Pritchard remembered Jack “Six-Card” Saunders well. He was a high-stakes gambler from El Paso who would find himself a big-money game and then deliberately lose to another player he’d specifically targeted. Through cheating, he’d ensure every other player in the game lost to the mark, as well. When the winner left the gambling establishment, his pockets stuffed with his winnings, Saunders, or one of his men, would be lying in wait to rob him. More often than not, the robbery resulted in the victim’s death by gunshot wound to the back.

Franchard and Pritchard had arrested Saunders after he’d fled to San Antonio. He was tried, convicted, and sentenced to twenty years in Huntsville. He should have been hanged for murder, but due to lack of witnesses, the Republic of Texas was only able to pin the robberies on him.

“Looks like I’m going to Kansas City,” Pritchard said, showing Ditch and Paul the telegram, “to make some easy money.”

“You mind if we come along?” Paul asked.

“It’s only a half a day’s ride into Atherton from Kansas City,” Ditch said, “or a couple of hours by train.”

“It’d be good to go home,” Paul said, “after all these years. What do you say, Samuel?”

“Way ahead of you,” Pritchard said.

Chapter 52

Chapter 52

Pritchard stepped off the train and took in Atherton. It had been almost ten years since he’d been run out of town.

He’d spent the last week in Kansas City, with Ditch and Paul, searching the saloons and gambling halls for Jack Saunders. They found him in a riverboat on the Missouri, slinging cards under the name John Barton. Since Saunders knew Pritchard’s face, Ditch and Paul sidled up to him at the card table. They made sure their fat wallets, laden with cash, were visible.

They let themselves be cheated all night. Paul and the other four gamblers at the table consistently lost, but Ditch couldn’t seem to lose. He alone raked in the pot from hand after hand. By midnight, he was several thousand dollars richer.

Pretending to be drunk, Ditch bid the other gamblers good night and stumbled down the gangplank to the dock. John Barton, claiming to have been cleaned out by Ditch’s extraordinary run of good luck, had already made his apologies and bowed out a few minutes prior to Ditch’s departure.

When Ditch reached dry land, he found two men with pistols facing him. Though both wore their neckerchiefs over their noses and mouths, one of them was wearing a fancy, ruffled suit suspiciously similar to the one Barton wore during the card game.

“Give me your wallet,” Barton demanded.

“Evening, Jack,” Pritchard said, stepping from out of the shadows. “It’s been a long time. Drop those guns, both of you.”