“I’m so glad you’re here,” Idelle said, oblivious to the silent fury overtaking her brother. “You couldn’t have come at a better time. Things are bad. Mama’s sick, and I’m supposed to be getting married.”

“Married?” Ditch exclaimed. “To who?”

“Burnell is forcing me to marry Eli Gaines. We’re supposed to be wed next month.”

“Eli Gaines,” Pritchard said under his breath.

“Mama doesn’t know it yet,” she said, “but I was going to run away. I’m not going to marry that insect and spend my life at his whim.”

“No,” Pritchard said, “you’re not.”

“Hell, no,” Ditch found himself blurting.

At that moment, three riders came loping into the schoolyard. All were wearing badges. Pritchard didn’t recognize any of them.

“They’re supposed to be lawmen,” Idelle explained, “but they’re nothing but Burnell Shipley’s private army. The two smaller ones are town marshals. The big, fat, one with the beard is a county deputy. His name is Bernie Moss. He’s usually with Gaines. Watch out, Samuel. They’re mean, and not afraid to use their guns.”

“Got a report of one of you boys roughing up a store clerk in town,” one of the marshals said. “You’re all under arrest. Turn over your guns.”

“Nobody was roughed up,” Ditch said. “It’s all a misunderstanding. There’s no need for an arrest. We’d be happy to go back to the store and apologize, even pay a reparation, if that’ll smooth things over.”

“The marshal didn’t ask you for an explanation,” Deputy Moss said, aware he had Idelle for an audience. “He gave you an order. Drop them guns.”

“I ain’t carrying one,” Ditch said, opening his coat.

“Me, either,” Paul said, doing the same.

“I am,” Pritchard said, stepping away from Idelle, Ditch, and Paul.

“Who’re you?”

“My name’s Joe Atherton,” Pritchard said, raising Idelle’s eyebrows. “I’m a Texas Ranger. And I ain’t turning my guns over to a bag of guts like you.”

“Is that so?” the deputy said, sitting taller in the saddle.

“That’s a fact,” Pritchard said. “If you want my guns, Deputy, you’re more than welcome to come down off that horse and take ’em.”

Moss wasn’t prepared for resistance, having bullied the townsfolk for so long without any. He faced a dilemma. He couldn’t very well back down in front of the marshals and Idelle, but the huge, muscular, man with the star on his chest and the brace of Colts on his hips didn’t seem intimidated and had called his bluff.

This left him with only one option. Deputy Moss leaned over his draft horse, acted like he was merely spitting tobacco juice, and reached for the revolver in the cross-draw holster at his considerable belly.