Pemberley Ranch

by Jack Caldwell

  Another thing that didn’t make sense was the nonattendance of Richard Fitzwilliam. Beth was witness to the horror on the foreman’s face when he learned the fate of the Washington family. With the Darcys present for the funeral, why was Fitz not? Was he needed at the ranch, or had Beth misjudged the man? She glanced behind her at Charlotte. Beth had known for several weeks of her friend’s feelings for the Pemberley foreman, and she wondered how Charlotte felt about Fitz’s absence.

  The procession continued in silence to the major crossroads of the town, passing Younge’s Saloon before turning onto the North Road. Outside the barroom lounged two men, whispering to each other. Beth recognized one of them as Kid Denny, which set off another series of questions in her head. If Fitz was needed at Pemberley to keep things running, why was Denny absent from the B&R? She saw William look hard at the man, which drew a laugh from the gunfighter as he leaned back against the wall, a nasty smirk on his face.

  The incident alarmed and angered Beth. Seeing Whitehead’s cohort mock the funeral procession reinforced the nagging feeling she had that George knew more about the outrage than he was letting on. I can forgive Will for having fought for the Confederacy, she thought,but I certainly won’t pardon Denny! I can see why Denny is friends with Whitehead—two bad men found each other.

  Soon, the wagon reached the northern outskirts of town and began the ascent up the slight hill to the cemetery. The party had gone halfway up the narrow lane when four men on horseback appeared and blocked the way to the graveyard’s gate. Beth recognized one of them as Wilkerson, the B&R hand who had driven her to the Burroughses’ house back in July.

  Henry called from his perch on the wagon, “Make way, gentlemen.”

  The man next to Wilkerson appeared to be the leader. “Not so fast, Preacher. You mean to plant them slaves in this here cemetery?”

  Henry was enraged. “What business is it of yours, Nathan Thorpe? Stand aside!”

  “You ain’t puttin’ no slaves in a white man’s cemetery,” the man identified as Thorpe repeated. He pointed out at the open range. “If you gotta stick ’em in the ground, there’s plenty of room out there—not in here.” His companions nodded, and one carried a rifle.

  “Or maybe that Papist place across th’ river,” suggested Wilkerson with a sneer. “I heard they’d take anybody.”

  Beth thought that William would be angry at the insult from Wilkerson, but the tall rancher stood calmly in front of Gaby, shielding her, his face showing no expression.

  It was Sheriff Lucas who responded. “That’s enough of that!” he thundered. “You’ve got no right to stop these people, Thorpe.”

  Thorpe patted his holstered revolver. “Stay outta this if’n you know what’s good for ya, Sheriff.”

  Beth’s anger turned to fear. She grasped Mary’s hand as Mr. Bennet jumped in front of her mother—

  And then there was the unmistakable sound of numerous rifles being cocked.

  “Stand easy, Thorpe. You’re surrounded,” drawled a familiar voice. Beth didn’t need Charlotte’s gasp of relief to know it was Richard Fitzwilliam.

  Thorpe, Wilkerson, and the other gunmen looked around them in shock. Peeking out from behind trees and headstones were armed men, their rifles steady on their targets.

  “Not too smart, Thorpe, scarin’ off the gravediggers an’ failing to reconnoiter the area properly,” Fitz mocked the man. “Now, drop them gun belts!” A moment later, the four horsemen disarmed themselves.

  William spoke for the first time. “Good work, Fitz.”

  Lucas turned to the rancher. “You knew this was gonna happen?”

  William shrugged his shoulders. The implications of that gesture astonished and delighted Beth—Will had foreseen what was going to happen and sent his best man to prevent any trouble.

  “No violence!” cried Henry. “Thorpe, let us pass.”

  “Yeah,” added Lucas, “you can pick up your guns at the jail later.”

  “Not so fast, Lucas,” Fitz said, keeping his rifle armed at Thorpe. “You may want to ask these fellas about their whereabouts a few nights ago. Thorpe an’ Wilkerson rode with Quantrill’s outlaws, if I remember rightly.”

  “Outlaw? I was a soldier, same as you!” Thorpe insisted.

