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 seven of Denny’s gang. Took the rest prisoner, including Billy Collins. He’s singing like a bird.”
“Damn!” With a bang, Lucas straightened up his chair and stood up. “And how did your people make out?”
“One wounded—Doc Bingley’s seeing to him now.”
Lucas shook his head. “I’ll be damned. Whitehead’s dead? Then it’s all over.”
“No, it ain’t.” Darcy’s face was hard. “One loose thread left.”
Lucas eyed him. “Yeah, I reckon so. You thinkin’ o’ payin’ a visit to Cate?”
Darcy nodded. “This ends today.”
Lucas sighed. “I reckon I’ll best be goin’ with you. You boys had any breakfast? Coffee’s hot, an’ Charlotte’s come in and whipped up some bacon ’n’ eggs.” He turned his head to Fitzwilliam. “She made biscuits.”
Fitz grinned. “That’s mighty neighborly of you, Sheriff. Will?”
Darcy shrugged. “A half-hour won’t make any difference. We’ll be pleased to enjoy your hospitality.” He had noted with satisfaction Fitz’s use of Lucas’s title. Perhaps there’s hope for the two of them, after all. I sure hope so, for Miss Charlotte’s peace of mind.
As the two dismounted, Lucas opened the front door of the office. “I’ll send Smith over to the Bennets’ place to take the prisoners into official custody.” He stopped and turned. “Oh, by the by, you’d best tell whatever riders you sent to come up the back way to make themselves known. I can’t speak for Deputy Jones’s nerves, an’ I don’t want somebody to get hisself shot by accident.”
Fitz’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know about that?”
Lucas snorted. “’Cause that’s what I would’ve done in your place, Fitz, an’ I reckon you ain’t no fool.”
After eating breakfast and enduring Fitz’s flirting with the cook, Darcy climbed aboard his black stallion and rode with the others towards the B&R ranch house. Sheriff Lucas insisted Deputy Jones come with them, and deputized one of Darcy’s men to guard the prisoners in the jail.
The small group rode north out of town along the road beside Rose Creek. At a rise a half-mile from their objective, Darcy signaled for the men to halt.
“All right. This is what we do. Fitz, you and Peter go around and sneak into the ranch house from the kitchen, if you can. Get Anne out of there. You see any trouble, you get out pronto. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sheriff—you, Deputy Jones, and I will go in from the other side.”
“What side’s that, Mr. Darcy?”
“The front door, Sheriff.” He turned to Fitz. “We’ll give you a couple minutes’ head start. Y’all best be going.”
The two men galloped off to the west. Darcy watched them until they disappeared behind a ridge, then signaled to his companions to continue to the house. They took their time, holding their mounts to a trot, carefully taking in their surroundings.
“Notice anything?” asked Darcy in a low voice.
“Yeah,” the lawman answered, “where the hell is everybody?”
The B&R Ranch should have been a hub of noise and effort; instead, it was completely deserted. If it wasn’t for the lowing of the cattle, one could easily believe the place had been abandoned.
“Ah,” breathed Darcy. “Look to the northwest.” There, past the low hills, was a faint cloud of dust.
“Sheriff, it looks like everybody done rode off,” said Deputy Jones.
“Rats abandoning a sinking ship,” observed Lucas. “Think they heard about the gunfight?”
Darcy watched the distant disturbance. “Hmm, maybe. I thought we got everybody, but maybe one of Denny’s gang got away. Hell, it doesn’t matter. Keep a sharp eye out, in case somebody stayed behind.”
The three rode in, stopping before the main house. Tied to a hitching post was Judge Phillips’s buggy. “Well, lookie here,” drawled Lucas as he dismounted. “Seems Cate’s pet judge has come for breakfast. We get two birds with one stone.”
The men dismounted and tied their horses to the hitching post. It was then their good cheer ended—the front door was ajar. Without a word, Darcy, Lucas, and Jones drew their revolvers and slowly made their way up the porch stairs to the door. They moved to either side of the opening, looking at each other.
“I’ll go in…” Lucas began when Darcy cut him off in a low voice.
“No—I’ll go first. I know this house better than either of you. Stay close.”
Taking a deep breath, Darcy moved the door open with the toe of his boot, keeping as much of the rest of his body hidden from sight as he could. When the opening was wide enough, he moved like lightning into the ranch house, crouching low, Colt before him. Darcy stopped some ten feet in, hard against the left wall of the hallway while his companions followed, moving over to the right. Without a word, Darcy signaled for them to move deeper down the hallway slowly.
The three crept along the carpeted hallway, peeking into first the parlor, then the sitting room. It wasn’t until Jones got to the dining room that any sound was made.
“Oh, my God!”
The sheriff and Darcy looked into a scene of horror. The sun shone through the curtains, moving in the morning breeze, the light glowing off the yellow paint of the walls and gleaming hardwood of the table. Unfinished breakfast plates and one overturned coffee cup were on the table. And there was a man slumped over a plate, a dark red substance staining the tablecloth, while the chair at the head of the table had fallen over, partially hiding a woman’s body.
“Cate!” Darcy gasped. Disregarding any danger, he ran to his cousin’s side, knowing all the while he was too late. And he was—Catherine Burroughs had been shot in the torso, her body still warm to the touch.
The sheriff was by the side of the male victim while Jones remained at the doorway. “It’s Judge Phillips,” Lucas said. “He’s dead—shot in the chest.” He looked over. “Miz Burroughs, too?”
“Yes,” Darcy croaked, his emotions a whirl. He had had his disagreements with Catherine, and he couldn’t say he actually liked her, but to see his cousin’s murdered body was a shock. He glanced at her face. Now, only in death, had her dour face relaxed into something other than the hard woman he had known all his life.