Fury at Troon's Ferry

Darkness was taking hold as he strode purposefully up the street. The air was cold, bringing a shiver to his spine and all the stores were closed and the sidewalks quiet. The only sounds came from the saloon; the desultory notes of a piano, the clink of glasses, the raucous voices of men and the shrill laughter of women. His wife, Leah, had once told him that nothing was achieved by violence. Now he was convinced that she'd been wrong. The desire to inflict vengeance brought the bitter taste of bile to his mouth. Before bullets started flying, as surely they must, would he be able to extract the truth from the man he sought . . . and despised?