As the air grew more and more suffocating and the Flying Buddy slipped off into unconsciousness he had a hazy idea that someone was moving about him and that a queer hood, like the special gas mask the Don had given them when they started off in the “Lark” from Texas, was slipped over his head. When that was adjusted the pain in his throat eased and the lids of his eyes lost their sting. It seemed to Jim as if he remained in the great temple, which slowly grew lighter until each object stood out distinctly. Across the floor the members of the gang were huddled in a lifeless mass, but beside him, the bodies of the Gonzalas lay relaxed, as if they were asleep. There was no trace of suffering on any of their faces and he could see the woman breathing naturally.
It was a strange sort of experience and Austin wondered if he were dead. It made him think of a story he had once read, an odd tale of a man who was killed and he opened his eyes into a new world where he could see former companions and places. For a time the chap wandered like one lost, trying to communicate with his friends, but finally he saw a more beautiful land and hastened to enter it. But Jim decided that if he was dead his consciousness was entirely different from the author’s fancy, for he could not move. However, there was no feeling of discomfort. He was perfectly content to rest and watch.
The temple room was quietly being restored to order, the upturned vases straightened, the things the members of the gang had used to hammer or pry off gold and jewels were gathered into a pile, and finally, when all was re-arranged, a weird figure made its way to the Gonzalas and Jim, who very much wanted to scream, but he couldn’t, and after that he didn’t know anything more.
When the boy opened his eyes some time later he was lying on a very comfortable couch on a cool terrace, and he blinked in the sunshine. Again he remembered the strange story of the man who had been killed, and then he was sure that he had died of suffocation in the temple room after the door had imprisoned them, for now he was in the midst of surroundings indescribably lovely. Some distance away he saw figures moving about, men, women, and children, and from behind him came the pure notes of a fine violin played by an artist. The music fitted into the scene and phrases of it harmonized perfectly with the gurgle of water running over stones and the hum of bees hovering above clover blossoms. He drew a deep breath of contentment but felt no desire to move or take a part in the leisurely activity.