pain. It was agony such as being chained in fire, only it was more prolonged. Insensibility was a condition to be prayed for, even though it might be the end.
Texas shouted for help until his voice was only a moan; thrashed his body from side to side until he had no strength left to turn again, rebellious against this cruel punishment, frantic in his desire to burst his burning bonds. He gasped like a drowning man; his heart labored to suffocation against the poison of his stifled veins. Then in a rushing climax of pain his senses left him. His last wild, protesting thought was that he had come to the quicksands of death.
The cool plash of rain in his face woke Hartwell from his swoon on the threshold of death, and it was dawn. He was unable to believe for a while that the pain had gone out of his feet and hands, the pressure relaxed on his arms. His bonds hung loose on him, as if they had been cut. He could not believe it for a time, and had no strength to investigate, thinking, indeed, that it was only a rift in his incomparable visitation of cruelty.
It came to him quickly that his release from agony was due to the rain. The nature of dry rawhide is to stretch when wet, and the rain had come in time to ease the thongs which stifled his body
