It was indeed red up to the face, which seemed white in contrast.

Yet only in general shape and action did it resemble a man.
"Damned if it ain't Joel Creech!" sang out Bill Stark.
The other riders accorded their wondering assent.
"Gone crazy, sure!" "I always seen it comin'." "Say, but ain't he wild?
Foamin' at the mouth like a winded hoss!" Young Creech was headed down the road toward the ford across which he had to go to reach home.

He saw the curious group, slowed his pace, and halted.

His face seemed convulsed with rage and pain and fatigue.

His body, even to his hands, was incased in a thick, heavy coating of red adobe that had caked hard.
"God's sake--fellers--" he panted, with eyes rolling, "take this--'dobe mud off me! ...