  “I don’t call what happened in Lawrence the work of a soldier, bushwhacker. Tell me—how many boys did you kill?”

  Beth gasped; she had heard about William Quantrill’s famous raid on Lawrence, Kansas, where up to two hundred men and boys had been slaughtered and the town burned to the ground in retaliation for Jayhawk attacks in Missouri. If these men had been members of Quantrill’s Raiders, then Mrs. Burroughs had very dangerous people working for her.[6]

  “I wasn’t there,” claimed Thorpe.

  “Sure, you weren’t. Like I’d trust your word.”

  Sheriff Lucas spoke up, “Thorpe, get your people outta here. Now—git!” The four riders took off down the hill, heading for town.

  An annoyed Fitz walked up to the lawman. “Lucas, why did you let ’em go? I’m sure they had somethin’ to do with—”

  The sheriff cut him off. “Now’s not the time, Fitz! We’ve got a funeral to finish. Let me do my job at my own pace.”

  “And when’s that time gonna be?” Fitz shouted back. Beth could see that Charlotte was distressed over the argument.

  William took Fitz by the arm. “That’s enough,” he told his foreman, staring him in the eye. Fitz grunted and William turned to Tilney. “Henry? Can we go on?”

  Henry patted the driver on the shoulder, and the wagon rolled into the cemetery.

  The last strains of “Shall We Gather at the River” had long since floated across the plains when the people left the cemetery to the sounds of the gravediggers completing their task. By the time Darcy helped Gaby into the carriage that had been brought up from town, the Bennets and the others were already halfway down the road. Darcy wished he could have taken his leave of Beth, and disappointed, he took out his frustration with Fitzwilliam.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing, challenging Sheriff Lucas like that? What did you hope to accomplish?”

  Fitz was taken aback at his employer’s anger. “I was just pointin’ out to that old fool that he ain’t doin’ his job. You’re not defending him, are you?”

  Darcy took a moment to compose himself. “Look, I’m not saying that Lucas is the best sheriff we’ve ever had, but he’s got an almost impossible job. It’s one thing to suspect something, but it’s a whole other thing to be able to prove something in court. Will you look around at what’s going on?” He lowered his voice. “I suspect the same things as you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucas was of the same mind. But he’s got to have evidence, and even then, he’s got to convince a judge. Who is that judge, Fitz?”

  “Phillips,” Fitz said. “But can’t he get another judge? Y’know—conflict of interest?”

  Darcy nodded. “And he’s got to be able to prove that, too. There’s nothing easy about this—nothing at all. Lucas is in a trap.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “There’s a town meeting called for tomorrow night. I aim to be there, and you can come along. Then we’ll see.” He half-turned and added, as if an afterthought, “Fitz, you might want to back off Lucas a little. It isn’t doing your suit for Miss Charlotte any good.”

  Fitz’s jaw dropped. “How… how do you know about that?”

  Gaby smiled from her seat in the carriage. “Oh, Fitz, everybody knows about that.” Darcy grinned as he took his seat next to his sister.

  “See you back at the ranch, Fitz.” With a quick twitch of the reins, the horses pulled away, leaving an astonished Richard Fitzwilliam in its wake.

  The next night found Thomas Bennet sitting in a pew next to Dr. Bingley in the Rosings Baptist Church, attending an emergency town meeting. Oil lamps and candles lit the interior of the church, the pews filled with shopkeepers, cowboys, and others. Most of the men in town were there, all talking ab
out the attack on the Washingtons.

  Bennet noticed George Whitehead standing with Judge Phillips, Kid Denny, and Billy Collins in a corner, talking amongst themselves. The sight bothered him, for Bennet had been deeply troubled by the incident at the cemetery. He had not known that Denny’s people had been bushwhackers in the war, and he was uneasy with George’s connection with them. He remembered that he had told Beth that she should put the war behind her, but what Quantrill had done was nothing but murder in Bennet’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he could forgive a man for that, and he didn’t like that George was friendly with one of those scoundrels.

  To his surprise, he saw Will Darcy sitting with his foreman, Fitzwilliam, towards the back of the church. It was the first time Bennet could remember seeing Darcy attending any meeting concerning town business.

