“I know you,” a brash man sat next to the stranger.
The stranger said nothing.
“You’re Havlin Morrit. You fought in the Continental War. War hero even.”
“That was a long time ago,” Havlin did not look up.
“Indeed. But it seems you’ve fallen from grace, Mr. Morrit. You have quite a bounty on your head–dead or alive.”
The bartender cocked a shotgun, “No offense, Mr. Morrit. We appreciate your patriotism, but we sure could use that money.” The other bar patrons produced hidden firearms of their own.
Havlin finished off his shot. “If that’s how it’s going to be. . .”

