It landed fair on the bandit's head. The world's greatest desperado toppled over the form of his antagonist, with a subdued moan. Jesse did not move. CHAPTER XIII. UNDER THE BRANDING IRON. "Take that rock off my head," Jesse caught himself mumbling as he slowly returned to consciousness. Two factors had served to save the outlaw's life: One that the Indian behind him had struck him a glancing blow, and the other that Jesse James' skull was too thick to break by any ordinary means. But the blow had been a terrific one and the outlaw's head throbbed like a locomotive under full headway. He emitted a subdued groan and tried to move. To his surprise he found he could not. He was now conscious of shooting pains through his whole body. His arms were stretched above his head, and when he sought to draw them down by his side, he found he could not move them. Jesse cautiously tried to move his feet, but like the arms, these also refused to respond to his will. "That's queer," he thought. "I wonder if I'm dead." He tried to recall the incidents that had preceded his present condition, but his mind was sluggish and just as he would almost come upon a solution of his strange condition, memory would elude him again. He tried to open his eyes, but the eyelids seemed held down by some irresistible weight. For a time the desperado sought to gratify the sensation of drowsiness that seemed to steal over him. Then he would suddenly awake with a start, the pain in his body more intense than before. At last with a mighty effort of will he dragged his heavy eyelids open. At first he could see nothing for the darkness, then little by little he made out his surroundings. 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. 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.