Pemberley Ranch - Jack Caldwell [116]
Darcy counted the advantages to his position. One, everyone was armed with Winchesters, and all had plenty of ammo. Two, the full moon helped the defenders more than the attackers. Three, Darcy could count on the skill, dedication, and loyalty of his men. Four, Whitehead had no clear idea who he was dealing with, since Darcy let José do the talking.
In the deficit column, however, was the fact that Whitehead was in control of the fight. He had more men and room to maneuver. He could choose when, how, and where to attack. His people were ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to kill. And Whitehead was desperate. Meanwhile, Darcy was handicapped by the women and the old man he was sworn to protect, and he had no idea if Hill would hold up. If they became trapped and needed to escape, they would have to shoot their way out.
Darcy would not kid himself—his position was precarious.
His musings were interrupted by a jostling of his boot. Glancing behind him, he was startled to see two large, dark eyes framed by a mass of curly hair.
“Beth! By God, woman, what are you doing out of the root cellar?” Darcy hissed. When the party retreated into the house, the women had been herded into the cellar for their protection.
Her eyes flashed in annoyance as she crawled closer. “We’re trying to help!” she said in a strong whisper as she shoved a rifle into his hands.
“What the—” Darcy looked beyond his beloved. In the dim light of the smoldering fire in the hearth he could make out two more figures crawling from the entrance of the cellar and one other person half-raised, handling a gun.
“Fanny!” Bennet tried to keep his voice down. “What are you doing?”
Mrs. Bennet had no qualms about staying quiet. “Thomas Bennet, I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I certainly can load one! You men keep an eye on those scoundrels out there, and me and my girls will pass you fresh weapons.”
“But… but, dear, you might get shot.”
“Not if we stay low to the floor. Now, hush up, or those evil men will hear you!”
Bennet shrugged and in a mock-serious tone to Darcy claimed, “Get the whip hand over them at once, Will! At once! You see what happens if you don’t?”
Beth grinned and began to crawl back. “Wait!” said Darcy. “Instead of reloading the extra rifles in one spot, split up the ammo—Kathy and Mary to that side, and you and Miz Bennet here. It’ll go faster.”
“Will,” complained Bennet, “don’t encourage them!”
“Sorry, Bennet, but it’s a good idea.” He turned back to Beth. “Just stay down!”
Beth retrieved another rifle. Just as she moved to Ethan by the north window, Whitehead’s people started shooting up the house again. Darcy returned fire, trying to hit the shadows. “Fire at the gun flashes!” he cried.
He noted that the fire seemed heaviest at his side of the house, and he could feel the hair on the back of his neck rise in warning. Denny was a bushwhacker, he remembered. He knows all kinds of tricks.
It was then he heard a cry to his left. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he turned towards the noise. There was Ethan writhing on the floor, Beth kneeling beside him, and there was a strange orange glow outside the side window.
Fire! his tired mind screamed. They’re trying to burn us out!
Darcy tried to get moving towards the window, but he couldn’t seem to get his legs to move right. As he yelled a warning, Beth reached down and picked up Ethan’s rifle. To Darcy’s horror, she stood up and took aim out the window. Darcy got his feet under him, and a moment later, he slammed into the wall beside Beth just as she fired the Winchester.
“Get down!” he screamed as he took aim. He saw a figure twenty yards away,