Nobody goes to it.

Come now, let me help you indoors." Duane's last fading sensations of that hard day were the strange feel of a bed, a relief at the removal of his heavy boots, and of Jennie's soft, cool hands on his hot face.
He lay ill for three weeks before he began to mend, and it was another week then before he could walk out a little in the dusk of the evenings.
After that his strength returned rapidly.

And it was only at the end of this long siege that he recovered his spirits.

During most of his illness he had been silent, moody.
"Jennie, I'll be riding off soon," he said, one evening.

"I can't impose on this good man Andrews much longer.