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.