  Mayor Zimmerman banged a gavel on the lectern and called the meeting to order. “As mayor of Rosings, I have called this town meeting to tell the people about what’s being done to catch the men who caused the uhh… unfortunate incident.”

  “Unfortunate incident!” cried one man. “Cold-blooded murder is what I’d call it!” Others murmured their agreement.

  “Uhh, yah, that’s what it looks like—sure.” Zimmerman, obviously nervous, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. To Bennet the man seemed frightened. “I now call on Sheriff Lucas to give his report.”

  The lawman made his way to the lectern. “There ain’t much to say right now, gentlemen,” Lucas stated. “My men and I were called to investigate a fire at the new settlement, an’ when we got there, we saw what had happened to the Washington family. The rain washed away most everything, but it was obvious from what hoof prints remained that there were at least a half-dozen men there. The McDaniels were the only witnesses. They told me afore they left town that they heard some gunshots, an’ by the time they got outside, the cross was lit, and they saw a bunch o’ riders headin’ east.”

  “Heading east,” a man near Bennet pointed out. “Heading away from town. So they were outsiders.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Lucas said. “There’s a lot we don’t understand. I’m asking for your help.”

  “Are you going to form a posse?” asked Dr. Bingley.

  “I would if I knew where to look. It don’t make any sense right now. I need more information.”

  “What else do ya need to know?” cried Wilkerson. “That was done by the Klan. Ain’t nobody here in the Klan. The McDaniels said the riders were headed east. They done what they did, an’ there ain’t no reason for ’em to stay. I say that’s the end to it.”

  “And I say you’re wrong!” said the blacksmith. “There’s killers running loose, an’ they could come back. We gotta protect our families. Fellers that would do somethin’ like that are likely to do just about anything.” A general argument broke out amongst the men over Sheriff Lucas’s call for calm. Bennet watched the brouhaha for a couple of minutes before one clear voice was heard over the din.

  “That’s enough, gentlemen.”

  The noise in the church died out as Will Darcy stood up. Even ten pews away Bennet could feel the authority flowing from him. Darcy slowly surveyed the room before speaking again.

  “We’ve heard a lot of talk and a lot of conjecture but very few facts. Sheriff Lucas here has told you what he knows, so let’s take a look at that. The Washington family was lynched in a fashion that has been used in the past by the Ku Klux Klan. They even had a burning cross in the yard. The only witnesses saw riders heading east. This is what we know.

  “Now, there never has been Klan activity in Long Branch County or any county within a hundred miles. According to the newspaper, the army and the government in Austin put down the Klan in East Texas, where it had been strong, over two years ago. Yet, we’re supposed to believe that a roving band of Klansmen just happened to be in the county four days ago. Now I ask you, have we heard about a group of robed riders terrorizing the area? No, we have not. So, where did these supposed Klansmen come from?”

  Denny spoke up. “You don’t believe it? Then what do you think happened, Darcy?”

  Darcy glared at the gunman. “I think lots of things, Denny, and I dismiss nothing. When I know, then I’ll act. Until then, I ask all of you to consider one thing.” He paused as he looked about the church. “Who profits from this?” One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. “I ask again—who profits from the murder of the Washingtons?”

  Darcy took his seat, which seemed to electrify a perspiring Billy Collins. “See here, what are you saying?”

  Edmund Bertram, the manager of Darcy Bank, spoke up. “You foreclosed on the Washington property, didn’t you, Collins?”

  “Well, yes, but… but that was perfectly legal! There was no one left to pay the mortgage.” He grew angry. “You would have done the same thing in my shoes, Bertram. Don’t you deny it!”

  “Eventually, but only after I exhausted all means of contacting any heirs or family,” Bertram shot back. “Certainly not before the man was even buried. But maybe that’s how things are done at Rosings Bank.”

  There was a troubled rumbling about the room, and Lucas finally acted to regain control. “Now, that’s enough of that. Nobody’s accusing anybody around here. Let’s settle down and think of what’s to be done.” Even Bennet could see Fitzwilliam roll his eyes at that.

