The pitcher is struggling to throw strikes but there's no room at the inn.

Such was the life of John Ruan through the summer of 1929. He had enjoyed a Tom Sawyeresque childhood and learned that hard work and ingenuity paid handsome monetary rewards.

He began to wheeze again, and tears rolled down his furrowed cheeks. Nate was laughing, too, infected by Check's contagious wheezing.

“And ready the langrel shot,” he yelled to Smithy. Isabel turned to Cutter, fear sparking within her. “What is langrel?” “A type of cannon shot meant to damage sails and masts. Never fear, milady. He means only to cripple them.”