He would have stayed to fight for mother's flower garden, if it would have done any good.
He was thinking sleepily that next year he would plant flowers in boxes that could be carried to the cave if the Indians broke out again, when Tex Farley poked him in the ribs and told him to wake up or he'd fall off his horse.

It was a weary climb to the top of the range that divided the valley of Big Creek from the North Platte, and a wearier climb down.
Twice Buddy caught himself on the verge of toppling out of the saddle.
For after all he was only a thirteen-year Old boy, growing like any other healthy young animal.

He had been riding hard that day and half of the preceding night when he had raced back from the Reservation to give warning of the impending outbreak.

He needed sleep, and nature was determined that he should have it..