Jesse James’ Bold Stroke; Or, The Double Bank Robbery by William Ward

“Look! Look!”
The cry was uttered by the foremost of a little band of horsemen riding slowly in single file over the rocky bed of what had once been a raging torrent.
Darkness was descending over the canyon-traversed wilds of Southern Colorado and the air was hot and still.
Towering high above them, sinister and awesome in the half light rose solid walls of rock.
And as the leader of the little band had rounded a jutting crag, he beheld a sight that had brought the startled cry to his lips.
Far down the canyon, two fires glowed, seeming, in the darkness, like the luminous eyes of some wild monster.
Roused by the exclamation of their companion, the others drew rein, peering intently ahead of them.
Footsore and weary, for they had travelled fast and far during the day that was just drawing to a close, the jaded horses stood, with heads hanging low, while their riders stared ahead of them.
“Them’s either signal fires or camp fires,” grunted one of the men, after a careful study of the brilliant lights.