But the sound of his steps recalled the bandits to his existence.
Whirling, the great outlaw swung at him with his pistol barrel, just grazing the top of his head.
"No you don't, you little cuss!" he snapped. "Come here to me or I'll make a new heir to the Rozier wealth!"
Fearing to disobey, young Forman walked slowly toward his captor.
"Get up there behind the counter," commanded the bandit-chieftain. "That's the way. Now hold this bag!" And he produced the ever-present gunny-sack from the blouse of his shirt.
The massive doors of the safe had answered to the manipulation of the tumblers in the combination and Cole was inside as the boy reluctantly took hold of the bag.
"Where's the rest of the money?" demanded the eldest of the Younger brothers, emerging with only two sacks of gold in his hands and a couple of packages of bank notes under his arms.
"It's—it's in Kansas City!" whimpered the cashier.
"A—ha! I see! This is your doings, you little pig-faced mut!" roared Jesse, grabbing young Rozier by the coat collar and shaking him while he poured a torrent of blasphemous abuse on his luckless head. "How much was there in the vault last night, old baldy?" he snarled at Mr. Harris.