He decided that they were not gray after all, or, at least, not all gray.

They were large and wide apart, and they looked at him from under level brows.

Her face was cameo-like, so clear cut was it.

There were other striking things about her--the cowboy Stetson hat, the heavy braids of brown hair, and the long-barrelled 38 Colt's revolver that hung in its holster on her hip.
"Pretty hospitality, I must say," was her greeting, "letting strangers sink or swim in your front yard." "I--I beg your pardon," he stammered, by a supreme effort dragging himself to his feet.
His legs wobbled under him, and with a suffocating sensation he began sinking to the floor.

He was aware of a feeble gratification as he saw solicitude leap into her eyes; then blackness smote him, and at the moment of smiting him his thought was that at last, and for the first time in his life, he had fainted.
The ringing of the big bell aroused him.