His senses reeled and a black cloud, riven by flashes of lightning, descended upon him. He knew he was losing consciousness. Heavy bells rang in his ears. Somewhere in the distance cannon boomed. Then these sounds died away. The harsh bells and booming cannon were silenced by an organ peal. The music thrilled through him. It sank to a soft, throbbing strain and then receded into the distance, growing fainter and fainter. Peace fell on him. He struggled no more. Was it death? CHAPTER XII—BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH Dick’s next sensation was that of an acute pain that shot through every limb and every part of his body. On his chest there seemed a terrible weight that was smothering him, while his head was being crushed by an iron band. He was choking; his neck gave him the most exquisite agony. Far away he seemed to hear the babble of mocking voices. Some one was laughing at him; there were many of them. In spite of the terrible pains he felt, every limb seemed numb and helpless. He had not strength nor power of will. A husky groan came from his lips, which were purple and tinged with blood. That sound called forth another burst of mocking laughter. He opened his eyes. At first he could see nothing, for the bright sun of the Orient was shining full upon him. He knew not what had happened. After a bit he began to realize that he was lying flat on his back in a narrow street, while around him at a little distance were standing many strange men. They were gazing at him in contempt and laughing at his misery. To him in his agony their faces seemed the faces of fiends. A feeling of resentment and anger lay hold upon him. It infuriated him because they could stand about and mock him in his wretchedness. “You dog!” he tried to cry; but the hissing gasp that came from his lips was inarticulate. One of the crowd stepped out and poked the boy with his foot. Then he lifted his hand to his mouth and threw back his head, as if drinking, after which he made a few staggering steps. The crowd roared with laughter. For all of his condition, Dick understood that pantomime. The crowd thought him drunk. But what had happened to him? Why was he lying there in that wretched street, with the fierce sun beating on him? He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had taken place. His effort carried him back to Fardale. For the time being he fancied he had been engaged in a desperate game of football, and in the fearful line-bucking clash he had been injured. That was it. He was lying on the football field. The narrow street, the queer, gray houses, and the mocking fiends who laughed at his misery were the hallucinations of his shocked brain. What were the boys doing? Had they checked the charge of the enemy? Perhaps they had the ball! Possibly some one of them had carried it over the enemy’s line for a touchdown, and so, in the excitement of victory, their injured captain had been forgotten. “Rah! rah! rah! Fardale!”