Lawrence scratched his two-week stubble. He shifted his knives. Temperance, Rubix, it all fit together too perfectly. As the patrons dragged the unfortunate man out of the inn, he rose from his bench, Pointing one long finger at Temperance. He knew, and she knew, that that had been deliberate. She had had something against that man, and so she had him killed. That was not the way a homesteader thought. If you have a disagreement with someone, you settle it in the street, with your knives, not with the manupulation of honest men, That was wrong.
"Temperance." Other rose up, finding the same conclusion he had.