Bud Conley's awakening was painful. His mind was hazy and his eyes seemed badly out of focus, as he stared up at the ceiling of the log cabin. He tried to moisten his lips with his tongue, but it was like leather against leather. "Gee cripes, I must 'a' been awful drunk," he said aloud. "I feel like I'd been corroded." He reflected for a moment, and then added, "Maybe it's my iron constitution that has began to rust. Whew, what a flavor I have in my system!" After considerable effort he managed to hitch himself over to the wall, where he braced himself and looked around. He was in a small cabin, windowless and with one door. The cabin had evidently been built for something other than a place to live. Bud swallowed painfully and felt of his head. Then he began to remember a few things. He had ridden up to the front of Magee's place at Kingsburg in a driving rain and had tied his horse. As he ducked under the hitchrack, he remembered seeing someone near him, and then a heavy weight had descended upon his head. From that time he had no recollection. "Whatcha know about that?" he grunted aloud, feeling of his aching head. "I must 'a' been crowned queen of Kingsburg. They've sure handed me two wonderful receptions in that town." [Illustration] His clothes were still wet and muddy and the upper part of his body was blood-stained from the cut on his head, which had stopped bleeding. His cartridge belt and gun were gone. He managed to get to his feet and stagger over to the door. It was fastened from the outside and was as solid as the four walls. "Well, they sure respect a Montana cowpuncher enough t' lock me in a place where I'll stay put," he observed. He circled the walls carefully, but nothing less than an axe or dynamite would ever make an impression on those heavy logs. "She's so danged tight yuh couldn't even pour water out of it," he declared to himself, "so I reckon I'll stay right in here, like a nice little boy." He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, just as the door swung open and closed quickly behind two Indians. One of them carried a blackened pot and both had rifles, with which they kept Bud covered. They were both evil-faced bucks, seemingly half-drunk. Bud started to his feet, but one of them shoved a rifle against him, grunted a warning and Bud sat down. "How's all yore folks?" asked Bud pleasantly. The one with the pot motioned toward the receptacle and said thickly, "Eat." "I don't have to, if I don't want to, do I?" queried Bud. "No kumtuks," said the other, signifying in the Chinook jargon that he did not understand, and they backed toward the door. Bud was unable to tell what tribe they belonged to, but felt that, from their use of the Chinook jargon, that they were renegades from tribes across the border, although the border tribes of British Columbia spoke the jargon. "Wait a moment. Let us talk, friends," said Bud in the same strange tongue, which he could speak.