Several others around the bar scurried away, taking their tankards to other parts of the tavern. Huddling together, they sipped at their drinks, taking great care not to look too long at the new stranger.

"Ale." Tossing a coin to the scratched wooden counter, the stranger easily ignored the others.

As the tender poured him a tankard, he asked, "So what's your business in these parts, stranger?"

With a short bark of laughter, the man answered him, "God's business."

When the mug was pushed towards him, he lifted it and drank it quickly down.

"God is not welcome here." The growled proclamation was accentuated by a tankard slamming down onto one of the wooden tables. Half the tavern crowd moved to the other side of the room, and several left altogether.

"Watch that one," the barkeep whispered, nodding toward the back table. "He’s got a mean temper, he does. Don’t like that word."

"Another ale." With a smirk of amusement, he turned towards the apparent potential trouble maker. "And this should concern me how?"

Staring levelly at him, Jeremy reached for the ale when the bartender set it on the counter.

The man in the back stood, knocking his chair backward onto the floor. Judging by the way he glared and swayed slightly, it was clear he was well into his cups. "You’re here on…God’s…business," the man snarled, stepping around the table. "I’ll give you to the count of three to get out of my sight." His hand went to the pistol shoved into his belt.

"Master Grey, please…" With a sharp warning glare from the man, the barkeeper snapped his mouth shut.

Setting his mug on the counter, Jeremy stood and walked towards Grey. Enigmatic blue eyes held to the slightly unfocused stormy ones. "So quick to wave a gun and ask no questions."

Seeming not at all afraid, he continued, "If you could shoot and actually hit me, I will be most impressed."

"I own this land!" Grey drew his pistol and in the blink of an eye, he shot.