His hair was clipped close to his scalp and the shape of his skull showed, rounded and bulgy; not the skull of a thinker, nor yet the skull of a creator, just the skull of a natural-born fighting man.

The big, ridgy veins in the back of his neck stood out like window-cords from a close smocking of fine wrinkles.

The neck itself was tanned to a brickdust red.

A gnawed white mustache bristled on his upper lip.

He was tall without seeming to be tall and broad without appearing broad, and he was old enough for a grandfather and spry enough for his own grandchild.