The leader of the bank robbers swung round on Ferril. His voice was harsh, menacing. He knew that every moment now counted. From under his coat he had drawn a gunnysack.
“The bank money—quick. No silver—gold an’ any bills you’ve got.”
Ferril opened the safe. He stuffed into the sack both loose and packed gold. He had a few bills, not many, for in the West paper money was then used very little.
“No monkey business,” snarled Houck after he had stood up against the opposite wall the cattleman and the depositor who chanced to be in the bank. “This all you got? Speak up, or I’ll drill you.”
The cashier hesitated, but the ominous hollow eye into which he looked was persuasive. He opened an inner compartment lined with bags of gold. These he thrust into the gunnysack.
The robber named Dave tied with shaking fingers the loose end of the sack.
“Time to go,” announced Houck grimly. “You’re goin’ with us far as our horses—all of you. We ain’t lookin’ for to be bushwhacked.”
He lined up the bodyguard in front and on each side of himself and his accomplice. Against the back of the cattleman he pushed the end of the revolver barrel.
“Lead the way,” he ordered with an oath.
Houck had heard the sound of running feet along the street. He knew it was more than likely that there would be a fight before he and his men got out of town. This was not in his reckoning. The shots fired inside the bank had been outside his calculations. They had been made necessary only by the action of the teller. Jake’s plan had been to do the job swiftly and silently, to get out of town before word of what had taken place reached the citizens. He had chosen Bear Cat as the scene of the robbery because there was always plenty of money in the bank, because he owed its people a grudge, and because it was so far from a railroad.