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He was a tall, sparely-built, man of indeterminate age, with thinning sandy hair, a long Gaelic upper lip, and a wide, half-humorous, half-weary mouth; he wore an open-necked shirt, and an old and shabby leather jacket, to the left shoulder of which a few clinging flecks of paint showed where some military emblem had been, long ago.
Professor Zepplin's sombrero was snipped from his head. Stacy lay groaning on the ground. "Ride for the rocks!" shouted Tad as shot after shot began popping from somewhere in the mountains, the bullets screaming over their heads close to their ears or snipping up flecks of dust in the plain. Tad drove his pony straight at Stacy Brown.
The drachenflieger appeared as little flecks of black on either wing of this aerial Armada. The two fleets seemed in no hurry to engage. The Asiatics went far away into the east, quickening their pace and rising as they did so, and then tailed out into a long column and came flying back, rising towards the German left.
"That's a man's action, isn't it? Now I think I am getting brave. I have something to say to you, Philip." He felt her fingers seeking his again and held them tightly. It was curious how in that moment of crisis his thoughts seemed to wander away. He was watching the little flecks of gold in her hair, wondering if he had ever properly appreciated the beautiful curve of her neck.
What does he take me for, after that, do you think?... And you, you, my second, too! You're simply irritating me that I may miss." He stamped again. There were flecks of foam on his lips. "Negotiations are over. I beg you to listen to the signal!" Kirillov shouted at the top of his voice. "One! Two! Three!" At the word "Three" the combatants took aim at one another.
You cannot watch your own effigy growing out of the white trunk, and the trunk beginning to stand forth from the rest of the wood, and the whole picture getting dappled over with the flecks of sun that slip through the leaves overhead, and, as a wind goes by and sets the trees a-talking, flicker hither and thither like butterflies of light.
Five of these were jet-black, and two were white, tinged with flecks of yellow; the fur on his throat and underneath him was the colour of pure snow, and his forehead flamed with brilliant orange. He seemed on the best of terms with himself and all the world, and his small black eyes were full of fun and humour. "Did Feathertail offer you any breakfast?" he asked, hopping close to Phil. "No."
His thoughts dwelt with a passionate insistence on the grand old trees with their great canopies of foliage, where hundreds of happy birds annually made their homes, where, with every recurring Spring, the tender young leaves sprouted forth from the aged gnarled boughs, expressing the joy of a life that had outlived whole generations of men where, in the long heats of summer broad stretches of shade lay dense on the soft grass, offering grateful shelter from the noon-day sun to the browsing cattle, and where with the autumn's breath, the slow and glorious transformation of green leaves to gold, with flecks of scarlet between, made a splendour of colour against the pale grey-blue sky, such as artists dream of and with difficulty realise.
Great fronds of ivory white, of palest gold, of brownest gold, of reddest gold upreared themselves among the purple waves of the heather, wearing the stray flecks of the sunshine like jewels on their breasts. We sat down on a fallen tree round which the bracken had wrapped its splendour.
Here and there patches of blue sky could be detected, with the white flecks of clouds drifting past, but neither the ground nor the trees nor the air showed aught else. Not even a bird, sailing high overhead, flitted to sight, and the leaves below were rustled by no step of bear or deer or smaller animal. But such might be the case, with a score of red men prowling near at hand.
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