Pemberley Ranch

the nagging feeling she had that George knew more about the outrage than he was letting on. I can forgive Will for having fought for the Confederacy, she thought,but I certainly won’t pardon Denny! I can see why Denny is friends with Whitehead—two bad men found each other.

Soon, the wagon reached the northern outskirts of town and began the ascent up the slight hill to the cemetery. The party had gone halfway up the narrow lane when four men on horseback appeared and blocked the way to the graveyard’s gate. Beth recognized one of them as Wilkerson, the B&R hand who had driven her to the Burroughses’ house back in July.

Henry called from his perch on the wagon, “Make way, gentlemen.”

The man next to Wilkerson appeared to be the leader. “Not so fast, Preacher. You mean to plant them slaves in this here cemetery?”

Henry was enraged. “What business is it of yours, Nathan Thorpe? Stand aside!”

“You ain’t puttin’ no slaves in a white man’s cemetery,” the man identified as Thorpe repeated. He pointed out at the open range. “If you gotta stick ’em in the ground, there’s plenty of room out there—not in here.” His companions nodded, and one carried a rifle.

“Or maybe that Papist place across th’ river,” suggested Wilkerson with a sneer. “I heard they’d take anybody.”

Beth thought that William would be angry at the insult from Wilkerson, but the tall rancher stood calmly in front of Gaby, shielding her, his face showing no expression.

It was Sheriff Lucas who responded. “That’s enough of that!” he thundered. “You’ve got no right to stop these people, Thorpe.”

Thorpe patted his holstered revolver. “Stay outta this if’n you know what’s good for ya, Sheriff.”

Beth’s anger turned to fear. She grasped Mary’s hand as Mr. Bennet jumped in front of her mother—

And then there was the unmistakable sound of numerous rifles being cocked.

“Stand easy, Thorpe. You’re surrounded,” drawled a familiar voice. Beth didn’t need Charlotte’s gasp of relief to know it was Richard Fitzwilliam.

Thorpe, Wilkerson, and the other gunmen looked around them in shock. Peeking out from behind trees and headstones were armed men, their rifles steady on their targets.

“Not too smart, Thorpe, scarin’ off the gravediggers an’ failing to reconnoiter the area properly,” Fitz mocked the man. “Now, drop them gun belts!” A moment later, the four horsemen disarmed themselves.

William spoke for the first time. “Good work, Fitz.”

Lucas turned to the rancher. “You knew this was gonna happen?”

William shrugged his shoulders. The implications of that gesture astonished and delighted Beth—Will had foreseen what was going to happen and sent his best man to prevent any trouble.

“No violence!” cried Henry. “Thorpe, let us pass.”

“Yeah,” added Lucas, “you can pick up your guns at the jail later.”

“Not so fast, Lucas,” Fitz said, keeping his rifle armed at Thorpe. “You may want to ask these fellas about their whereabouts a few nights ago. Thorpe an’ Wilkerson rode with Quantrill’s outlaws, if I remember rightly.”

“Outlaw? I was a soldier, same as you!” Thorpe insisted.

“I don’t call what happened in Lawrence the work of a soldier, bushwhacker. Tell me—how many boys did you kill?”

Beth gasped; she had heard about William Quantrill’s famous raid on Lawrence, Kansas, where up to two hundred men and boys had been slaughtered and the town burned to the ground in retaliation for Jayhawk attacks in Missouri. If these men had been members of Quantrill’s Raiders, then Mrs. Burroughs had very dangerous people working for her.[6]

“I wasn’t there,” claimed Thorpe.

“Sure, you weren’t. Like I’d trust your word.”

Sheriff Lucas spoke up, “Thorpe, get your people outta here. Now—git!” The four riders took off down the hill, heading for town.

An annoyed Fitz walked up to the lawman. “Lucas, why did you let ’em go? I’m sure they had somethin’ to do with—”

The sheriff cut him off. “Now’s not the time, Fitz! We’ve got a funeral to finish. Let me do my job at my own pace.”

“And when’s that time gonna be?” Fitz shouted back. Beth could see that Charlotte was distressed over the argument.

William took Fitz by the arm. “That’s enough,” he told his foreman, staring him in the eye. Fitz grunted and William turned to Tilney. “Henry? Can we go on?”

Henry patted the driver on the shoulder, and the wagon rolled into the cemetery.

The last strains of “Shall We Gather at the River” had long since floated across the plains when the people left the cemetery to the sounds of the gravediggers completing their task. By the time Darcy helped Gaby into the carriage that had been brought up from town, the Bennets and the others were already halfway down the road. Darcy wished he could have taken his leave of Beth, and disappointed, he took out his frustration with Fitzwilliam.

“What the hell do you think you were doing, challenging Sheriff Lucas like that? What did you hope to accomplish?”

Fitz was taken aback at his employer’s anger. “I was just pointin’ out to that old fool that he ain’t doin’ his job. You’re not defending him, are you?”

Darcy took a moment to compose himself. “Look, I’m not saying that Lucas is the best sheriff we’ve ever had, but he’s got an almost impossible job. It’s one thing to suspect something, but it’s a whole other thing to be able to prove something in court. Will you look around at what’s going on?” He lowered his voice. “I suspect the same things as you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucas was of the same mind. But he’s got to have evidence, and even then, he’s got to convince a judge. Who is that judge, Fitz?”

“Phillips,” Fitz said. “But can’t he get another judge? Y’know—conflict of interest?”

Darcy nodded. “And he’s got to be able to prove that, too. There’s nothing easy about this—nothing at all. Lucas is in a trap.”

“So, what do we do?”

“There’s a town meeting called for tomorrow night. I aim to be there, and you can come along. Then we’ll see.” He half-turned and added, as if an afterthought, “Fitz, you might want to back off Lucas a little. It isn’t doing your suit for Miss Charlotte any good.”

Fitz’s jaw dropped. “How… how do you know about that?”

Gaby smiled from her seat in the carriage. “Oh, Fitz, everybody knows about that.” Darcy grinned as he took his seat next to his sister.

“See you back at the ranch, Fitz.” With a quick twitch of the reins, the horses pulled away, leaving an astonished Richard Fitzwilliam in its wake.

The next night found Thomas Bennet sitting in a pew next to Dr. Bingley in the Rosings Baptist Church, attending an emergency town meeting. Oil lamps and candles lit the interior of the church, the pews filled with shopkeepers, cowboys, and others. Most of the men in town were there, all talking about the attack on the Washingtons.

Bennet noticed George Whitehead standing with Judge Phillips, Kid Denny, and Billy Collins in a corner, talking amongst themselves. The sight bothered him, for Bennet had been deeply troubled by the incident at the cemetery. He had not known that Denny’s people had been bushwhackers in the war, and he was uneasy with George’s connection with them. He remembered that he had told Beth that she should put the war behind her, but what Quantrill had done was nothing but murder in Bennet’s eyes. He wasn’t sure he could forgive a man for that, and he didn’t like that George was friendly with one of those scoundrels.

To his surprise, he saw Will Darcy sitting with his foreman, Fitzwilliam, towards the back of the church. It was the first time Bennet could remember seeing Darcy attending any meeting concerning town business.

Mayor Zimmerman banged a gavel on the lectern and called the meeting to order. “As mayor of Rosings, I have called this town meeting to tell the people about what’s being done to catch the men who caused the uhh…