Pemberley Ranch

by Jack Caldwell

  “Looky here, ya jackass! Why don’t you carry the next torch up to the house, huh?” Denny pulled his gun. “In fact, why don’t you do it right now, Collins?”

  Collins recoiled in terror, and Whitehead held out his hand. “Put that away, Denny, and take it easy.”

  Instead of doing as he was told, Denny turned on his employer. “And you can keep your orders to yourself, GW! You better remember who those boys listen to, and it ain’t you!” Eyes wide and breathing hard, Denny waved his pistol between his three companions. “Big words, big promises. You spun me a fancy tale, Whitehead; I was gonna be rich, but so far I ain’t seen nothin’! My boys are lookin’ for gold, and all they’re gittin’ tonight is lead. They’re ’bout ready to break, an’ I’m ’bout ready to join ’em. Ya better come up with a good idea quick, or you’ll find yourself by yourself!”

  Whitehead could feel the eyes of Pyke and Collins on him, waiting for him to take control of the situation. The problem was Whitehead was out of ideas. His talent was in strategic planning; the tactics he left to people like Collins and Denny. All he had left was his powers of persuasion. Whitehead had to be careful now with Denny. One wrong word and he could end up dead.

  “Denny, I know how you feel. I want what’s coming to me, too. But it’s those people that stand between us and our riches! Railroad money, Denny! Cash on the barrelhead! You heard my friend in Fort Worth. This is for real. But without this farm, the railroad won’t be coming here. I’ll lose everything!

  “You’re lucky. This thing falls apart, you’re no worse off than before. Hell, you’ve had it pretty good, haven’t you? Two meals a day, a dry bed at night, liquor, women. Sure, you had to ride some cattle, but it’s better than how it was in Missouri, right?

  “But me—I’ve got my whole life riding on this. This blows up, I’m done, and so is Collins here. But we can still win! We can still get everything we’ve ever wanted! But we got to finish the job tonight!”

  Whitehead held his breath, wondering if Denny believed him. The gunfighter stared a hole through him and then holstered his gun. “All right—how?”

  Whitehead exhaled, knowing he had placated Denny for now. “Look, I got you the railroad. You tell me what to do now. This is your province, bushwhacker.”

  Denny rocked back on his heels and thought. “Only way to git them people out is to burn ’em out.”

  Pyke groaned. “We tried that!”

  “No!” Denny snapped. “Not the right way! What we need here is a wagon, filled with hay. Set that sucker on fire, an’ push it against the side o’ the house. That’ll git ’em! The wagon’ll shield us from their guns, so they can’t stop us. Once that place is burnin’ we just wait ’til they start runnin’ like rabbits. Shoot ’em as they come out the door.”

  “But,” Pyke complained, “we ain’t got a wagon.”

  Denny pointed towards the barn. “I’ll betcha there’s one in there! We just gotta go git it!”

  Whitehead frowned. “There’s got to be people in there. No way they would’ve left it undefended.”

  “Right. That’s th’ problem.”

  Whitehead sat back for a moment, considering. He glanced around the wheelbarrow at the house again. “What time is it, Collins?”

  The banker pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s hard to read… about four.”

  “Fuck!” cried Denny. “We’ll be sittin’ ducks after th’ sun comes up.”

  “Sunrise in little over an hour…” Whitehead said half to himself. “Denny, would you say that house faced due east?”

  Denny looked around. “Sure looks that way. So?”

  Whitehead turned to him. “So, the sun will be in their eyes, right?”

  Denny thought about it and grinned. “Yeah. They won’t see nothin’.”

  “That’s when we make our move—right at sunrise. Half of us will take the barn while the rest will lay down covering fire. Once you secure the wagon, we’ll finish ’em off.”

  “That might work,” Denny allowed.

  Whitehead laughed. “Of course, it’s going to work! So, let’s get ready. Denny, pick the men you trust to take that barn. Pyke, take a couple of fellows and try to round up what horses you can. I thought I saw mine wandering around over by the chicken coop. Collins, go help him.”

  Collins started. “But I don’t like horses!”

  “Damn momma’s boy,” grumbled Pyke. “Get your ass up and help me.”

