It must have been a very long time ago, upon one of his previous visits to the ranch.
Certainly, however, there was something familiar in the shepherd's face and figure.

When they came closer to each other, and Presley could see him more distinctly, this sense of a previous acquaintance was increased and sharpened.
The shepherd was a man of about thirty-five.

He was very lean and spare.
His brown canvas overalls were thrust into laced boots.

A cartridge belt without any cartridges encircled his waist.

A grey flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed his breast, tanned and ruddy.