A TOUCH OF CRIMSON At the end of three hours he awoke as sharply as though an alarm were clamouring at his ear.

There was no elaborate preparation for renewed activities.

A single yawn and stretch and he was again on his feet.
Since the boy was not in sight he cooked himself an enormous meal, devoured it, and went out to the mustang.
The roan greeted him with a volley from both heels that narrowly missed the head of Nash, but the cowpuncher merely smiled tolerantly.
"Feelin' fit agin, eh, damn your soul ?" he said genially, and picking up a bit of board, fallen from the side of the shed, he smote the mustang mightily along the ribs.

The mustang, as if it recognized the touch of the master, pricked up one ear and side-stepped.

The brief rest had filled it with all the old, vicious energy.
For once more, as soon as they rode clear of the door, there ensued a furious struggle between man and beast.