ON THE RED PINE TRAIL On the Red Pine trail two men were driving in a buckboard drawn by a pair of half-broken pinto bronchos.

The outfit was a rather ramshackle affair, and the driver was like his outfit.

Stewart Duff was a rancher, once a "remittance man," but since his marriage three years ago he had learned self-reliance and was disciplining himself in self-restraint.
A big, lean man he was, his thick shoulders and large, hairy muscular hands suggesting great physical strength, his swarthy face, heavy features, coarse black hair, keen dark eyes, deepset under shaggy brows, suggesting force of character with a possibility of brutality in passion.

Yet when he smiled his heavy face was not unkindly, indeed the smile gave it a kind of rugged attractiveness.

He was past his first youth, and on his face were the marks of the stormy way by which he had come.
He drove his jibing bronchos with steady hands.