He was an Irishman all right, but he had been educated in England, and except for his accent he was more an Englishman than anything else.

A freight outfit brought him into Tucson from Santa Fe and dumped him down on the plaza, where at once every idler in town gathered to quiz him.
Certainly he was one of the greenest specimens I ever saw in this country.

He had on a pair of balloon pants and a Norfolk jacket, and was surrounded by a half-dozen baby trunks.

His face was red-cheeked and aggressively clean, and his eye limpid as a child's.

Most of those present thought that indicated childishness; but I could see that it was only utter self-unconsciousness.
It seemed that he was out for big game, and intended to go after silver-tips somewhere in these very mountains.