This he manages by throwing his feet forward and laying his back flat along the croup, till his shoulders come between the crossed shanks of the prong-horns.
In this position he remains, without saying a word, or even daring to look below, till he at length finds himself moving forward with face upturned to the sky, thus discovering that the animal he bestrides is once more going along level ground.
Again he hears the voice of Lolita's mistress, saying, "Now, senor, you can sit upright; the danger is past.

You have behaved well, _yegua-- yeguita_!" she adds, patting the mare upon the neck; "you shall have the promised pinons--a whole _cuartilla_ of them." Once more stepping to the front, she strikes off among the trees, along a path which still inclines downward, though now in gentler slope.
Hamersley's brain is in a whirl.

The strange scenes, things, thoughts, and fancies are weaving weird spells around him; and once more he begins to think that his senses have either forsaken or are forsaking him.
This time it is really so, for the long-protracted suffering--the waste of blood and loss of strength--only spasmodically resuscitated by the excitement of the strange encounter--is now being succeeded by a fever of the brain, that is gradually depriving him of his reason.
He has a consciousness of riding on for some distance farther--under trees, whose leafy boughs form an arcade over his head, shutting out the sun.

Soon after, all becomes suddenly luminous, as the mustang bears him out into a clearing, with what appears a log-cabin in the centre.
He sees or fancies the forms of several men standing by its door; and as the mare comes to a stop in their midst his fair conductor is heard excitedly exclaiming,-- "_Hermano_! take hold of him! _Alerte! Alerte_!" At this one of the men springs towards him; whether to be kind, or to kill, he cannot tell.

For before a hand is laid on him the strange tableau fades from his sight; and death, with all its dark obliviousness, seems to take possession of his soul..