“I didn’t attack Sergeant Stein,” Pritchard said. “He attacked me. I gave him fair warning to leave me be.”

“Don’t expect me to express regret over the private’s lost eye, neither,” Ditch said. “One less eye will make it harder for him to back-shoot unarmed men.”

“I’m not interested in your excuses. I came here to inform you that you’ve been lawfully tried and duly sentenced under military law. You’ve both been sentenced to death.”

“What a surprise,” Pritchard said.

“Astounding,” Ditch said with a grunt.

“The sentence will be carried out tomorrow at dawn,” Gabel said. “This is Pastor McKinley. He’s here to minister to your souls. He’ll unburden you of your sins, if either of you have a mind to repent.”

“If we repent,” Ditch grinned, “will we get a reprieve?”

“Of course not,” Lieutenant Gabel said.

“Then what’s the point?” Ditch asked.

“What sins have we committed?” Pritchard asked.

“The only sin we’re guilty of,” Ditch answered, “is being foolish enough to think this horse-stealing bunch of pecker woods pretending to be Confederate soldiers were honorable men.”

“Are you refusing the ministrations of God?” Gabel asked.

“If this is my last night on earth,” Pritchard said, “I’ll not spend it listening to an old gasbag lecture me about my wicked ways, when all I ever did was do unto others, like the Good Book says. I only did harm to those who harmed me first. You and that Bible-thumper can both go straight to hell.”

“And you, Mr. Clemson?”

“Joe speaks for me, too.”

Lieutenant Gabel nodded to the pastor, who took his leave. “I’d be lying,” he said, with a satisfied smile, “if I told you I wasn’t looking forward to commanding tomorrow’s firing squad. I will see you gentlemen at sunrise. Pleasant dreams.”

It was cold that night, dipping below freezing. Pritchard and Ditch huddled under their blankets and shivered, getting little sleep. Their only consolation was Ditch could see Snake and Rusty in the corral among the other horses. Their saddles, and even the Hawken rifle, were visible in a pile of tack stacked along the fence line.

Just before dawn, Pritchard and Ditch were roused from their frigid slumber by Lieutenant Gabel and six sleepy-eyed soldiers. The soldiers unchained them from the corral, leg-ironed them to each other, and marched them across camp. They were forced to walk in step with each other, due to the irons. Soldiers making their morning toilet stopped their tasks and stared at the condemned men as they were paraded to the sentry line.

Once clear of the camp, Pritchard and Ditch were prodded over the meadow of dead soldiers and horses where they’d spent the previous day digging the burial trench. It was bitterly cold, and the mountain fog was even thicker than it had been the morning before.