They had hurriedly set the fires at three random locations with no regard to the direction of the wind or to the structure of the buildings. Then the gang had left town quickly, without giving the fires adequate time to completely destroy the three large buildings. In spite of the overwhelming black cloud adrift above Rileyville, the fires were soon reduced to steam beneath the relentless efforts of the bucket brigade. Abner Webb stood exhausted, his shirtsleeves rolled above his elbows, his face smeared with black soot. Beside him, Will Summers batted his wet hat against his wet trouser leg. Then he rolled the hat brim between both hands and put it on. “Looks like Rileyville has cheated the odds once again,” he said. “This is a tough town to kill.” “Yeah, so it looks,” Webb replied, looking all around. Wooden buckets littered the muddy street. Charred dry goods from the nearly destroyed mercantile store lay in a smoke-streaked pile. A long hose lay serpentine from the front of the smoldering barbershop to the hand pump attached to the edge of an empty water trough.
