Ditch shouldered his rifle, Pritchard dropped his chains, and they quickly located their saddles. Ditch was further relieved to find his pa’s Hawken rifle, still in its scabbard. They also found their coats and hats among a similar pile of confiscated clothing. They hurriedly began to saddle their horses.

“You there,” a voice called out. “What are you doing in that corral?”

Pritchard and Ditch turned to find a Union captain pointing a pistol at them. He was outside the corral, with a very tall sergeant. The sergeant’s rifle was also directed their way.

“Private Clemson, sir,” Ditch spoke up. “This here’s my prisoner.”

“I didn’t ask your name,” the captain said. “I asked you what you were doing.”

“The medical officer ordered me to take this prisoner,” Ditch lied, “round up a coupla good horses, and meet him in the field to search for our wounded.”

“Interesting,” the captain said. “Especially since I am the medical officer. Drop that rifle and get your hands in the air. Both of you.”

Ditch shrugged off his rifle, shaking his head in defeat. Pritchard, however, in one lightning-fast movement, lifted his tunic, drew one of the Remingtons, and shot the sergeant in the neck.

He dropped to one knee as the captain fired, his hasty revolver shot sailing over Pritchard’s head. Pritchard fired the .44 twice more, both shots striking the captain in the upper chest. He fell next to the sergeant and didn’t move again.

Ditch thought he saw a remnant of Pritchard’s now-familiar death-shadow fade from his countenance as his friend slowly stood up. Smoke filtered from the barrel of the Remington.

“You’re getting pretty good with those things,” Ditch commented.

“Gettin’ plenty of practice,” was all Pritchard said.

Ditch hastily finished saddling Snake, then cinched the strap on Rusty’s saddle. Pritchard was busy collecting the ammunition belt and holster from the dead captain and stripping the uniform tunic from the dead sergeant.

“Let’s get out of here,” Ditch said, “before any more soldiers try to waylay us.”

“Union, or Confederate soldiers?”

“Does it matter?” Ditch answered.

“From now on, in our travels,” Pritchard explained, holding up the blue coat for Ditch to inspect, “I’m carrying both colors.”

“Not a bad idea,” Ditch agreed. They mounted and rode off into the fog.

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

“Idelle is not moving into the hotel, and that’s final.”

“I thought you’d want to keep her near you,” Shipley said.

“I do,” Dovie said, “but not at the expense of having her reside in the Atherton Arms and exposed to the sort of characters who frequent this establishment.”

Shipley and Dovie were seated at a table in the hotel restaurant. She was drinking tea and he was drinking bourbon. She’d reluctantly relented to begin allowing him to be seen with her in public. She’d put if off as long as she could.