CHAPTER IVI swung about. Three men had entered the tavern and seated themselves at tables near the door. They were surly-looking ruffians, heavy of muscle and bone, and they sat watching us with a stillness that was ominous.
The one nearest to me was big—really big. I could see at a glance that he had been in a good many fights, and that each fight had left its mark on him. His nose was badly battered, crooked and flattened at the tip. His ears were misshapen, mere fleshy lobes flattened grotesquely, so that they spread out over his cheeks like crushed cauliflowers. His right cheek was further defaced by a livid scar, and there was something about the scar which made me see him in another situation—facing three or four men trying with insane rage to cripple him for life.
It was a mind’s-
