Ditch busied himself restocking his belt and pockets with .44 ammunition. Pritchard did the same. Both ensured their weapons were filled to capacity before taking a badly needed drink from their canteens.

Pritchard dug once more into Rusty’s saddlebag and produced two sticks of dynamite, left over from the explosives used against the Stiles Gang. He cut two three-second, fuses, just like Sergeant Finley taught him, and inserted them into the cylinders. Then he handed them to Ditch.

“Got any matches?” he asked.

“Yep,” Ditch said. “How do you want to play this?”

“You with a rifle, from a distance,” Pritchard said, “and me with my pistols, close up. The signal will be when I drop my hat. Not when I take my hat off, mind you; when it falls. Make your shots count, Ditch. And if it comes down to a choice between shootin’ to save me or Idelle, I want you to—”

“Save Idelle,” Ditch interrupted. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna let ’em hurt her.”

Pritchard extended his hand. “We’ve been down a lot of bloody trails together, Ditch. I want you to know, no matter what happens, a fella couldn’t ask for a better partner to ride the river with.”

“Let’s go give ’em hell,” Ditch said, shaking Pritchard’s hand.

Chapter 56

Chapter 56

Pritchard walked down the center of Atherton’s main street. He halted between the Atherton Arms Hotel and the Sidewinder Saloon. It was the same place, almost ten years before, where he’d stopped with the bodies of two of his father’s killers slung over their saddles. The sun had set. Streetlamps, and the interior lights of the saloon, provided the only illumination.

“Hello, Sheriff Foster,” Pritchard called out.

The saloon’s half doors swung open. Jackson County Sheriff Horace Foster, along with Chief Deputy Eli Gaines and five other men, stepped outside. Eli stood to the sheriff’s right, and the others spread out evenly on either side of them. There was perhaps twenty-five feet of distance between Pritchard, in the middle of the street, and the men on the sidewalk in front of the Sidewinder.

Idelle Pritchard was also in view. She was being held by one of the men. The barrel of an Army Colt revolver, with the hammer back, was pressed against her side. She looked frightened and distraught, but unhurt. He wondered if she’d been told of their mother’s death.

Pritchard was comforted to notice all the men, Foster and Gaines included, were armed with only pistols. No one carried a rifle or shotgun. Also encouraging, was that other than the gunman with his revolver on Idelle, none of the others had yet drawn their guns.

“If it ain’t Smokin’ Joe Atherton,” Sheriff Foster said, “come to visit our little town.”

Pritchard touched the brim of his hat in greeting.

“You killed a lot of my men,” Foster said.