Two men covered in black garb walked up to the house of Frank Johnson.
"Dang, Joey, that barfight done got me cut across the knee! Can't hardly stand walkin'!"
The other man snorted. "I reckon ya'll gotta be a softie to complain about THAT. I nearly got the life trampled out of me leavin' that there tavern!" He pointed across the street to the front side of the dilapidated building.
"Lucky thing this house is right across from the tavern, Joey! We can avenge our family without hardly walkin' ten paces!" And with that, the man burst into a stupid laughter.
The other man boxed him in the ear. "Hush your mouth!" He turned around, eyeing for witnesses. It was dark out, and he could barely make out the figure of someone leaning against the tavern.
"Joey! It's a witness!"
The so-called Joey sneered. "That's just a woman! No harm can come from her!"
And with that, Joey withdrew a match from his pocket. He lit it, and watched the flame glow. "Well, Jesse..." the man spoke to the air, "I reckon the death of a few Johnsons ought to avenge your taken life."
And with that, the man dropped the match onto the home. The fire caught onto the rotting wood of the front door and quickly spread from there. As the flames grew, the two men scurried off into the night.