He had on only a thin shirt, a pair of rough wool pants, and the rawhide home-made zapatos the Mexicans wore then instead of boots.

Across his forehead ran a long gash, cutting his left eyebrow square in two.
There was no doubt of his being alive, for he was breathing hard, like a man does when he gets hit over the head.

It didn't sound good.

When a man breathes that way he's mostly all gone.
Well, it was really none of my business, as you might say.

Men got batted over the head often enough in those days.