With Pritchard’s unexpected entrance, Shipley’s plan had gone awry. Currently the town’s police force, the sheriff and his deputies, and half the townspeople were boiling over and pointing guns at one another in the town square. If he didn’t get a lid on this powder keg, there was going to be mass bloodshed. And with an enraged teenager pointing a .44 at Shipley’s own sizable midsection, it was likely some of that spilled blood would be his.

Even if he survived assassination by Pritchard, Shipley knew an incident like the one about to transpire would inevitably result in the dispatch of troops from Kansas City, something he’d lied about sending for earlier. The last thing Burnell Shipley wanted was additional scrutiny from the U.S. Army at a time when he was finally about to gain complete control of the town of Atherton.

“Everybody calm down,” Shipley said, in his silkiest and most paternal tone. “There’s no need for gunplay. Sheriff Foster, have your men holster their guns. Marshal Stacy, do the same.”

“But he murdered Glenn,” Sheriff Foster protested. “He should be hanging from a—”

“Young Pritchard deserves a fair trial,” Shipley cut off the sheriff, “like any man who’s been accused. He has a right to be heard. Holster those weapons.”

The sheriff cursed under his breath, but gestured for his men to stand down. Along with the town marshals they sheathed their guns.

“That’s mighty generous of you,” Pritchard said to Shipley, making no effort to lower his own pistols, “considering you’re the man who ordered Pa’s killing.”

“Son,” Shipley said, “you don’t know what you’re talking about. I did no such thing. We understand you’re distraught at the death of your father, as anyone would be, but you’re not thinking straight. I am not your enemy, and guns aren’t the answer.”

“Wrong on both counts,” Pritchard said.

“Put your guns down,” Shipley said, “and you’ll get a fair trial. If what you say is true, you’ll be vindicated. I give you my word as mayor of Atherton, and as district provost marshal.”

“If I don’t?”

“You’ll die in the street, tonight. You may get a few of us, but your own death is a certainty. You might even get your mother and sister killed, and some of these good folks shot along with them. Is that what you want? To have innocent people hurt or killed on account of your actions? Do you really want to be gunned down in front of your family?”

Pritchard looked over at Dovie and Idelle. They held each other, in fear and anguish, but stood their ground between him and the lawmen. As badly as he wanted to pull the triggers, and damn the consequences, he couldn’t allow them to be harmed.