“How many of ’em?” he asked in a loud whisper.
Blister answered from the embrasure opposite. “D-don’t know.”
“Still in the bank, are they?”
“Yes.”
Some one peered out of Dolan’s through the crack of a partly opened door. Bob caught the gleam of the sun upon the barrel of a gun. A hat with a pair of eyes beneath the rim of it showed above the sill of a window in the blacksmith shop opposite. Bear Cat was all set for action.
A man was standing beside some horses near the back door of Platt & Fortner’s. He was partially screened from Bob’s view by one of the broncos and by a freight wagon, but the young cattleman had a fleeting impression that he was Bandy Walker. Was he, too, waiting to get a shot at the bandits? Probably so. He had a rifle in his hands. But it struck Dillon he was taking chances. When the robbers came out of the bank they would be within thirty feet of him.
Out of the front door of the bank a little group of men filed. Two of them were armed. The others flanked them on every side. Ferril the cashier carried a gunnysack heavily loaded.
A man stepped out upon the platform in front of Platt & Fortner’s. From his position he looked down on the little bunch of men moving toward the horses. Bandy Walker, beside the horses, called on Houck to hurry, that they were being surrounded.
“I’ve got you covered. Throw down yore guns,” the man on the platform shouted to the outlaws, rifle at shoulder.
Houck’s revolver flashed into the air. He fired across the shoulder of the man whom he was using as a screen. The rifleman on the store porch sat down suddenly, his weapon clattering to the ground.