Pemberley Ranch - Jack Caldwell [115]
“Is that so? By whose authority, may I ask?”
“Judge Phillips!”
“Well, it’s debatable if that sycophant has enough brains to be an authority on anything, but I’ll leave that argument to my friend, Whitehead. By the way, you wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”
Denny and Whitehead shared a look before George answered. “I’m right here, Tom! You’d better come on out!”
“George! I’m mightily glad to see that you’re here! What’s all this about a foreclosure? I’m paid up until the fifteenth.”
“I’m sorry, Tom, but Rosings Bank has called the loan! There’s nothing I can do about it tonight! You’d better come on out, or there might be trouble! We’ll try to straighten it out in the morning!”
Bennet’s voice was as teasing as ever. “I’ve a better idea, George. Why don’t you come on inside? I’m sure we can resolve all issues that way.”
Whitehead glanced at Denny. “I can’t do that, Tom!”
“I see.” Bennet’s false cheer had disappeared. “But you can take advantage of a mere child, is that it? Brave war hero that you are.”
Whitehead was not surprised by Bennet’s words; in fact, he was pleased. It told him that Lily had returned home. Denny, however, was not so sanguine.
“She was a ripe jolly piece, Bennet, an’ I might be willin’ to take her back, if’n she gets her ass out here in the next two minutes—her an’ all of you!”
“Go to hell, you son-of-a-bitch!” Bennet cried. “You want her?! Come and get her!”
Before Whitehead could say anything, Denny whipped out his six-shooter and unloaded it at the farmhouse. The rest of the gang joined in, and the house was struck by scores of rounds. For almost a minute the air was filled with gunshots and smoke. No fire was returned from inside the house. As suddenly as the violence started, it stopped, and an unholy quiet descended upon the farm.
Whitehead dismounted, saying to Denny, “All right, go in there and—” when the night was torn with the bark of rifles as the house erupted in light and smoke. Whitehead and his men dove for cover. A couple of horses fell and the rest ran off in terror. Whitehead, prone on the damp ground, pulled out his Colt and returned fire while Collins whimpered in fear. The others were desperately trying to reload.
The firing from the house ceased, and Denny crawled over to Whitehead and Collins, who had taken shelter behind an overturned wheelbarrow. “What the hell’s goin’ on here?” his henchman demanded.
“Hell if I know,” Whitehead shot back. “How are we?”
Pyke joined them. “Wilkerson’s dead! And a couple o’ horses, besides!”
“Shit!” Whitehead peeked out. “Got some company, Tom?!”
“Sure do, George!” the farmer returned. “Why don’t you come on in and meet ’em?!”
“Fuck!” Denny pounded the soft ground with a fist. “Darcy sent some of his men!”
Whitehead nodded, an idea coming to him. “Hello, the house! Look, boys, you’ve surprised us proper, I’ll give you that! But let me tell you, Darcy did you wrong! We’re the law here, and you’re on the wrong side! You’re aiding and abetting and we’ve got the right to kill anyone that stands in the way of enforcing a court order! Come on out now, and we’ll let you go!”
A Spanish-flavored voice responded. “Sorry, señor, but we are comfortable ’ere! If you hombres want to continue living, maybe you should be the ones leaving, I think!”
“That’s that fuckin’ Estrada—Fitzwilliam’s Number Two,” Denny advised.
“Right.” At the house, Whitehead shouted, “Dying’s not a great way of making a living, boys, no matter how much Darcy’s paying you! Just remember, you’re trapped here! We’ve got you outnumbered, and he’s safe back at the ranch! That don’t sound too fair, does it?!”
“We ’ere, you ’ere, everyone gots to be somewhere! I think we stay!”
A trembling Collins gripped Whitehead by the shoulder. “Now what? If this gets out, we’re finished!”
“Shut up, Collins! I have to think!”
Darcy enjoyed the taunting of Whitehead and Denny while he reloaded, but he wasn’t fool enough not to know the situation