But in the brief space they had learned what they wished.
White enamelled letters announced that the banking hours were from nine till twelve in the morning and from two till four in the afternoon, and on Saturday evenings from seven till eight.
The desk of the cashier was at the end of the counter next to the side street, evidently so placed that the official might converse with customers without being heard by any others who might be in the bank.
And directly behind the desk the massive steel doors of the vault were visible.
"It's only seven-thirty," declared Jesse, looking at his watch when they had passed the bank. "Let's drop into the hotel and look at yesterday's newspapers. I'd lake to see what they have to say about the shindy at the Springs."
No better way of spending the hour and a half they were forced to wait suggesting itself, the quartette entered the village Inn and were soon engrossed in the fantastic report of Jesse's escape from the health resort.
Beyond the usual, exaggerated account of the number of his companions, there was nothing that caused them concern.
But the perusal served as an excellent "kill time" and it was with a start that the great outlaw noticed the hands on the Inn clock pointing to quarter before nine.
"It's time to get the horses," he declared, rising.