The Man.

First impressions were of a young man, a little older than his years (thirty-five we guessed) with a real "scraper's" face carelessly dressed, bronzed skin, steady brown eyes, hands hanging unusually loosely at his sides (due we discovered later, to the effects of a bullet through the right shoulder). Didn't mind being called Tom. I had not asked him many questions before realising that this was a man in a thousand; not only a fighter but well informed, clear-thinking, and the possessor of firm convictions.