Never had sharper eyes flashed over Jean and his outfit.

He had a dust-colored, sun-burned face, long, lean, and hard, a huge sandy mustache that hid his mouth, and eyes of piercing light intensity.

Not very much hard Western experience had passed by this man, yet he was not old, measured by years.

When he dismounted Jean saw he was tall, even for an Arizonian.
"Seen your tracks back a ways," he said, as he slipped the bit to let his horse drink.

"Where bound ?" "Reckon I'm lost, all right," replied Jean.