e had of anything unusual was the closing
of the door by a masked man. One glance was enough to tell him the bank
was about to be robbed.

His hand moved swiftly toward the drawer in his desk which contained a
weapon, but stopped halfway to its destination. For he was looking
squarely into the rim of a six-shooter less than a foot from his
forehead. The gun was in the hands of the client with whom he had been
talking.

"Don't do that," the man advised him brusquely. Then, more sharply:
"Reach for the roof. No monkeying."

Benson, the cashier, was no coward, but neither was he a fool. He knew
when not to take a chance. Promptly his arms shot up. But even while he
obeyed, his eyes were carrying to his brain a classification of this man
for future identification. The bandit was a stranger to him, a
heavy-set, bandy-legged fellow of about forty-five, with a leathery face
and eyes as stony as those of a snake.

"What do you want?" the bank officer asked quietly.

"Your gold and notes. Is the safe open?"

Before the cashier could reply a shot rang out. The unmasked outlaw
slewed his head, to see the president of the bank firing from the door
of his private office. The other two robbers were already pumping lead
at him. He staggered, clutched at the door jamb, and slowly sank to the
floor after the revolver had dropped from his hand.

Benson seized the opportunity to duck behind his desk and drag open a
drawer, but before his fingers had closed on the weapon within, two
crashing blows descended with stunning force on his head. The outlaw
covering him had reversed his heavy revolver and clubbed him with the
butt.

"That'll hold him for a while," the bandit remarked, and dragged the
unconscious man across the floor to where the president lay huddled.

One of the masked men, a lithe, sinuous fellow with a polka-dot bandanna
round his neck, took command.

"Keep these men covered, Irwin, while we get the loot," he ordered the
unmasked man.

With that he and the boyish-looking fellow who had ridden into town with
him, the latter carrying three empty sacks, followed the trembling
teller to the vault.

No sound broke the dead silence except the loud ticking of the bank
clock and an occasional groan from the cashier, who was just beginning
to return to consciousness. Twice the man left on guard called down to
those in the vault to hurry.

There was need of haste. Somebody, attracted by the sound of firing, had
come ru