Once more the fiendish redskin tuned his branding iron to a sizzling white heat.
Great Bear felt the outlaw's cheek apparently with the intention of applying the iron there next. But for some reason, he evidently changed his mind. Carefully slitting the shoulders of Jesse's shirt, he burned a deep, livid impression on each, holding the iron for what, to the tortured bandit, seemed ages.
The great desperado was faint and dizzy, and tepee and savage danced before his eyes in a most outlandish fashion. Jesse wondered vaguely if all had gone suddenly crazy. But he had borne the ordeal without so much as a groan.
Great Bear scrutinized the outlaw's face keenly, and what he saw filled his soul with savage glee.
The Indian grunted a long-drawn grunt of satisfaction and laid aside his instrument of torture.
"Injun come again," he informed as Jesse opened his eyes once more. "Come tomorrow sun up. Take eyes out. Jesse Jame no fool Injun this time. No fool sojer. Byemby Jesse Jame Indian kill um. Injun get heap money for kill um Jesse Jame. Sojers no get um paleface. No get um money. Huh!"
"Jesse James will beat you yet," gasped the desperado weakly, mastering his faintness by a supreme effort. "He'll kill you!"
"Ugh!" breathed the savage, picking up his fire pot and departing from the wigwam without another word, nor once looking back at his miserable victim.
His fiendish torture had only just begun, and the anticipation in the mind of the savage was the keenest of all his inhuman emotions. He could afford to wait and he would yet see his victim writhe in agony and scream out as the awful pain was inflicted upon him.