THE SWIMMING OF THE SAVERACK Over the face of Nash the darkness passed like a cold hand and a colder sense of failure touched his heart; but men who have ridden the range have one great power surpassing all others--the power of patience.

As soundlessly as he had pushed himself up the moment before, he now slipped down in the blankets and resigned himself to sleep.
He knew that he would wake at the first hint of grey light and trusted that after the long ride of the day before his companion would still be fast asleep.

That half light would be enough for his work; but when he roused while the room was still scarcely more visible than if it were filled with a grey fog, he found Bard already up and pulling on his boots.
"How'd you sleep ?" he growled, following the example of the tenderfoot.
"Not very well," said the other cheerily.

"You see, that story of yours was so vivid in my mind that I stayed awake about all night, I guess, thinking it over." "I knew it," murmured Nash to himself.

"He was awake all the time.