Jordan Sommerville stared at the hand painted sign positioned crookedly over ramshackle building. Visible from the roadway, the sign boasted some of the worst penmanship he'd ever seen. The bright red letters seemed to leap right out of him.

He cursed as another icy trickle of rain slid down the back of his nick. He could hear the others behind him, murmuring in the subdued awe as they took in the sights and sounds of the bar. It was late, it was dark, and for September, it was unseasonably cool. Surely there didn't exist a more idiotic way to spend a Friday night.

The idea of trying to convinced a bar owner to institute a drink limit, especially a bar owner who had thus far allowed quite a few men to overimbibe, seemed futitle. Jordan start forward, anxious to get it over with.

Somehow he'd become the disignated leader of the five man troop, a dubious honor he'd regretfully accepted. The men had been organized by Zenny, a retired farmer who was best describe on his good days. then there was walt and newton, who claimed to be semiretired from their small town shops, though they still spent everyday there. And Howard and Jesse, the town gossips who volunteered for every project, just to make sure they got to stick their noses into anything that was going on.

jordan stopped at the neon lighted their way to be seedy salon and turned to face the men. A strobing bear sign in front window illuminate their rapt face. Jordan had to shout to be heard over the loud music and laughter blaring from inside establishment.

"Now remember,"he said, and thought he used his customary calm tone, he infused enough command to hold all their attention, "we're going to talk. That's all. There'll no accusation, new threats and absolutely, under no circumstances, will there be any violence. Understood?"

five heads bobbed in agreement even as they looked anxiously beyond Jordan to rambunctious parking inside. Jordan sighed.

Backhorn Country was dry, which mint anyone who drank had the good sense to stay indoors and keep it private. There'd tomini accident on the lake, mostly from vacationers hotel water sports and went hand-in-hand, for the citizens to want it any other way.

But this new bar, a renovate old barn, had opened just over the county line, so the same restriction didn't apply. Lately, some of its customers had tried joyriding though Buckhorn in the dead of the night, heating fence, tearing at cornfield, terrorizing the farm animals, and generally making minor mayhem. No one had been seriously injured, yet, but in the face of such moronic amusements, it was only a matter of time.

So the good citizens of Buckhorn had rallied together and, at the suggestion of the town advisory bored, decide to try talking to the owner of the bar. day hoped it would be reasonable and agree to restrict drinks to the rowdier customers, or perhaps institute a drink limit for those that leaned toward nefarious tendencies and overindulgence.