Taking up her rifle she turned away.

Jean strode ahead to her side.

"Reckon if you walk I won't ride." So he found himself beside a girl with the free step of a Mountaineer.
Her bare, brown head came up nearly to his shoulder.

It was a small, pretty head, graceful, well held, and the thick hair on it was a shiny, soft brown.

She wore it in a braid, rather untidily and tangled, he thought, and it was tied with a string of buckskin.