“It is,” she said, casting her gaze to the floor.

“I do believe,” Shipley said, his grin widening, “we’ve just had a jailbreak.”

“I want to say good-bye to Samuel,” Dovie said without looking up.

“I’ll allow it,” Shipley said. “Think of it as your engagement present.”

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Ditch Clemson rubbed his eyes and forced himself awake. He heard voices below and thought he recognized Pritchard’s. He gingerly crawled through the mounds of hay, careful not to make any sound, and peered over the edge of the loft.

Ditch was in the upper tier of the livery stable at the edge of Atherton. He’d arrived in town on foot, unnoticed and exhausted, well after midnight. He found deputies and armed townsmen patrolling the streets, but the resourceful youth was easily able to evade them and enter the stable without being seen.

After Ditch parted ways with Pritchard earlier that night at what was left of the Pritchard home, he ran through the woods to his own family’s modest ranch. There was plenty of moonlight to guide him, and he was intimately familiar with the woods, having roamed them since he was able to walk. There, to his relief, he found his father unharmed.

Rand Clemson had been outside tending to his small string of horses that afternoon when he heard riders approaching. Since his son had taken his only gun, the Hawken, without his permission, no doubt to go hunting instead of attending school, the rancher had no choice but to hide. He fled to the woods and hid under a pile of brush as the riders stormed in. With pistols in their hands, they dismounted and invaded his home.

He watched in anger as the riders, six of them, wearing masks and reb coats, roped his five horses together and rode off.

Ditch hugged his father and told him what transpired at the Pritchards’.

“Damn it, boy,” Rand cursed. “Why did you involve yourself?”

“What was I supposed to do, Pa? Let them murder Samuel right before my eyes?”

Rand looked at his son, taller than him for two seasons. He put his hand on Ditch’s shoulder. “Of course not,” he said. “You done the right thing. But none of that matters now.”

He led his son into the house and began packing what little food they had, and his son’s few clothes, into a bedroll.

“What are you doing?” Ditch asked.

“You’ve got to flee, son. Iffen you don’t, you’ll be as dead as Samuel in a day or two.”

“Who says Samuel’s gonna be dead?”

“You just told me he rode into town alone to face down Burnell Shipley,” his father answered. “Between the marshal and sheriff, Shipley has two dozen guns. Your friend doesn’t have a prayer. Neither do you, I’m afraid.”

“Pa, nobody knows about my part in what happened over at the Pritchard place. Samuel surely won’t tell.”