Consciousness came back slowly, like sunlight beginning to penetrate a fog. There was a dull, aching throb in his head. Instinctively he tried to put his hand there to ease the pain. But his hand wouldn’t move. Vaguely, he wondered why. Gradually, like waking from a dream, he began to realize where he was. The iron cot came into focus, just above his eyes, then the whitewashed board wall, the single window which was pale now with the first light of dawn. Then it all came back. Ackerman. The descending pistol butt. The memory made him wince and the throbbing seemed to grow more intense. He tried to move again, but still his arms wouldn’t respond. His hands seemed numb, lifeless.
Then he found out why. He was lying on his face. By raising his head slightly he could see his feet. They were d
