Pritchard remained behind the trough, which was in front of the ranch house’s front door. No sooner had Franchard, Ditch, and Ruiz vanished into the dust cloud, than the ranch house door flew open and several men began rushing outside.

The first two out were wearing Mexican military uniforms, followed by men in cowboy attire. All were carrying pistols. Pritchard downed three of them with his rifle, working the lever rapidly between shots, before the others were able to retreat inside and close the door. A moment later, he heard shots emanating from the sides and rear of the building. He also smelled smoke.

Pritchard knew that Franchard, Ditch, and Ruiz had thrown whiskey bottles on their respective sides of the ranch house and ignited the flammable beverage. Within a minute or so, he saw flames licking all around the wooden structure.

Then he heard more gunshots. There were many of them, coming from three sides of the ranch house.

Those inside the ranch house, unable to flee through the front door because of Pritchard’s deadly accurate rifle fire, had evidently attempted to exit through the side windows and rear door. Instead of escape, they were met with a blazing inferno, and the equally deadly rifles of Ditch, Ruiz, and Franchard.

After a minute of intense shooting, no further shots rang out, and no more attempts to leave the ranch house were made by those inside. The only sounds were the terrified braying of the horses, whinnying and stomping in the corral in the wake of the massive explosion, and the growing roar of the fire as the exterior of the ranch house steadily burned.

“Reload and stand ready.” Pritchard heard Franchard call out the familiar Ranger after-action order. He reflexively began to recharge his Henry rifle’s fifteen-round tube from the cartridge belt across his chest, and presumed his compatriots were doing the same.

“You outside,” a man’s coughing voice called from inside the burning ranch house. “What do you want?”

“I want every one of you in that ranch house to come out the front door with your hands in the air,” Pritchard answered back.

“If we do that,” the voice said, “you’ll shoot us.”

“That ain’t certain,” Pritchard said. “But what is certain, is we’ve got you surrounded and bottled up. If you don’t come out, you’re going to roast. You can join your friends in the bunkhouse on their way to hell.”

“We’re coming out.”

“Everybody out through the front door,” Pritchard barked instructions. “Anyone who drops their hands below their ears gets plugged. Comprende?”

“We understand. Don’t shoot. We’re all coming out.”

One by one, ten people emerged from the ranch house. As they came out, Franchard, Ditch, and Ruiz rejoined Pritchard at the front.

The first four men out were Mexican army officers. All appeared wounded. They helped one another along, attempting to keep their hands high, as ordered.