She was wholesome. She radiated health and spirit. Her tawny, luminous eyes showed the imaginative mind, the romantic tendencies of her nature, and often there was in them a kind of inquiring eagerness which was like a child's.
She had a distinctive personality, too strong ever to be effaced, and, modest to a degree as was her dress, she could not have been inconspicuous, for Nan Galbraith in her way was a personage, and looked it.
The bystanders felt something of this fact when, a week later, the collarless landlord of the dobe hotel in the little hybrid town of Hopedale, close to the Mexican border, reached up a pair of mighty arms and swung Nan to the ground from the driver's seat of the four-horse stage which ended its fifty-mile journey in front of his caravansary.
