And though, as his cowpunchers swore, his hand was as swift to draw a gun as ever and his eye as steady on a target, he had gradually lost interest in even his revolvers.

Indeed, what real interest remained to him in the world, Marianne was unable to tell.

He lived and moved as one in a dream surrounded by a world of dreams.

His eyes were dull from looking into the dim distance of strange thoughts, and the smile which was rarely away from his lips was rather whimsically enduring than a sign of mirth.
But as he looked down at her from the buckboard, Marianne saw his expression clear to awareness of her.

He even reached out and rested his hand on her head so that her face was tilted up to him.
"Honey," he said, "you're eating your heart out about something.