Excellent A story about Jesse James & his gang. Debacle in Northfield by RodG      A Robbery Story Contest Winner

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence. Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language. . Most everyone wants to know why we ever went to Minnesota and how we failed so badly when we tried to rob that bank in Northfield. Well, by 1876 we were being hunted relentlessly in Missouri though we had lots of friends who kept their mouths shut. I was thirty-three, married, and had a year-old son. But I was restless and wanted to venture somewhere far from home. Jesse had family, too, but sought more action. There were eight of us—me and Jesse, the three Younger brothers, Clell Miller, Bill Chadwell, and Charlie Pitts. We had the $15,000 we’d taken during a train robbery in Otterville, Missouri in July. But, Hobbs Kerry, a newcomer to the gang, was arrested shortly after the heist. When the bastard ratted on us, we skedaddled and took a train to Minnesota. Bob Younger and Jesse had discussed robbing banks there, so for a few days we scouted around. Bob suggested Northfield, saying, “It’s a ‘quiet dove’ with only one bank.” On Thursday, September 7, when we rode into town on horses, Northfield seemed like a sun-ripened fruit ready to be picked and bagged. It was a sunny, peaceful day, and there was street traffic. People walked with bundles under their arms, going in and out of shops. They stopped to talk with friends and neighbors, and a few spoke to us.  But, yeah, we were looked at suspiciously since we wore long yellow dusters on a warm day, and we were strangers. The plan was simple. Bob Younger, Charlie Pitts, and I would go inside the bank. Cole Younger and Clell Miller would post themselves outside while Jesse, Jim Younger and Bill Chadwell went to the square behind the bank building to guard our escape route. If there was trouble, they’d stampede down the street yelling like Rebels. Jesse made one demand: “Proceed with the hold-up only if there are few people on the streets.” It was midmorning when Bob, Charlie, and I hitched our horses to posts in front of the bank. I went inside alone to check it out. While cashing a $20 bill, I glanced around the small, cramped room. There was a curved counter in front of the vault’s open door and three small desks. A man sat at each. A loud ticking clock hung to the left of the vault’s door. But two other customers were present, so I left with the bills I’d been given. I blame myself mostly for what happened next. Them days I didn’t think things through like Jesse. No, I did things headlong like an angry goat. Tired of waiting around, I growled at Bob and Charlie. “I’m going back in.” I did and they followed. Inside, I pointed my pistol at the first banker I saw. “Throw up your hands. We intend to rob this bank. You holler, we blow your brains out.” Then I leaped over the counter and stuck my pistol in the face of a bearded man ‘bout my age working at a desk by the vault. “Open the safe, you God damned son of a bitch.” The fellow stared up the barrel of my revolver, but didn’t move an inch. About then I heard shots outside. The townspeople somehow found out we was robbing the bank. Again I ordered that bearded banker to open the safe. Only his mouth moved. “It’s a time lock,” he said,” and cannot be opened now.” “That’s a damn lie!” I shouted. I knew no bank would have a locked safe during business hours. When I was about to step inside the open vault, the guy jumped up, sprang to the vault door, and tried to slam it shut. Charlie beat him to it and not too kindly grabbed his collar and jerked him back. Right then another banker must have spotted a derringer, but Bob snatched it first and scolded him. “You couldn’t do anything with this little thing anyway.” Things were going awry quickly. “Bob,” I yelled. “Gather up what money there’s on the counter.” He pulled out a grain sack from under his duster and yelled at that gun-seeking teller. “Where’s the cashier’s till?” The man pointed, and Bob opened a drawer, saw there was nothing and slammed it shut. Charlie saw the bearded man who was resisting me and leaped over the counter with a long knife. “Damn you!” He screamed. “Open that door or I cut your throat from ear to ear.” He grabbed the man’s hair, jerked back his head, and ran the blade across his throat. I saw a thin red line. Somehow the man twisted out of Charlie’s grip and started to run away. “Murder! Murder! Murder!” he yelled. I grabbed him and slammed my pistol against his skull. He fell to the floor, but I dragged him to the vault door. When he struggled to get up, I pulled the trigger. The bullet passed just over his head. That’s when the other banker bolted to the rear of the bank. The back door was open. Charlie shot him in the shoulder, but he escaped. Townspeople were shooting out there, and suddenly Cole shouted, “For God’s sake come out. They are shooting us to pieces.” Charlie and Bob fled the bank. But I wouldn’t accept defeat. As I was climbing back over the counter, I turned and glared at the bearded man lying by his desk. “Fool bank employee! It’s your damn fault we failed.” I fired my pistol and blew his brains out. Then I leaped over the counter and raced out the front door just as Cole was yelling again for me to come out. It was bedlam out in the street. Townspeople in upstairs windows were shooting at us. The gang, or what was left of us, was shooting at them. I grabbed the reins of my horse and climbed into the saddle. Charlie had already mounted his. We shouted to one another and moved south down the street. I heard Bob shout. I turned and saw him stumbling after us. “My God, boys,” he cried. “You are not going to leave. I’m shot!” I saw Cole spur his horse and gallop back to his brother who grabbed Cole’s outstretched arm with his left hand and swung up behind him. Two of us were killed that day. Three of us were captured sometime later. Jesse and I were both wounded. I was hit in the right leg as I left the bank. But he and I eventually made it home safely. And we never went north again. A Robbery Story Contest Winner Author Notes Artwork courtesy of Google images. The story of the Northfield, Minnesota bank robbery is legendary. I have used several sources and have tried to use the actual dialog reported by eye witnesses, newspapers, and Frank James himself (when interviewed in his later years).

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