Von Arnheim led the way through the woods to a little glade, in which about a dozen officers stood.

One of them, the oldest man present, who was obviously in command, stood nearest the fire, holding his helmet in his hand.
The general was past sixty, of medium height, but extremely broad and muscular.

His head, bald save for a fringe of white hair, had been reddened by the sun, and his face, with its deep heavy lines and his corded neck, was red, too.

He showed age but not weakness.

His eyes, small, red and uncommonly keen, gazed from under a white bushy thatch.
He looked like a fierce old dragon to John.
"The American prisoner, sir," said von Arnheim in English to the general.
The old man concentrated the stare of his small red eyes upon John for many long seconds.