“Boys,” the junior officer corrected. “Found them on patrol. They claim to be Missourians. Said they were twenty years old. Don’t know if either claim is true. They were in possession of a Hawken rifle and several serviceable revolvers, as well as two excellent mounts.”

The colonel stood and approached the boys. “They sure breed ’em big in Missouri,” he commented, appraising Pritchard.

“They claim to have killed four Union soldiers,” the lieutenant went on, “and were traveling south to join up with one’s brother, allegedly assigned to Shelby’s Fifth.”

“Ain’t no ‘claim’ about it,” Ditch said. “It’s the honest truth.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” the lieutenant said.

“I’m sure gettin’ tired of being called a liar,” Ditch said, turning to face Gabel. “Do it again, and you’ll be eating your teeth for breakfast.”

“Young man, if you even attempt—”

“At ease,” the colonel cut them both off. He addressed Ditch. “Why don’t you tell me your story yourself, son?”

“Except for our ages,” Ditch began, “which I admit we lied about, everything else we said was true. We’re both only eighteen.”

This was only partly factual. While Pritchard’s birthday came and went on the trail to Arkansas, Ditch wouldn’t turn eighteen until December. Ditch didn’t want Pritchard to get any more dispensation than he did, so he fudged his age once more.

“Go on,” the colonel said.

“Union men, dressed like rebs, burned down Joe’s house and hung his pa from a sycamore tree. We killed two of ’em. The other four got away.”

“How exactly did you accomplish this?” the colonel asked.

“I shot one with my pa’s Hawken rifle, and Sam—er, Joe—stuck the other with my skinning knife.”

“Are you skilled with that Hawken?” the colonel asked.

“I’m a fair hand,” Ditch said. “But Joe here is a plumb sharpshooter. He was one of the best shots in the county.”

The colonel gestured to Pritchard with his pipe. “How did you acquire that unique wound on your forehead?”

“Got another just like it on the back of my head,” Pritchard said drily.

“Union men captured him,” Ditch explained. “They shackled him, took him to the river, put him on his knees, and headshot him. Then they buried him.”

“They buried him?” the colonel said, his eyebrows lifting.

“That’s right,” Pritchard said.

“Evidently,” the colonel said, “they didn’t do a very effective job of it.”

“Ditch,” Pritchard said, “I mean Davey, dug me up. I guess I wasn’t expired yet. Then he went into town, stole back a couple of the horses the Union men stole from his pa, and we lit out for Arkansas.”

“You said you killed four men? When did you kill the other two?”

“We killed a couple of the posse who came riding after us.”

“He did it,” Ditch said, motioning to Pritchard with his thumb. “With a revolver.”