suffocating depths, followed by a shock, the crushing weight and
steaming flank of his horse across his shoulder, utter darkness,
and--merciful unconsciousness.

How long he lay there thus he never knew. With his returning
consciousness came this strange twilight again,--the twilight of a
dream. He was sitting in the new church at Canada City, as he had sat
the first Sunday of his arrival there, gazing at the pretty face of
Cissy Trixit in the pew opposite him, and wondering who she was. Again
he saw the startled, awakened light that came into her adorable eyes,
the faint blush that suffused her cheek as she met his inquiring gaze,
and the conscious, half conceited, half girlish toss of her little
head as she turned her eyes away, and then a file of brown Chinamen,
muttering some harsh, uncouth gibberish, interposed between them. This
was followed by what seemed to be the crashing in of the church roof, a
stifling heat succeeded by a long, deadly chill. But he knew that
THIS last was all a dream, and he tried to struggle to his feet to see
Cissy's face again,--a reality that he felt would take him out of this
horrible trance,--and he called to her across the pew and heard her
sweet voice again in answer, and then a wave of unconsciousness once
more submerged him.

He came back to life with a sharp tingling of his whole frame as if
pierced with a thousand needles. He knew he was being rubbed, and in his
attempts to throw his torturers aside, he saw faintly by the light of a
flickering fire that they were Chinamen, and he was lying on the floor
of a rude hut. With his first movements they ceased, and, wrapping him
like a mummy in warm blankets, dragged him out of the heap of loose snow
with which they had been rubbing him, toward the fire that glowed upon
the large adobe hearth. The stinging pain was succeeded by a warm glow;
a pleasant languor, which made even thought a burden, came over him, and
yet his perceptions were keenly alive to his surroundings. He heard
the Chinamen mutter something and then depart, leaving him alone. But
presently he was aware of another figure that had entered, and was now
sitting with its back to him at a rude table, roughly extemporized from
a packing-box, apparently engaged in writing. It was a small Chinaman,
evidently the one he had chased! The events of the past few hours--his
mission, his intentions, and every incident of the pursuit--flashed back
upon him. Where was he? What was he