To Frank and Harry it seemed that the mountains fell on them and beat them down with a great blow that stretched them helpless and senseless on the ground!
[CHAPTER XV.—RECOVERY.]
With a feeling of numbness and pain in every limb and every part of his body, Frank Merriwell stirred and tried to sit up. His strength seemed to be gone, and he wondered at his weakness.
“What—what does it mean?” he asked himself, puzzled.
There was a cloud on his brain, and, for the time, he did not remember what had happened. He realized he was lying on the ground, and he wondered if he had been there long.
After a time he turned his head a bit, and close beside him he saw Harry Rattleton, stretched on his back, his arms outspread, his face ghastly pale.
A chill of horror seized upon Merriwell’s heart.
Why didn’t Harry move? Why were his eyes closed? Why was his face so white?
There was something horrible and awe-inspiring about those rigid limbs and that ghastly face.
“He is dead!”