Ditch left his home, wiping tears as he went. He wondered, as he watched his father waving to him from the darkness, if he would ever see him again.

Ditch didn’t head for the river, as he’d been advised. He took only part of his father’s advice, the part about staying off the roads. Ditch Clemson was damned if he was going to Kansas City and spend good money on a horse when he knew exactly where some of the best horses in the county were. Horses that until a few hours ago belonged his father.

Ditch knew the riders who’d stolen his father’s horses would take them only one place: the livery stable in Atherton. Sure enough, when Ditch crept into the stable, he found his pa’s animals.

By the time Ditch got inside, after dodging a dozen or more marshals and armed townies, he realized there was no way he’d be able to get a horse out of Atherton through the street patrols without being spotted. He planned to snooze during the day, hidden in the stable’s hayloft, and leave Atherton after dark the following night. Hopefully the patrols would be abated by then, and his departure would go undetected.

He ate some corn biscuits and jerky, checked his rifle, and covered himself with hay. Within minutes he was fast asleep. He was awakened, an hour before dawn, by the opening of the stable’s gate and the sound of voices.

Ditch looked down, and even in the poor light, easily recognized his friend. Pritchard stood more than a head taller than the three men beside him. To Ditch’s relief, he appeared unhurt. His hands were shackled, and he was wearing leg-irons. Marshal Stacy and two of his deputies hovered close to him.

“It takes three of you,” Pritchard drawled, “to stand guard over me?”

“We ain’t stupid,” the jittery Stacy said. “You might be only a boy, but you’re the size of a horse and damned near as stout. I was at the county fair last summer when I watched you take on every comer in the wrestlin’ contest. You never even came close to losing a match.”

“You broke my brother’s arm,” one of the deputy marshals chimed in. “Picked him up and threw him out of the ring like a sack of grain.” He was busy lighting a kerosene lantern. The other deputy town marshal began saddling one of the stabled horses.

“Can’t say I’m sorry for that,” Pritchard said.

Ditch watched as three newcomers entered the stable. To his astonishment, he saw Samuel’s mother. She was accompanied by the stern-faced Sheriff Foster and the bloated Burnell Shipley. Shipley was wearing a Union military uniform.

“Mama!” Pritchard said, clearly surprised to see her.

“Does he have to be chained, like an animal?” she asked Marshal Stacy.

“Afraid so,” the marshal said. “At least for now.”