When the first reaction from the shock came, his friends were encouraged to believe he would recover; but it was a vain hope. He soon went into a half unconscious, half delirious state, from which it was hard to 'rouse him for even a few minutes at a time.
He lay that way for two days and nights and then died.
On the afternoon of the second day it was clear that he was almost gone—the spray began to splash upon his brow from the dark river—and all the Club grouped around him.
Out of the shadow of death his mind cleared for a moment. In almost his old natural tones, but weak, like the voices heard through a telephone, he said:
"I have seen another mirage, boys. It was the old home under the Osage shadows. It was all plain; the old house, the orchard, the maples were red in the autumn sun, and my mother, who died long ago, seemed to be there, smiling and holding out her arms to me.
"It was all real, but you don't know how tired I am. Carlin, old friend, turn me a little on my side and let me sleep."
Gently as mothers move their helpless babes, the strong miner turned his friend upon his pillows.
He breathed shorter and shorter for a few minutes, then one long sigh came from his mangled breast, and all was still.
There was perfect silence in the room for perhaps five minutes. Then Brewster, with a voice full of tears, said: "God grant that the mirage is now to him a delicious reality," and all the rest responded, "Amen."
The undertaker came, the body was dressed for the grave and placed in a casket, and the Club took up their watch around it.