  “I agree,” said Judge Phillips as he rose from his seat and walked to the lectern. Sheriff Lucas was forced to surrender the podium to the judge, who smiled and announced, “The events of the last few days have been a trial upon us all. It’s apparent to me that our families and livelihood are in some danger. It’s also apparent that our very able sheriff is woefully undermanned and unable to meet the crisis.

  “Therefore, I am happy to announce that effective immediately, I am deputizing a group of brave men to supplement our local law enforcement efforts. These special deputies of the court will assist Sheriff Lucas in bringing these perpetrators to justice while helping to keep Rosings quiet and peaceful.”

  To the astonishment of Bennet and many in the audience, Phillips said, “The head of this special detachment is here tonight. Mr. Denny, would you come right up?” There was a low rumbling as the gunfighter walked with a swagger to the front of the church.

  “Thanks, Judge. I’m happy to accept this here assignment. Me an’ my boys will see that everything ’round here will stay nice an’ quiet.”

  “Hold on, Alton,” cried Lucas. “I know nothing about this. How can you assign me deputies without my say-so?”

  “They’re not your deputies, Sheriff,” Phillips said dryly. “They’re officers of the court. They report to me.”

  Again the room grew quiet and Darcy stood up. “Your own private army, Alton?”

  The judge turned to the rancher. “They won’t cause any trouble except to troublemakers, Darcy.”

  Darcy nodded as if in thought before he spoke again. To Bennet’s confusion, he didn’t address Phillips or Denny; instead, he turned to the well-dressed man standing in the corner.

  “I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. Keep your people off Pemberley, or you’ll regret it. If just one of your boys so much as spits on my property, I’m coming to see you.”

  “Threats, Darcy?” sneered George Whitehead.

  “Promises, Whitehead.” With that, the rancher walked out of the church, Fitzwilliam and Bertram trailing behind. Whitehead’s only response was to raise a single eyebrow.

  Judge Phillips rapped the gavel, closing the meeting. Immediately, the murmurings among the men returned in earnest. Bennet noted that both Mayor Zimmerman and Sheriff Lucas were stunned at the apparent transfer of power. Most of the others wore expressions ranging from confusion to fear. A few, Doc Bingley being one, were fuming.

  “Well,” he whispered in his father-in-law’s ear, “a line’s been drawn in the sand. Every man’s got to choose which side he’ll stand on.”

  Bennet didn’t doubt which side would be Charles
’s choice. As for himself, he was torn. Bennet could not but respect the quiet authority and courage of Will Darcy. His dealings with the young rancher had been forthright and profitable.

  Bennet was troubled by Whitehead’s association with Denny. He vowed that he would consider acts done during war in the heat of battle be left in the past. But whatever his sins—or Darcy’s or Whitehead’s—it was commonly believed that William Quantrill’s actions during the war were criminal. Didn’t Jesse and Frank James ride with him? The Younger brothers, too? “Bloody Bill” Anderson? All thieves and murderers. It wasn’t too far a leap to lump Kid Denny into that group.

  Yet, Whitehead had advised him on improvements to the farm. While the promised increase in yields had not yet been realized, Bennet could see the potential. Besides, Rosings Bank held the mortgage on the property, and Whitehead was close to both Collins and Cate Burroughs.

  With a sinking feeling, Bennet realized that he was squarely in the middle of a potential range war with no way out, except to flee. As he would never do that, he could only have his family keep a low profile and hope they didn’t get hit in the crossfire.

  Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Bertram walked out of the church into the warm night air, picking up two Pemberley riders who had stood guard outside the church.

  “So, now do you believe me?” Fitz demanded.

  “Do you believe me about Lucas being in a trap?” Darcy shot back before talking to his banker. “Is everything secure?”

  Bertram nodded. “Everything’s as ready as it can be. We’ve got the strongest safe this side of the Brazos. You sure you don’t want me to sleep at the bank?”

  “No. My people’s lives are more important than money. I’ll have two men keep an eye on the place at night. I don’t think anything’s going to happen, but I don’t want to take any chances. Get yourself home to Mrs. Bertram, all right?” The banker agreed and strode off towards his house as Darcy turned to the others.