I watched him walk into town from the north. I’m sure he’d walked at least 40 miles today, noticing the wear on the soles of his sturdy shoes, the ones he’d bought in London, judging by the strong English welt. I’d estimate he was at least seven feet tall, giant slabs of muscle on his chest, shoulders like basketballs, biceps as large as thanksgiving turkeys, hands the size of those scoop shovels farmers use to throw grain, knuckles that looked like river rocks, and a look on his face that says, ‘Sure, buddy, just mess with me and see what happens to…’ Wait!