But Jesse's spirits revived a moment later when he heard her returning. He was at a loss at first to account for her movements. That something of interest to himself was occurring, Jesse was firmly convinced. But wriggle about as he would, he could not get a glimpse of the group outside.
However, the desperado's curiosity was soon rewarded.
"Firewater. That's it," he exclaimed. "By the great humping snakes. Sure as I am alive, the little savage is filling them up. I wonder what she's got up her sleeve now? If I only was able to get hold of my guns. I'd help her clean 'em out."
The sky was heavily overcast and black night had settled down over the scene, when finally labored breathing and guttural snores from without told the desperado that little Dew Drop's medicine had done its work well. Heap big Injun had gone to the happy hunting ground of dreamland.
But the bandit's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a voice beside him.
"Jesse Jame," breathed the soft, purring voice of the Indian maid.
"Right you are, my little Dew Drop—"
"S-h-h-h!" cautioned the girl laying a soft, warm palm over his lips.
The sensation was peculiarly pleasant to the great bandit.