Pemberley Ranch - Jack Caldwell [124]
Pyke rode hard towards the B&R. He had to get out of the county, and he wasn’t going empty-handed.
Darcy sat on the porch steps, drinking a cup of coffee and listening to the reports, while Beth was glued firmly to his side, holding one of his hands.
“All my boys are okay,” Fitzwilliam was saying. “I figure we shot about four of ’em, not includin’ Whitehead.”
“And we got at least three more,” claimed José. “How many bodies we got?”
“Nine,” said Peter, “and five prisoners. Our only casualty is Ethan.”
“How is he?” Darcy demanded.
A worried Mrs. Bennet spoke from the door. “Will, he’s in bad shape. We need Charles.”
“All right; I’ll go get Doc Bingley right away,” Fitz said. At that Darcy stood.
“You’ll be coming with me, Fitz. We’ve got to check on Sheriff Lucas, too. Bring two men. This ain’t over with yet.” Fitz made to object—Darcy’s exhaustion was plain to see—but a glare from his boss silenced him. Instead, he ordered Darcy’s horse brought around.
Bennet crossed over to Darcy. “I know the sheriff is important, but get Charles first, all right?” Darcy nodded and Bennet patted his shoulder. “Son, it is over. All that’s left is rounding up the stragglers. So, take care, eh?”
Darcy turned to take his leave of Beth, only to find her gone. Puzzled, and not a little disappointed, he climbed aboard Caesar, only to see her coming from the house with his hat. Wordlessly, she handed it to him, not responding to his small smile. As he put it on, Beth frowned and placed her fists on her hips.
“You come back to me, Will Darcy! You hear me?”
A grin spread over Darcy’s features. He tipped his hat and spurred his horse. Beth watched the four riders head out towards town.
THE STOP AT THE Bingley place on the outskirts of Rosings was short. Charles had just sat down for breakfast when Darcy and his party arrived. With their assistance, Jane and Charles, along with his medicine bag and their infant daughter, were soon aboard their buggy heading to the Bennet Farm.
The four riders then split up—Darcy and Fitz would approach the sheriff’s office from the street, while the other two covered them from the rear. Darcy waited five minutes to allow his men to get into position, then he and Fitz slowly made their way along the main street. It was early, and the shadows were still long as the pair passed the Whitehead Building. They were cautious, in case Denny left a rear guard. Because their attention was on Whitehead’s place, they didn’t notice the lone figure on the porch of the sheriff’s office until they were almost upon him. Startled, Fitz halfway drew his revolver.
Darcy was the first to speak. “Mornin’, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Lucas was seated, leaning his chair back on the rear legs while resting his boots on a post, hat low over his eyes, whittling at a piece of wood. He glanced up at the greeting before returning his attention to his task, replying, “Mornin’, Mr. Darcy, Fitzwilliam. You boys are up early.” A sliver of wood floated to the porch.
Fitz holstered his weapon, an incredulous expression on his face. Darcy, for his part, was amused as he leaned over the saddle horn. “You too, I see. Had a good night?”
Lucas kept whittling. “Can’t complain.”
Fitz couldn’t restrain himself. “But we heard Denny set some of his men after you.”
Lucas didn’t raise his head. “Yep, he surely did.”
“Then, what happened?” Fitz cried.
Lucas glanced up, a smirk on his face. “He’d best send better boys next time. The two he did are coolin’ their heels in a jail cell, keepin’ Miz Sally company,” he said as he pointed the piece of wood over his shoulder. “Huh! The day I can’t handle two goat ropers like that with my deputies backin’ me up is the day I retire.”
Darcy’s voice was flat. “There won’t be a next time, Sheriff.”
That got Lucas’s attention. “That so?”
“Yes. Gunfight at the Bennet place all night. Just ended. George Whitehead and Kid Denny are dead, along with