  Whitehead watched as the others left to fulfill their duties. As he reloaded his Colt, he began to think again about the finale of his grand scheme, and what he was going to do about an increasingly unstable Kid Denny. He had hired the gunslinger to enforce his will, but Denny’s usefulness was quickly coming to an end. Denny would have to die, he knew, but not just yet. Once this job was done and the Bennet Farm was firmly in hand, there was still the matter of Will Darcy, Richard Fitzwilliam, and Pemberley Ranch.

  Whitehead grinned. All that was needed to take care of those two was one little ambush, and that was something at which Denny excelled. Then, nothing would stop George Whitehead. He would get both Pemberley and the B&R. He would be King of Long Branch County.

  He glanced at the eastern sky as it slowly began to lighten.

  Mrs. Bennet was able to brew a little coffee for the defenders of the homestead, and Beth volunteered to share a mug with William. Bennet just chuckled and kept watch outside as the two lovers enjoyed a moment to themselves.

  Darcy sipped the coffee as he sat on the floor with Beth curled up against him, her curly hair soft on his cheek. He handed her the mug, which she accepted thankfully. She returned the cup after having her fill and said in a hesitant voice, “Will… I…”

  He quieted her with soothing sounds and stroking of her tresses. “Hush, darlin’—there’s nothing to say.”

  “Yes, there is. I love you, Will.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “And I love you too, Beth. My one wish is that you, your mother, and your sisters were safely out of here.”

  She hugged him tight. “And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  He grinned slightly. “Now, that’s a damn fool thing to say, Miss Bennet.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Will Darcy, shut up and kiss me.” Knowing the place and time to be about as inappropriate as it could be, Will and Beth shared a chaste, quick peck on the lips. It still drew a glance of disapproval from Mary.

  Bennet didn’t want to steal whatever time the two had left, but there were things Darcy needed to know. “Umm… sun’s starting to come up, Will.”

  Instantly, the lovesick Will was replaced by the stern Master of Pemberley. Darcy kissed Beth’s forehead and retrieved his rifle. He crouched low as he stole a peek out the window. “It sure is. Any movement?”

  “I haven’t seen anything,” Bennet replied. By now, Beth had returned to her post, Winchester in hand.

  José cut in. “I think I saw some hombres moving near the barn, boss.”

  “Right.” Darcy had learned over the years to trust his people. If José said he thought he saw something, then Darcy could count on it. “Peter, look alive over there,” he called out softly to his right. “There’s some activity towards the barn.”

  “Yes, sir… yeah, people are movin’, Mr. Darcy.” There was the sound of a cocking rifle. “Looks like we’re gonna get busy again.”

  Darcy took command. “All right, I figure they’re going to try to take the barn. We’ll probably take some fire as they try to distract us. Look alive. Our boys in the barn are going to need our help. Don’t waste shots—try to make every one count.”

  “Boss!” cried José. “Look! Riders comin’ in!”

  Darcy looked out, his heart sinking. Sure enough, in the half-light of the dawn, dust was rising from the east. Men on horseback were coming from the main road.

  “Any chance those are your people, Will?” asked Bennet.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” he admitted. They couldn’t be Pemberley riders. He
had been firm with Fitz about that. Fitzwilliam was to command the defense of the ranch, and nobody was to leave until Darcy returned. Those riders could only be reinforcements from the B&R. The odds against those trapped in the farmhouse just got longer.

  Bennet sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

  Darcy gritted his teeth, for he knew the possibility of them holding out now were practically nil. It had been a long road from Vicksburg, and he didn’t want it to end this way, now that he had found Beth. But there was nothing for it. No retreat, no surrender—he would have to kill or be killed. If this was to be his last stand, it would be a memorable one. He would make those bastards pay.

  Darcy sang out, “Look sharp, boys! They’re on the move! You see somebody or something, shoot it! Let’s send those sons-of-bitches to hell!”

  A Rebel Yell arose from all those assembled—even the Bennets joined in. Darcy and his people bore down to face the final act of what folks in future times would call the Battle of Thompson Crossing.

