ing left--nothing but his dreams, his sinister
reputation, and his gun!

He looked about in a different way from that in which he had first
surveyed the street, now showing life. His gaze encountered the bank
building. The door was open. The bank doubtless opened at nine
o'clock. He remembered that this was so. A second of indecision, then
he moved in front of the bank. He dismounted, flung the reins over the
dun's head, and entered briskly.

Two men were behind the screens of the two cages. Rathburn approached
a window and nodded to the man behind it. Then his gun leaped into his
hand, and he covered the pair.

"Reach high an' hard!" he commanded. "An' quick!"

The men in the cages hesitated; but the look in Rathburn's eyes
convinced them, and they raised their hands over their heads. Rathburn
leaped to the ledge outside the window and climbed nimbly over the
wire network of the cage. Then he dropped to the floor inside.

CHAPTER XXXIII

FAST WORK

Quickly and methodically Rathburn went about his work. His face was
drawn and pale, but his eyes glittered with a deadly earnestness which
was not lost upon the two men who obeyed his orders without question.
The very boldness of his intrepid undertaking must have convinced them
that here was no common bandit. He herded them back toward the vault
at the point of his gun. Then he ordered them into the vault.

"Now then," he said crisply, "you know what I'm after. Trot it out!"

One of the men, evidently an assistant cashier or head teller, who was
in charge, opened a compartment of the inner safe and pulled out a
drawer. Rathburn could see the packages of bills. He looked quickly
about and saw a pile of empty coin sacks on a shelf.

"Fill two of those large sacks," he instructed the other man.

The clerk hastened to carry out his orders and jammed package after
package of bills into one of the largest of the coin sacks. Both men
were white-faced and frightened. They did not try to delay the
proceedings. Rathburn looked dangerous; and what was more sinister, he
went about his nefarious business in a cool, calm, confident manner.
He did not look like the Rathburn who had visited Laura Mallory the
night before, nor the Rathburn who had talked with the sheriff. In
this critical moment he was in look, mood, and gesture The Coyote at
his worst--worthy of all the terrible things that had been whispered
about him.

It may be that the bank employees suspected as