He was a tall, lean young man, stoop-shouldered and bow-legged from much riding, with sallow, freckled face, a thin fuzz of beard, weak mouth and chin, and eyes remarkable for their small size and piercing quality and different color.

For one was gray and the other was hazel.

There was no scar on his face, but the irregularity of his features reminded one who knew that he had once been kicked in the face by a horse.
Creech came up hurriedly, in an eager, wild way that made Lucy suddenly pity him.

He did not seem to remember that the stallion had an antipathy for him.

But Lucy, if she had forgotten, would have been reminded by Sarchedon's action.
"Look out, Joel!" she called, and she gave the black's head a jerk.
Sarchedon went up with a snort and came down pounding the sand.