  Chapter 20

  Pyke and Collins had recovered several horses and had placed them in a small corral near the chicken coop. Once the pair returned, Denny judged that it was time to begin getting the men into place, as the sunrise was almost upon them. Pyke was sent to tell the others to prepare to move in; Denny would arrive soon to begin the assault. Whitehead would be in charge of the distraction.

  As Whitehead and Denny finalized their plans, Collins half rose from his hiding place, using one hand to block the morning light. “Mr. Whitehead, I think… yes! Someone’s coming! Look!” He pointed into the rising sun with his free hand.

  “What?” Whitehead looked up but could see nothing. “Denny?”

  The gunfighter had a better angle. “Four… no, five riders comin’ in hard.”

  “About time,” Whitehead grumbled. “I told those fools to get over here once they got the papers back from Lucas.”

  Denny frowned. “I thought ya sent two men.”

  “I did—they must’ve gone back to the B&R for more.”

  Denny watched as the men were almost upon them, trying to see who had come, and if they should join in the attack on the barn. All he could see were outlines. He flinched as his eyes caught a glint of light that flashed from the lead rider’s silver hatband…

  A black hat with a silver hatband.

  Instantly, Denny was scrambling to his feet, pulling at his Colt. Kid Denny was a quick dead shot—one of the few men who could confidently hit someone on horseback ten yards away with a handgun. And he was greased lightning on the draw.

  Unfortunately for the gunfighter, the man before him was Richard Fitzwilliam on Jeb Stuart with a Winchester in his hand.

  Faster than it took to describe it, Fitz pulled hard on the reins, yanking his faithful steed to his right, dropped his rifle on his upraised left arm, and snapped off a shot. Denny was knocked clear off his feet by the impact of the .44 caliber slug slamming into his chest, exploding his heart, causing his pistol shot to go wide. By the time the body hit the ground, Joshua “Kid” Denny was no more.

  Whitehead was stunned at the rapid change of fortune. One moment he was on the verge of victory; now all his plans were as dead as Denny. He cowered in the shadow afforded by the wheelbarrow. Fitz was turning his head every which way, looking for foes. Whitehead was a decent shot, and he stood a chance of hitting Fitzwilliam should he try. But even if he was able to fell the Pemberley foreman, his companions were sure to enact their instant and deadly revenge upon him, and Whitehead had no desire to quit the world anytime soon.

  The sound of gunfire caught Fitzwilliam’s attention. He pointed at the barn, yelling for his men to follow. The riders took off, firing upon the remnants of Denny’s gang. This was Whitehead’s chance; he reached over and seized a terrified Collins by the shirt.

  “Come on, Billy, my lad. It’s time we made ourselves scarce.” Before Collins could utter a word, Whitehead was running hunched over towards the chicken coop, half-dragging the banker behind.

  Will Darcy tried to disregard the growing despair in his belly as he raised his rifle. Sighting down the barrel, squinting in the sun, he noticed something familiar about the horse galloping over the ridge. He slowly tightened his finger on the trigger as he tried to recall. It seemed important.

  At the instant, a man stood up from behind an overturned wheelbarrow. Darcy was so surprised he forgot about the horse; his attention instantly shifted to the moving figure, trying to determine if it was Whitehead. It was then that he recognized the rider out of the corner of his eye.

  “Fitzwilliam?! My God, it’s Fitzwilliam!” He turned to his men. “Boys, boys, don’t shoot the riders—they’re from Pemberley! They’re ours! Fitzwilliam’s brought reinforcements!”

  The household cheered at the news of deliverance, a sound redoubled as Denny fell. Peter’s voice was heard over the din.

  “Boss, the barn is under attack!!” Gunshot punctuated his cry. The defenders instantly turned to help their fellows, and soon the outlaws were under fire from three directions. B&R ranch hands and gang members were falling one after another.

  Beth, by the far window, had no angle to assist, so she leaned against the wall, stunned in wonder by the miracle. Tears of thanksgiving ran down her face as she tried to catch Darcy’s eye. He wasn’t shooting; instead he surveyed the land before the house in quiet satisfaction.

  Suddenly, he stiffened. Before Beth could inquire, he stood up and shouted to no one in particular, “Cover me!” To Beth’s horror he ran out the door.

