He was white, short, chunky.

His head was very large for his size, his jaw undershot, his mouth enormous, and his lower lip drooped carelessly over a couple of fangs on each side.

Under small ears his eyes popped almost out of his head, and his snub nose could scarcely be said to be a nose at all.
From a wide chest his body narrowed until it joined a short, twisted tail, and his front legs were bowed, as though he had been in the habit of riding a horse all his life.
Injun gazed at this strange being with something as near surprise as he ever allowed himself.

"Him look like frog," he declared.
"Why, it's a bulldog, an English bulldog!" exclaimed Whitey, who had seen many of this breed in the East.
"More like bullfrog," Injun maintained solemnly.

"What him do--eat bulls ?" The brute's appearance surely was forbidding enough, and if Injun had been subject to fear, which he wasn't, he would have felt it now.