Old Comrades.
I fancied myself in a future world, battling with some fearful demon. No; those forms I see around me are of the earth. I still live!
My wounds pain me. Some one is binding them up. His hand is rude; but the tender expression of his eye tells me that his heart is kind. Who is he? Whence came he?
I am still upon the wide prairie; I see that clearly enough. Where is my terrible antagonist? I remember our fierce fight—everything that occurred; but—I thought he had killed me!
I certainly was dead. But no; it cannot have been. I still live!
I see above me the blue sky—around me the green plain. Near me are forms—the forms of men, and yonder are horses too!
Into whose hands have I fallen? Whoever they be they are friends; they must have rescued me from the gripe of the monster?
But how? No one was in sight: how could they have arrived in time? I would ask, but have not strength.
The men are still bending over me. I observe one with large beard and brown bushy workers. There is another face, old and thin, and tanned to a copper colour. My eyes wander from one to the other; some distant recollections stir within me. Those faces—
Now I see them but dimly—I see them no longer I fainted, and was again insensible.