By the end of the week, after hours of training, no such impediment remained. Pritchard was faster than Ditch had ever seen him draw before, and quicker than he thought a mortal man could be.

On the evening of the sixth day, Pritchard kept his revolvers loaded. His first shot blew the coin from the tree, and the remaining eleven bullets, all fired in scant seconds, cut out a hole in the tree the size of a whiskey glass where the coin had been.

The following morning, Pritchard and Ditch entered the border town of Del Rio. As the two riders led their packhorse down the main street, a lone figure stepped out to block their path.

“Howdy, Joe,” Captain Franchard said. “Hello, Ditch.” Ditch nodded his greeting, having met the Ranger captain at his ranch when they were searching for Winston Boone.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Pritchard asked.

“Tie up your ponies, come into the saloon, and I’ll tell you.”

Once they were seated, Franchard ordered a bottle and three glasses. Pritchard noticed the captain wasn’t wearing his cinco-peso star. It was the first time he’d seen the tough old Ranger without it.

“We followed Boone’s trail down here to Del Rio,” Franchard explained. “It wasn’t hard to do. Thirty men on horseback leave plenty of sign. But we never got closer than two days behind them.”

“They had a solid head start,” Pritchard said.

“They crossed into Mexico a couple of days ago,” Franchard went on. “That’s when I sent my Rangers back to Fort Worth and wired Austin, requesting a leave of absence.”

“A leave of absence?” Pritchard said.

“Figured I’m due a vacation. I hear Mexico’s nice this time of year.”

“How’d you know I was coming?” Pritchard asked.

“You’ve been ridin’ with me as a Texas Ranger for five years,” Franchard said. “A fella can learn a thing or two about another fella in that time.”

“Iffen you want to come with me, Cap’n, I can’t stop you. I couldn’t stop Ditch. But I’ll tell you the same thing I told him; I ain’t makin’ any arrests, nor takin’ prisoners. This ain’t no posse. It’s a war party. You ain’t obliged to come along, if you ain’t comfortable with that.”

“First off,” Franchard began, “once we cross the Mexico line, it ain’t Captain. It’s Tom. Second thing, is that what befell you at the hands of Winston Boone and his tribe was set in motion because you once stood with me when you weren’t obliged to. I didn’t forget that. Third, why don’t you boys take a walk with me down to the livery?”

Franchard stood, grabbed the bottle and three glasses, and headed out of the saloon. Pritchard and Ditch shrugged to each other and followed after him.