“Then do it,” Pritchard ordered. Someone opened a floor-hatch at the rear of the church, and the older woman began to herd everyone down. “No matter what you hear above,” Pritchard admonished, “do not come up out of that cellar until I say so.”

“We understand.”

Pritchard addressed the pastor. “How do I get up to the belfry?”

“I’ll show you the ladder,” the pastor said. “What, exactly, do you propose to do with my bell tower?”

“Same thing you do with it,” Pritchard said, opening the Sharps’s action and inserting a paper cartridge into the breech. “Lead sinners into the arms of Jesus.”

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Pritchard fired as the mob approached. The reb guerrillas paraded down the street, hooting and laughing. Most carried bottles. It was nearly a full moon, and he could easily make out his targets.

The shot shattered a bottle carried by one of the lead guerrillas. The mob stopped.

“That’s far enough,” Pritchard called down from the belfry. He opened the rifle’s breech, reloaded another paper cartridge, and replaced the percussion cap.

“What the hell are you doing up there, Atherton?” the reb who’d had the bottle shot out of his hand yelled from the street. “You could’ve killed me.”

“And I will,” Pritchard said, “if any of you come one step closer. My next shot hits meat.”

“What’s got into you, Joe?” another reb said. “We’re just comin’ down to visit the ladies, that’s all. Ain’t like your ma or sister’s in that church.”

“She may as well be,” Pritchard said, his thoughts momentarily drifting to Dovie and Idelle. He couldn’t help but imagine they were hiding in the cellar below. “What you aim to do is wrong, and you know it. Go on back to the saloon and leave the womenfolk be.”

“You go to hell!” a drunken voice replied.

“It’s one thing to shoot Union men who are shootin’ at you,” Pritchard said. “That’s war. It’s another to molest their women and kids. That ain’t what soldiers do.”

“We ain’t regular soldiers,” a different reb challenged. “We’re guerrilla fighters. We don’t have to follow no rules. We take what we want. Besides, we ain’t gonna do nuthin’ to them gals their men wouldn’t be doin’ iffen they was around!” The company burst into laughter.

“Nobody’s doin’ nuthin’ to these women,” Pritchard said. “You’d best take my word on that.”

“We don’t give a damn about your word,” the ranger said, drawing his pistol. Others drew as well. “Who the hell are you to be tellin’ us what to do with our peckers? You ain’t been ridin’ with us but a couple of weeks. Come down from that bell tower, boy, and I’ll kick your Missouri ass!”

“Ain’t gonna do it,” Pritchard said. “Last warning. Go back to the saloon. Leave the women be.”