him. He won't use that hand again right away."
A gun flashed at the far end of the room.
Jesse's 44 barked viciously and the other's bullet buried itself in the wall behind him. But his assailant fared not so well. He sank to the floor with a dull red mark placed fairly between his eyes.
Now guns crashed everywhere. The sheriff worked his weapons with the rapidity of a gatling gun. But Jesse and Frank fired now slowly. They were at a disadvantage. They were unable to distinguish friend from foe, while the sheriff knew every man there. So the two outlaws kept their sharp eyes dancing from face to face and at the least sign of treachery, the man went down with a bullet well placed somewhere in his anatomy.