rhythm of his motions he conveyed no image of stolidity and dullness.

He was a great, dark man, his skin darkly brown from exposure; his
straight hair showed almost coal black in spite of the fact that it had
but recently been clipped close; his eyebrows were similarly black; and
black hairs spread down his hands almost to the finger nails and
cropped up from his chest at his open throat. It was a mighty, deep,
full chest, the chest of a runner and a fighter, sustained by a strong,
flat abdomen and by powerful, sturdy legs. Yet physical might and
development were not all of Ben Kinney. The image conveyed was never one
of sheer brutality. For all their black hair, the large, brawny hands
were well-shaped and sensitive; he had a healthy, good-humored mouth
that could evidently, on occasion, be the seat of a most pleasant,
boyish smile. He had a straight, good nose, rather high cheek bones, and
a broad, brown forehead, straight rather than sloping swiftly like that
of the negro opposite. But none of his features, nor yet his brawny
form, caught and held the attention as did his vivid, dark-gray eyes.
They were deeply dark, even against his deeply tanned face, yet now and
then one caught distinct surface lights, denoting the presence of
unmeasured animal spirits, and perhaps, too, the surprising health and
vitality of the engine of his life. They were keen eyes, alert, fiery
with a zealot's fire: evidently the eyes of a steadfast, headstrong,
purposeful man. Some complexity of lines about them, hard to trace,
indicated a recklessness, too; a willingness to risk all that he had for
his convictions.

"That's the queerest case we ever had here at Walla Walla," Sprigley
told his fellow guard, as they watched the man's pick swing in the air.
"Sometimes I wonder whether he ought to be here or not. Look at that
face--he hasn't any more of a criminal face than I have."