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His
features
did
not
seem
set
in
death
:
and
as
little
was
it
like
sleep
.
It
had
more
the
look
of
death
than
sleep
.
The
eyes
were
but
half
closed
;
and
the
pupils
could
be
seen
glancing
through
the
lashes
,
glassy
and
dilated
.
Was
the
man
dead
?
Beyond
doubt
,
the
black
birds
believed
that
he
was
.
But
the
black
birds
were
judging
only
by
appearances
.
Their
wish
was
parent
to
the
thought
.
They
were
mistaken
.
Whether
it
was
the
glint
of
the
sun
striking
into
his
half-screened
orbs
,
or
nature
becoming
restored
after
a
period
of
repose
,
the
eyes
of
the
prostrate
man
were
seen
to
open
to
their
full
extent
,
while
a
movement
was
perceptible
throughout
his
whole
frame
.
Soon
after
he
raised
himself
a
little
;
and
,
resting
upon
his
elbow
,
stared
confusedly
around
him
.
The
vultures
soared
upward
into
the
air
,
and
for
the
time
maintained
a
higher
flight
.
"
Am
I
dead
,
or
living
?
"
muttered
he
to
himself
.
"
Dreaming
,
or
awake
?
Which
is
it
?
Where
am
I
?
"
The
sunlight
was
blinding
him
.
He
could
see
nothing
,
till
he
had
shaded
his
eyes
with
his
hand
;
then
only
indistinctly
.
"
Trees
above
--
around
me
!
Stones
underneath
!
That
I
can
tell
by
the
aching
of
my
bones
.
A
chapparal
forest
!
How
came
I
into
it
?
"
Now
I
have
it
,
"
continued
he
,
after
a
short
spell
of
reflection
.
"
My
head
was
dashed
against
a
tree
.
There
it
is
--
the
very
limb
that
lifted
me
out
of
the
saddle
.
My
left
leg
pains
me
.
Ah
!
I
remember
;
it
came
in
contact
with
the
trunk
.
By
heavens
,
I
believe
it
is
broken
!
"
