the rocks
flying from the cliff where it struck?"

"That's just what I was goin' t' say myself," Young replied, a little
awkwardly. "An' that's what's the matter with Rayburn, an' made him
swound away. How d' you find yourself now, old man?" he went on--rather
glad to change the subject, I fancied--as Rayburn, at sound of his own
name, moved a little.

"I feel queer," Rayburn answered. "Sort of numb and dizzy. Where's the
Padre?"

"An' it's not much blame to you that you do feel queer," Young replied,
hurriedly. "This last thing you've taken it into your fool head t' do is
bein' busted all t' bits by a stroke o' lightnin'. Most folks would 'a'
been satisfied with havin' their legs pretty much sliced off by
Injuns--but reasonableness ain't your strongest hold, Rayburn; an' I
guess it never was."

Rayburn smile faintly as Young spoke, but instead of attempting to
answer him--being still numbed by the heavy shock that he had
received--he settled his head back upon the rolled-up coat that served
him for a pillow, and languidly closed his eyes. Whereupon Young, seeing
that there was nothing further that we could do for his comfort, betook
himself--as his bent at all times was when any strange matter presented
itself, and in this case with the half-crazed eagerness with which those
upon whom a great sorrow has fallen seek instinctively to engage their
minds with any trifling matter that will change the current of their
thoughts--to investigating carefully the work of destruction that the
thunder-bolt had wrought: examining the fragments of the idol, and the
loosened plates of gold and the place on the wall whence these last had
been wrenched away; which examination was the easier because the
storm-cloud was leaving us--though the almost continuous loud rolling of
the thunder still stunned our ears--and a stronger light came in through
the opening in the roof.

I seated myself beside Rayburn and paid no attention to what Young was
doing; for my brooding sorrow was like a slow fire consuming me--as the
tragedy that I had but just witnessed, and the infinite pathos that
there was in seeing Rayburn thus miserably dying, overwhelmed me with a
desolate despair. Even when Young called to me, in a tone so eager and
so penetrating that at any other time I should have been startled into
quick action by his words, I did not rouse myself to answer him; though,
in a dull way, I knew that he would not thus have spoken unless some
ma