The Dawn of Fury by RALPH COMPTON Page A

the trio headed down the main street toward the bank. Cursing under his breath, Nathan returned to the alley, mounted the black, and rode to the farthest end of town. He circled around behind the bank, and in a scrub oak thicket, left his horse.
    â€œStay, Cotton Blossom,” he said.
    Nathan waited until he was sure the Hankinses had entered the bank, and he allowed enough time for the four tellers to become busy. He must enter the albino’s office unobserved. After the shooting, seconds would count. He would have but a few seconds to make his escape. Nathan entered the bank and walked rapidly past the first three doors to the right of the lobby. When he reached the fourth, he opened it, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him. The surprise was total, and Hankins’ reaction was anger.
    â€œIt’s customary to knock,” he snapped.
    â€œI didn’t see the need for formalities,” Nathan said mildly. “I’m here to kill you.”

    As Nathan entered Hankins’ office, six riders reined up behind the bank. There was Frank and Jesse James, and the four Younger brothers, Jim, John, Bob, and Cole.
    â€œFrank,” said Jesse, “you was in there yesterday. Let’s go over it all one more time.”
    â€œFour teller’s cages,” Frank said. “Bank officers behind closed doors.”
    â€œWorking from the left, then,” said Jesse, “you take the first teller, I’ll take the second, and Bob, you and Cole take the third and fourth. Just the big bills. Jim, you and John hold the horses.”
    â€œHell,” growled Jim Younger, “I’d like to go inside. Why do I always have to hold the horses?”
    â€œBy God,” Jesse snarled, “because I said so. Cole, you and Bob wait for me and Frank to get inside. Then you move fast. We’ll hit all four tellers at once. Crack some heads if you have to, but no shooting.”

    â€œI’ve never seen you before in my life,” said Bart Hankins. “I’ve done you no wrong.”
    â€œThink back to last November,” said Nathan grimly. “Back to Charlottesville, Virginia. You were one of the seven scum who murdered my family and fired the house.”
    â€œYou have no proof,” Hankins said.
    â€œI have an eyewitness,” said Nathan.
    â€œYou’d shoot an unarmed man?”
    â€œNo,” said Nathan, taking an extra Colt from his waistband. “I’ll lay this Colt on the desk and you can go for it. It’s more of a chance than you deserve. Stand up.”
    Hankins got to his feet, but his eyes were not on the Colt that lay on the desk. It was all that saved Nathan. Hankins had palmed the sleeve gun and the .41-caliber derringer’s slug ripped a furrow in the desktop just as Nathan’s slug tore into Hankins’s belly. Hankins fell back down into his swivel chair. Nathan snatched the Colt from the desk and was out the door and running.
    Frank and Jesse James and the Younger brothers had just approached the teller’s cages, their Colts drawn, then the two shots ripped the early-morning stillness. After a moment of shocked hesitation, the four outlaws dropped their canvas sacks and broke for the door. Nathan Stone was already out of the bank and around the comer when Frank and Jesse hit the front door, the Youngers at their heels. Closed doors within the bank’s lobby opened and Colts roared. The citizens of the little town had reacted swiftly, and from points along the main street, rifles began crashing. A hail of lead slammed into the wooden door frame and there was an explosion of shattered glass. Bob Younger dropped his Colt when a slug tore into his upper right arm. The four outlaws, reaching their horses, snatched the reins and mounted on the run. As the six rode away at a fast gallop, there was shouting behind them as the town mounted a posse.
    Following the shooting of Hankins, it had taken Nathan Stone but a few seconds