Ben was about thirty-six at the time and stood a little over six feet tall. He was a rawboned man with large, fleshy hands that looked as if they never could be nimble-fingered enough to handset type. His eyes were a soft green that belied his hard-as-nails character. He might have spent most of his time before a type drawer with a composing stick in his hand, but Ben was deadly with a firearm, especially a rifle.

"Well, I reckon we won't have to worry about the James boys on this trip," Mr. Hawes said. "Before we left, the sheriff showed me a telegram from Kansas City saying that the gang had gone to ground, probably in Tennessee or Kentucky."

I admitted to being a bit disappointed by this news, but as I was about to learn, there were plenty of bad men in and a...

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