Henry Crosswhite straightened his bowtie, smoothing out a wrinkle in the black silk as he did so. He paused in front of a shop window, taking a moment to check his reflection against the darkness of twilight. The black wool of his suit was neat and precise, the white silk at his throat pristine and clean. He had never been one to turn out less than his best, even in the early years, but these days it came even more naturally to him; money bought a quality of cloth that just felt different against the skin.

The streets were fairly quiet. Just a few people, mostly men, mostly in twos and threes, wandered the streets as the sun started to sink in the west. A saloon further down the street blared music and laughter out onto the street, but apart from a few drunken singing voices that floated out now and then, the town was fairly orderly.

Crosswhite headed into a dimly lit inn. In contrast to the shabby exterior of the building, the inside was fairly clean. The patrons, a handful of men scattered around a couple of tables, all looked up when he walked in. The innkeeper gave a nod from behind the bar, and the conversation stopped. Only the fire in the hearth crackled.

"Evenin'," he said to no one in particular. His deep voice was as smooth as honey, but no less commanding for that. The innkeeper, drying a glass with a rough cloth, gave a slight nod. A couple of the patrons shifted in their chairs.

Crosswhite looked directly at the man whose chair had scraped across the floor. "Now, is there any objection to my bringin' up business here?" His gaze swept the room, locking eyes with a few of the men. None of them spoke. "Well, that's good." He paused, deliberately, giving them the chance to object. Again, no one said anything. "I'm collectin' money for the church. Now, I understand that it's a lean time for many of you, and believe me, I know that it ain't easy to part with money right now. But I'm sure you'd all agree that the church provides a useful service that is worth supportin'."