A cold, weakling gray-light was touching with ghastly fresco the Belly Buttes when A'tim stretched out his paw and scratched impatiently at Shag's leather side. The Bull came back slowly out of his heavy sleep.
"Gently, Wolf Brother," he cried petulantly; "your claws are wondrous strong, and my side has many sore spots--love scars from my Brother Bulls."
"You'll have worse than Bull scars if you don't wake up," answered A'tim; "can't you hear something?"
Shag tipped his massive head sideways with drowsy inquiry, the heavy lids opening in unwilling laziness. A muffled, palpitating beat was in the sulky morning air; it was like the monotonous thump of a war drum over on the Reserve.
"What is it?" queried the Bull, raising his head with full-aged dignity.
"Eagle Shoe's pinto is pounding the trail; the Run is on," answered A'tim.
Shag heaved his huge body to his knees wearily, struggled to his feet with stiff-limbed action, and sho