Notwithstanding all, he slumbers in long spells, at times snoring like an alligator.
At no time does the ex-Ranger stand in need of much sleep, even after the most protracted toil.

Six hours is his usual daily or nocturnal dose; and as the grey dawn begins to glimmer over the tops of the shin oaks, he springs to his feet, shakes the dew from his shoulders like a startled stag, and then stoops down to examine the condition of his wounded comrade.
"Don't ye git up yit, Frank," he says.

"We mustn't start till we hev a clar view all roun', an' be sure there's neery redskin in sight.

Then we kin take the sun a leetle on our left side, an' make tracks to the south-eastart.

How is't wi' ye ?" "I feel weak as water.