So Ben dreamed. He was with her. Her hand was in his, her heart beating against his heart, her warm breath on his cheek, her glowing breast heaving in gentle undulations against his bosom. She murmured love, confidence and endearments. He talked heroically, and felt the cup of his happiness full to running over. But there came a change. Suddenly a tall dark man came between them, and attempted to separate the lovers. She clung about his neck and prayed him to save her. But the dark man overpowered him. He tore her from his arms and wound his own with an iron grip about Ben's form. He struggled to release himself. His struggles were futile. Closer and closer grew the embrace. It seemed as though it was crushing in his bones. He could not breathe with it. It had assumed the coils of a gigantic serpent, and fold upon fold was wrapped around his body and tightening upon it. He writhed and groaned in agony. His breath came short and thick. His head seemed a molten mass of fire, bursting with the pressure. His eyes started from their sockets. Yet closer, still closer, the folds drew about him, and the dark face of the man became the hideous, gaping mouth of a serpent, that licked him with its forked tongue, and whose hiss sounded deafening in his ears, while its bright, devilish little eyes gloated on him with terrible intent.
With a yell of fear and agony he awoke!
His clothes were wringing with sweat, and the perspiration was pouring from his body. All was dark,—Egyptian darkness,—a fearful, appalling black!
And though awake, the iron folds still held him in their terrible embrace. Was he awake! Was it real! Was it not some horrible nightmare that still accompanied him!
What was this iron hand that clutched him? What these terrible coils about his person, squeezing life out of him? What this hot, close burning breath he felt?
Arouse you Ben, arouse and pray! Pray! Pray as you never prayed in your life before! The gates of Eternity are swinging ajar, and you are to have a glimpse of DEATH.
One hand, partly released, he extended upward. Horror! It struck against a solid wall of lumber that completely closed him in, and converted his chamber into a living tomb. But there was not death. No, no. That was but the trap. Death came surging down upon him in the shape of four thousand feet of lumber, moving slowly, noiselessly, but oh, how fearful and sure, upon his devoted body, as the train toiled up a heavy grade. Already the mass had pinned him to the end of the car so that he could not move his body. It was crushing in his very ribs. He found it hard to breathe. His head was on fire. He yelled and shrieked for help. Prayed; entreated; supplicated. All in vain. The revolving wheels crunched out a dismal monody beneath him. Requiem for a dying soul. And afar off could be heard the groaning of the locomotive as it toiled up the steep mountain side.
Horrible fancies took possession of him. He thought himself dead and laughed deliriously. Then, in saner moments, he called upon his God to end his torture, and send a speedy death to his release. A release from the slow, lethargic, creeping monster, that was sucking up his life atom by atom; hair's breadth by hair's breadth. In those few awful moments the panorama of his life was unfolded, and the dead past resurrected, revealing itself more palpable to him than the living present. Worse than the tortures of the Inquisition, where weights were heaped upon the breast of a prostrate man, were now upon him. Shorter and shorter came his breath. He hated to die! He would not! He could not! Ha, ha! The great, dull, shapeless fiend that was crushing out his existence seemed to laugh at him derisively. Blood started from his nostrils; water gushed from his eyes; and the fiend with one great yell closed a last clutch upon his life, and he was released from his agony.
When Ben recovered consciousness he was lying on the floor of the car, and a kind, rough face was bending over him. There was plenty of room about him. The last yell of the fiend that was smothering him, when he lost consciousness, was the whistle of the locomotive announcing that it had reached the summit of the grade. In the descent on the other side, the lumber had moved away from him as steadily as it had before moved down upon him. Had the up grade lasted but a short distance further, his tramp would have been over forever. There was blood upon his face as a reminder of the agony he had passed through, and he felt weak, limp and lifeless, while the clear sun light was streaming in upon him from the open end gate.
"That was a pretty close call, my friend," said the brakeman, who in going over the cars had chanced to look in at the open window and noticed our friend stretched lifeless upon the floor. Though it was nearly an hour after he had received his squeeze, the man readily understood the situation and the peril Ben had passed through. "That was a pretty close call on you."