Witherspoon’s Rangers spent the next ten days riding the prairies northward. They foraged as they went and lived on buffalo and beans. They avoided towns, and on the fifth day encountered a large Chickasaw war party. The captain ordered the Confederate flag hoisted up on a rifle barrel. The Indians let them pass unmolested.

On the eighth day, Ditch asked his brother if the company had a destination, or were just aimlessly riding north.

“The cap’n always has a destination,” Paul answered.

“Where’re we going?”

“Cap’n will tell us when we get there,” Paul said. “Best shut up and ride.”

On the evening of the tenth day, Sergeant Murphy announced they’d left the Oklahoma Territory and entered Kansas, which was Union country. Fires were prohibited, and everyone was told to ready their arms, and themselves, for action.

The following morning, B Company met dawn at the outskirts of Independence, Kansas.

Captain Witherspoon divided the company into two columns, one led by him and the other by Sergeant Murphy. On his signal, a pistol shot, the company rode down the main street at full gallop, firing their revolvers and screeching rebel yells at the top of their voices.

The left flank, commanded by Witherspoon, was to take control of all interests on that side of the street; the right flank, led by Murphy, the opposite side. The objectives were the telegraph office, marshal’s office, bank, general store, livery stable, and eventually, as Paul explained to Pritchard and Ditch, the saloon.

Ditch was assigned to his brother, to assist in acquiring horses from the livery. Pritchard was assigned to a group of guerrillas designated to secure the marshal’s office and general store.

There was sporadic gunfire from a few shops and houses as the they descended on the town. Pritchard saw a ranger next to him get shot out of his saddle, a bullet tearing through his jaw. He was trampled by his own comrade’s horses as the rebel columns continued their charge.

An elderly man in a shopkeeper’s apron and glasses emerged from the general store and aimed a shotgun at Pritchard. He fired his pistol reflexively, and the man teetered. Before Pritchard could shoot again, the shopkeeper was struck several more times by pistol shots from other Confederate rangers and fell dead.

Frightened people were running and screaming, and the sound of gunfire was everywhere. A cloud of blue smoke filled the streets of Independence.

Pritchard reached the marshal’s office and dismounted, along with two other rangers. As he ran up the steps, a Remington .44 in each hand, he was met at the door by a deputy town marshal wielding an Army Colt.

Both fired at each other from point-blank range. The deputy’s pistol misfired and produced only a hollow click. Pritchard’s shot hit the deputy through his nose. He stepped over the body and into the office.