And the sand gray of his face, the long, drooping, fair mustache hid the secrets of his mind, but not its strength.

The instant Ellen met his gaze she sensed a power in him that she instinctively opposed.

Colter had not been so bold nor so rude as Daggs, but he was the same kind of man, perhaps the more dangerous for his secretiveness, his cool, waiting inscrutableness.
"'Mawnin', Ellen!" he drawled.

"Y'u shore look good for sore eyes." "Don't pay me compliments, Colter," replied Ellen.

"An' your eyes are not sore." "Wal, I'm shore sore from fightin' an' ridin' an' layin' out," he said, bluntly.
"Tell me--what's happened," returned Ellen.
"Girl, it's a tolerable long story," replied Colter.