As his mind by slow process began to clear, he set about finding out why it was that he could not move—whether he had been seriously wounded or what mysterious force was holding him down.
The discovery came as a distinct shock and roused all the rage that his savage nature was capable of.
He was bound hand and foot.
Jesse's inclination was to give voice to his passions—to hurl invective at his unseen captors, to taunt them, to goad them, but not to plead. Jesse James had pleaded with no man in his eventful life. It was not in his nature to do so, nor would he begin now.
Yet he did not quite understand what manner of torture they had inflicted upon him to put him in such pain. But it was a matter of only a moment or so before he was made acquainted with his exact situation.
The great desperado had been subjected to the humiliation of being bound hand and foot. And more than that, his manacled hands had been triced up to a stake protruding from the ground some eighteen inches, and the feet had been treated similarly. His position was such that the weight of his body was a constant strain upon the thongs that bound him, a strain that extended through his entire body.
Jesse swore a terrible oath.
"I hope I killed the cursed savage," he gritted.
But his fond hopes were dashed almost at the moment of the utterance of them.
The flap was slowly pulled aside and an evil, ghastly face peered in—a face so torn and mutilated that Jesse observed nothing familiar in it.