“So, you hid out in your own jail,” Witherspoon asked, “while your fellow citizens died fighting? That’s rather cowardly conduct, considering you’re the one sworn to protect these good people from the likes of men such as myself.”

“Please,” the man pleaded. He was a tall, heavy, middle-aged man with sideburns. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then you’re in luck,” Witherspoon said. He drew his pistol and shot the marshal in the head. “Your troubles are over.” Several women on the sidewalk covered their children’s eyes. Others began to sob.

“We’re going to rest here for a while,” the captain went on, “and be on our way. We’ll be helping ourselves to whatever we decide is needed for the war effort. Do as you’re told, and we won’t have to shoot any more of you.”

Pritchard shook his head and turned back to the tramp, standing in the jail cell’s open doorway.

“You didn’t have to speak up,” Pritchard said. “You could have let him hide out and pretend to be a prisoner, like you. You got that man killed for nothing.”

“Weren’t nuthin’,” the tramp said, grinning. “I didn’t like him. That’s somethin’.”

“What are you locked up for, anyway?”

“Had my way with a Creek squaw,” the tramp said, stepping out of the cell. “Marshal said it was unlawful. Called it ‘rape.’ Far as I can tell, iffen they can’t say no in English, it ain’t no rape.”

Pritchard blocked the tramp’s path. “Get back in your cell.”

“Ain’t you going to let me out?” the tramp asked, looking up at Pritchard towering over him.

“Nope,” Pritchard said.

“Why not? The marshal’s dead, and from what I hear, so is Mayor Bromley. He’s the justice of the peace around here. Without no lawman or judge, I can’t be tried, can I? Why not let me go free?”

“Because I don’t like you,” Pritchard said.

The tramp suddenly lunged for the revolver on the marshal’s desk. Pritchard let him reach the Colt and bring it up before drawing and shooting him twice through the middle. The tramp died with the inoperative revolver still in his hand.

“What’s the shootin’ about?” Sergeant Murphy said, entering the marshal’s office with another ranger.

“He was one of the deputies,” Pritchard lied, motioning with his pistol to the dead tramp. “He was hiding out with the marshal. Grabbed that gun and tried to make a break for it.”

“Nicely done,” Murphy said, kicking the tramp’s corpse. “I’m beginning to like you, Joe.”

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

“We lost four men,” Sergeant Murphy began, “killed outright. Got six more wounded. Four of them can ride. The other two won’t likely make it through the night.”