One glance was enough to tell the bandit-chieftain who it was who had balked their clear escape.
"It's old Rozier!" snorted Jesse, ripping out a terrible oath. "That settles him! If I never live to do another thing, I'll raid his bank! It will hurt the old cuss more to lose his money than it would if I should kill his son or run off with his daughter!"
And in the fury of his rage, the great outlaw shook his unoccupied hand defiantly at the banker.
So carried away had Jesse been with wrath at the discovery of the identity of the man behind the gun that he seemed oblivious to the fact that man-hunters and citizens of the Springs alike, yelling with excitement and anger at the escape, were swarming from the doors and windows of the farmhouse and around the side of the building, attracted by the bark of the rifle.
A dozen pistols were popping but the distance between their firers and the horsemen was too great for the bullets to have effect and Jesse laughed at their abortive attempts to hit him, his contempt enraging them the more.
But Cole was watching the banker. Suddenly he saw him shift the muzzle of the Winchester till it pointed full at his chief.
"Duck, Jess, duck!" cried his chum.
Mechanically the famous desperado obeyed. And not a moment too soon!
Not a foot above the seat of the saddle where the bandit-chieftain had sat an instant before sped the death-bearing slug of lead, burying itself behind the ear of the horse on which Clell reeled, dropping the animal to the ground.
An exultant cheer rose from the crowd as the horse fell.