  Stumbling, the pair made it around the chicken coop before Collins lost his footing for good next to the pigsty. With a suppressed snarl, Whitehead reached down to pull his companion to his feet.

  “What are we going to do?” Collins panted. “George, what are we going to do? They’ll kill us!”

  Whitehead gritted his teeth. “Calm yourself, Billy! All will be well—we just have to relocate, that’s all.”

  “But… but how? Where?”

  Whitehead was fighting to restrain his anger. His carefully laid strategy was dust, and he knew he no longer had prospects in Rosings—or anywhere in Texas, for that matter. His future plans were still a work in progress—head west into New Mexico or north into the Indian Territories—but he knew he needed money. And Billy Collins was the key to that. The first thing to do was to stop by the Rosings Bank and make an unscheduled withdrawal. And perhaps one last visit to the B&R and that bitch, Catherine Burroughs… Perhaps Anne Burroughs might be of a mind to escape her overbearing mother’s attentions and seek a bit of adventure; she certainly would help keep his bedroll warm.

  Whitehead had not considered how long he would suffer to have Collins in his company. The half-baked plan was that he would accompany him out of town. But now Whitehead was beginning to reconsider, and wondered if it wouldn’t be better to just shoot the idiot after he unlocked the safe in the bank. But regardless as to the ultimate fate of Collins, he needed him alive until they got to the bank.

  Whitehead shook Collins by his lapels. “Settle down, you fool. Listen, we’re partners, right? We’re getting out of town, together, after we make a couple of stops first…”

  “Hold it, Whitehead!”

  Whitehead was stunned not only by the threat but also by the particular voice making it. Ignoring his terrified cohort, he slowly turned his head right to behold the inconceivable. It couldn’t be… it was impossible… he knew Will Darcy was back at Pemberley, protecting his precious sister. Yet—there he was—hatless in a white shirt and black vest, a rifle at his waist pointed unwaveringly in his direction. The totality of his failure struck him; once again he had underestimated Darcy. This was no mirage—if Whitehead wasn’t extremely careful, this was his death.

  Darcy’s look was as black as night. “Now… move real slow… raise your hands.”

  Whitehead froze, thinking furiously. A second! A second is all I need to think!

  “Don’t shoot me, Mr. Darcy!” Collins cried, t
hrowing his hands in the air. “Please, don’t shoot me!”

  Collins’s fear gave Whitehead the distraction he needed. No one expects a left-handed man.

  “Shut up, Collins!” Darcy demanded. “Whitehead…”

  “You see what I have to put up with?” Whitehead grinned as he shrugged. “Well, I give up, Darcy; you’ve got the drop on me—”

  As the words left his lips, Whitehead shoved Collins slightly; the man was now off-balance. Whitehead ground his left leg firmly into the ground while shifting his weight to his right, dropping his left hand to his holster. At the same time, he yanked as hard as he could with his right hand, pulling the banker across his body as he raised his Colt with his left, lining it up with the surprised rancher…

  As soon as Darcy dashed out the door, Beth moved to follow him, but her progress was stopped by her father.

  “Beth, what are you doing, girl?” Bennet held on to her arm.

  “Father, let me be!” She threw off his hands and followed her lover out of the house, rifle in hand. She stopped after she descended the porch stairs, for Darcy seemed to have disappeared. The shooting had stopped, and Beth turned to her right. She saw Pemberley hands on horseback milling about near the barn, pointing rifles at men with their hands in the air. The battle was won; Beth decided to see if Will had run off to join his men.

  Before she took three steps, two gunshots, quick upon the other, rang out behind her.

  She spun about, dread in her heart. Will! She knew, somehow, that Darcy was involved. Her father called for her to return to safety, but she heeded him not, and moved with quicker and quicker steps towards the chicken coop. By the time she rounded the corner, she was at a full run, and the sight before her brought her to a dead stop.

  There, in the long shadows of the early morning sun, lay a hatless figure face down.

  Frozen, Beth inched towards it; her unbelieving eyes refused to take in any details save the man’s black hair. Lips moving, she finally managed, “W… Will?”