could not be imagined than the one which was in progress in the bank while
the street fight already described was going on.
Just a few moments before the raiders commenced their wild career on the
streets, three men rushed into the bank, holding in their hands large
pistols, the glittering barrels of which they directed toward the three
gentlemen, Messrs. Heywood, Bunker and Wilcox, who occupied the desks
behind the counter. Springing over the counter these desperadoes shouted
out
“THROW UP YOUR HANDS,”
“we intend to rob the bank.”
“Which is the Cashier?” one demanded, and instantly approaching Heywood,
commanded him to open the safe. “I am not the cashier,” was the reply.
The man then turned to Bunker, and made the same demand, but he also
denied that he held that important post. The fellow next addressed the
bewildered and fear-stricken Wilcox, whose terror prevented him from
answering.
The baffled man again turned to Heywood, and with oaths and threats
endeavored to make him open the safe.
Heywood replied that he could not, when the scoundrel fired a pistol close
to his ear, and said “if he did not at once open the safe he would scatter
his brains.”
The brave Heywood still insisted upon his inability to comply.
The ruffian then seized him by the collar and dragging him toward the safe
drew out a long, keen edged knife, and posing it over Heywood’s throat,
threatened to cut it from ear to ear if he did not at once open the safe.
But the brave man, faithful to his trust, stolidly refused, when the
robber released his hold of his collar and went into the safe vault.
Now was the opportunity for the faithful Heywood.
“If I can but get that ponderous door closed,” thought he, “and spring the
bolts upon the scoundrel, the”