“Deputy Gaines is too frightened to let me have my hands free,” Pritchard said, sitting up. “He’s afraid I’d kick his bony ass.”

“I ain’t afraid of no such thing,” Gaines scoffed.

“Sure, you are,” Pritchard argued. “I don’t blame you. If I was a weed-skinny varmint like you, I’d be afraid myself. Without those guns, I’ll bet you’re terrified of your own shadow.”

Boudroy and Crittenden looked uneasily at each other. They knew Eli Gaines was prone to dark moods, mean as a snake, and nearly as fast with those two Navy Colts he was never without. They preferred not to witness any insult to the hair-trigger deputy. He was unpredictable as hell, and might hold it against them later that they’d heard the Pritchard boy chide him.

Crittenden busied himself digging and pretended not to hear any more of the conversation. Boudroy, with his pistol in his hand but the hammer forward, stood over Pritchard.

“Keep bumping your gums, Pritchard,” Gaines said. “It’ll make what’s coming to you that much easier for me.”

“How hard can pulling a trigger be?” Pritchard said.

“It’s a better end than you deserve,” Gaines said. “It beats dancing at the end of a rope, like your pa, which is how you was gonna go out iffen your ma hadn’t agreed to bend over and take it from Burn Shipley.”

“Ha!” Boudroy guffawed. “I’ll bet ole Burnell is helping her over a fence right now!”

Pritchard rolled onto his back and kicked the burly deputy standing over him in the groin. When the lawman sagged to his knees and reflexively began to vomit, Pritchard piston-kicked him again, squarely in the face. Deputy Boudroy flew backwards and landed ten feet away, unconscious. Blood and puke smeared his face around his shattered jaw and broken teeth. Pritchard wriggled to his knees.

Gaines rolled his eyes, shook his head, and drew one of his revolvers, casually pointing it at Pritchard.

“Still want him to do your digging for you?” he asked Crittenden.

“No, thanks,” the deputy replied, looking over at the laid-out Boudroy. “I’ll dig this grave myself.”

“I’d be glad to help,” Pritchard offered. “It’s no bother.”

“I’ll bet you would,” Gaines said.

Crittenden had dug a trench wide enough for a man, and two feet deep, when he clambered out of the hole and wiped his sweaty brow. “There’re too many roots,” he complained. “I can’t get any deeper without a pickax.”

“That ought to be deep enough,” Gaines said. “We only want to cover him up, not sink him to China. Besides, we should be gettin’ back to town before we’re missed.”

Boudroy began to stir, and sat up. He groaned, spat a mouthful of blood and teeth, vomited again, and held his jaw in place with both hands.

“Good morning, Deputy,” Pritchard said.

“Jesus, Boudroy,” Gaines said, “you’re a holy mess.”