The town was in a turmoil of excitement when he reappeared upon the main street.
Church bells were clanging out a call to all who could move to leave their homes or fields; mounted men were riding back and forth, rounding up men and youths, yelling to them to bring rifles and shot guns and to gather at the Prior homestead. And everywhere women were adding to the excitement by screaming:
"Death to the bandits! Shoot 'em! Lynch 'em!"
But the confusion incident to the gathering of the posse of citizens acted in favour of Jesse and his pals.
Giving his sole attention to running his own horse and leading his chief's, Cole had left the watching of their pursuers to Jesse as he held Clell in his arms.
By a sharp change in direction, he had got out of range of the death-dealing rifles on the fence.
At the manoeuvre, a howl of baffled rage broke from the spectators who had expected to see the fugitives crushed beneath their mounts when the latter fell before the rain of lead.
Snatching their Winchesters from their supports, those who had them rushed to another place from which they could see the escaping bandits, but when they once more caught sight of them they were far across the field toward the woods.
Training their rifles upon the horses, whose rising and falling bodies presented difficult targets, the men fired. But their bullets were harmless and, though they discharged several volleys, they soon desisted.
"They're in a funk," announced Jesse, looking back toward where the crowd were rushing aimlessly to and fro. "Don't go into the woods. Keep along the edge. We can travel faster and if we're going to shake 'em it'll be before they get horses to chase us."