As her expert eye ran over the rest of the body she sighed to think that such a creature had come to such an end.

There was about him no sign of life save the twitch of his skin to shake off flies.
Certainly this could not be the horse she had been advised to see and she was about to pass on when she felt eyes watching her from the steep shadow of the shed which bordered the corral.

Then she made out a dapper olive-skinned fellow sitting with his back against the wall in such a position of complete relaxation as only a Mexican is capable of assuming.

He wore a short tuft of black moustache cut well away from the edge of the red lip, a moustache which oddly accentuated his youth.

In body and features he was of that feminine delicacy which your large-handed Saxon dislikes, and though Marianne was by no means a stalwart, she detested the man at once.