He was in an Indian tepee.
"How did I get here?" he wondered.
He tried and tried to think.
Suddenly memory returned like a blow.
He remembered it all. The desperate battle on the ground—the club that finally had laid him low. But beyond that all was dark.
For a moment he could not make up his mind whether it was night or day, but glancing up he noted that the flap that covered the entrance to the wigwam showed a tiny ray of light through a fine slit that its owner had made for secret observations when within. Jesse wished he might be able to pull himself together sufficiently to get up and peek out.
But the effort to raise only gave him pain.
He sensed that his holsters were still at his sides and by their weight against his leg he judged that his guns must be in their places.
The thought gave him comfort. The outlaw's guns had become as much a part of himself as were his hands or his feet.