"I'll have to leave the show here an' find them fellers," he thought to himself, and then the pain of his wound prevented any further study of the detective work he hoped to perform.
It so chanced, however, that he did not carry out this resolution.
When morning came he was too sick to have much choice in the matter, and the kind-hearted manager said as he wrapped the boy in an old overcoat:
"We'll take him along in the hope of his getting better. If he don't improve in a day or two he can be left in some other town, for it's certain his life isn't safe in this place. Those fellows hit to kill last night, and on a second attempt might be more successful."
It was forty-eight hours before Jet fully realized the condition of affairs, and then the show was nearly a hundred miles from the scene of the attack.
"Have we passed Cooperstown Junction?" he asked of the manager as the performers boarded a train.
"Bless your heart, lad, we left that desolate place behind us the morning after you were hurt."
"How can I get back there?"
"I shan't allow you to try it yet awhile. In your present condition it would be as much as your life is worth to make the attempt."
"But I must go."