and seat with its crimson stream.
In the street the baffled and retreating murderers sought their horses and
vaulting into their saddles they were soon rushing with frantic haste out
of town westward.
It was some few moments before the citizens could sufficiently recover
themselves to take in thoroughly the entire situation.
There lay in the open street a few paces from the bank entrance a bandit
in all the hideous ghastliness of a bloody death. A few feet from him was
stretched the lifeless body of a noble horse, while further down the
street on the opposite side another grim corpse lay in a pool of seething
gore.
Windows in all directions were shattered, and door posts showed scars of
imbedded bullets.
Reluctantly the assembled citizens approached the bank, and the sight
which there met their horror stricken gaze caused a thrill of indignation
to seize upon every nerve; and strong men turned pale as they clinched
their fists and set their teeth, registering an inward oath to wreak
vengeance upon the miscreant perpetrators of the dastardly outrage.
There lay poor Heywood! the man who dared death and defied three of the
most notorious scoundrels who ever “cracked a crib” or broke a scull, who
resisted torture, and finally gave his life blood in defense of his trust.
Who was the man to carry the appalling news to the young wife and tell her
that he, upon whom hung her very life, had left her for all time—that he
had been torn from her and hurled into dread eternity by the ruthless hand
of the bloody assassin!
Who was stout enough to bear the gore covered mangled corpse to the new
desolate and grief stricken home!