"Yes, won't get him!" returned the man in command of the troops. "You've got a lot to learn, young man, about hunting bad-men.
"But if you never learn any thing else, remember this—Indians, when they're howling and whooping and all excited, are the worst shots in the world.
"Jesse James knows it. And he'd rather take the chance of riding by the whole pack of 'em than to give the few of us a shot at him."
Such, indeed, was the reason that the world-famous desperado had chosen the course he did. Yet his decision had been strengthened by the further knowledge that the redmen feared him and his marvelous prowess with his shooting-irons.
All the while, the little group of outlaws and the two bodies of men bent on their death or capture, were drawing closer together.
Never was there stranger chase.
In full view of one another, each party was riding like mad to gain its own end.
Yet never a shot was fired.
The distance that separated them was too great.
Nearer and nearer drew the bandits and the Indians and farther and farther were the cavalrymen getting from the ravine.