Jack Caldwell - Pemberley Ranch

Lucas nodded. “Nothin’ personal, Fitz. I gotta do what’s best.”

Fitz didn’t respond until he replaced his hat and climbed aboard Jeb Stuart. He then turned to the sheriff. “I’ve said my piece, an’ I’ve taken account o’ your opinion. Only one thing remains.”

“And what’s that?” Lucas demanded.

“Hearin’ Miss Charlotte’s opinion o’ the matter. That’s the only one that counts in my book. Be seein’ you.” Fitz pulled Jeb Stuart’s head about and set off at a trot towards the Long Branch Bridge and Pemberley.

“You’re wastin’ your time, Fitzwilliam!” Lucas shook his fist as he walked into the street. “Mine is the word she’ll listen to. Don’t come around here! You hear me?” He stood in the middle of the road in the dark, continuing to yell at the retreating figure.

Any passerby would question whether the man was trying to convince the rider or himself.

April

Early on a bright, sunny spring morning, Will Darcy walked up to a tall, brown horse and reached up to shake the rider’s hand.

“Take care, Fitz! See you in June!” Gaby called out from the veranda.

Fitz tipped his hat to Miss Darcy, his silver band flashing in the sun. He put the spur to Jeb Stuart, crying, “All right—let’s move ’em out!”

The Pemberley riders began to shout, swinging their coiled lariats about their heads as they rode around the vast herd of cattle. Hundreds of longhorns moved ponderously to the north-northwest, a huge cloud of dust rising in their wake. The drovers dashed about watching for stragglers; the cook in the chuck wagon and the wrangler with the remuda, or spare horses, brought up the rear. The mass moved at a steady pace towards the river. It wasn’t long before the head of the drive reached Thompson Crossing.

By then, Darcy on Caesar had overtaken the herd, and he and Fitz splashed across the river to Bennet Farm. They rode up to the farmhouse’s porch, where a group of people awaited them.

“Mornin’, ladies, Mr. Bennet.” Darcy tipped his hat. “Are your cattle ready?”

“Yep, they’re waiting in the corral,” Bennet replied as he walked towards it, Hill standing by the gate. “Twenty-five head. You won’t lose them, will you, Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

“I’ll do my best to get ’em all to Abilene, Mr. Bennet,” Fitz said with a grin.

“You’ll get paid the same for what gets there just like the rest of us, Mr. Bennet—less the per head fee—just like we agreed. We won’t cheat you.” Darcy’s face was far more relaxed than his words. He had not taken offense at Bennet’s comment; he was just reciting their deal.

Bennet looked up at Darcy. “If I thought you would, Mr. Darcy, I wouldn’t have your people drive my cattle.”

Darcy nodded, pleased that they understood each other. “Wait until we get the rest of the herd across the river before you open the gate. My boys will take it from there.” Fitz rode back to the crossing while Darcy looked towards the northeast. “Fitz will take them across the B&R, pick up their cattle and some extra hands, then cross Rosings Creek. Ought to make ten miles today and hook up with the Chisholm Trail by tomorrow.”

The men watched the enormous herd pass south of the homestead after crossing the Long Branch. Hill waited until a couple of riders approached before opening the corral gate. The cowpokes expertly guided their charges towards the mass of walking beef.

Bennet was impressed. “Smartly done, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy wore an easy smile. “Thank you; they’re good men. You wouldn’t think this is Fitz’s sixth drive, would you? He’s a natural—that’s why he’s my foreman.”

“You don’t go with them?”

Darcy’s look darkened. “No, not since—” he caught himself. “I don’t do that anymore.”

Bennet nodded. “I understand—someone’s got to look out for your place.”

Darcy just grunted and turned Caesar around. His eye naturally fell on the porch and the lovely brown-haired girl in dungarees. She stood next to her mother, arms crossed over her chest, unintentionally pushing her breasts out and filling her shirt. Darcy caught himself staring at her chest and turned away, missing the suspicious glare on the girl’s face. She did not see the admiration in Darcy’s face, but her father did.

Mrs. Bennet was oblivious. “Will you stay for breakfast, Mr. Darcy?”

Darcy forced himself into impassivity. “Thank you kindly, Miz Bennet, but my sister’s waiting for me, and I’d best be getting back.”

“Another time, then?”

Darcy, not trusting his voice, simply nodded at the woman before taking his leave of Mr. Bennet, who watched him ride off with a thoughtful expression.

The light from the oil lamps filled George Whitehead’s office with a yellow glow. Whitehead was trying to get some paperwork done at his desk, but it was hard to concentrate while Denny paced in the middle of the room. Sally Younge, sitting on a couch across the room, shrugged her shoulders at Pyke, who was leaning against the far wall.

“Denny,” Whitehead sighed, “will you stop that confounded walking back and forth and sit down? It’s distracting.”

“I just don’t git it, Whitehead,” Denny grumbled while he continued to move about the room like a caged animal. “Why don’t we just move in an’ get rid o’ Darcy now?”

“Have patience. We’ll take care of Mr. Darcy when the time’s right.”

“But Fitzwilliam an’ half the Pemberley hands are gone to Kansas. He ain’t got nobody there! We can take ’em easy—just ride up, an’…” He whipped out his Colt and pantomimed shooting it. “Everything’s over.”

Whitehead sighed and put down his pen. “And then what? Assuming we got past the other half of Darcy’s men—you don’t think he’s undefended, do you? But let’s say for argument’s sake we were successful in storming Pemberley. What do you think would happen then? Governor Davis might be an Abolitionist Republican, but he can’t ignore the murder of Long Branch County’s most prominent citizen. He’d have the U.S. Cavalry or his new State Police on us in no time. And then where would we be? How can we hold on to Pemberley or the B&R with soldiers poking in to everything?” Whitehead laughed. “‘Everything’s over’? Yes, by God, everything would be over—for us!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Do what you’ve been doing, Denny! For God’s sake, haven’t you paid attention to anything I’ve said in the past three months? Everything is coming to fruition—better than we originally hoped!” He stood up, crossed over to the table near Pyke, and poured four drinks. He carried two and handed one to Sally, while Pyke helped himself. “Your men are well positioned at the B&R. Burroughs doesn’t even realize she’s lost control of her own ranch.” He handed a drink to Denny. “We already have half the county in our hands. Once this latest deal goes through, we’ll control the rest—including Pemberley—without firing a shot!”

Denny took a big swallow of his whiskey. “Controllin’ ain’t ownin’, Whitehead.”

“True.” Whitehead returned for his own glass. “But once we have everything in place—and all the money—then, well… if Will Darcy fell afoul of some desperados some evening, it will be up to Sheriff Denny to look into it, the man appointed by Mayor Whitehead. Understand?”

Denny threw back the rest of his drink. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Big talk. But when? When is this all gonna happen? I’m tired o’ waitin’!”

“Soon. By the end of this year, as long as you do as you’re told.”

“An’ them settlers? They ain’t all leavin’ yet.”

“They will when the foreclosures start in earnest. But we can’t move too quickly, or we’ll invite an investigation. Just trust me, Denny.”

The gunman wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a cold light in his eyes. “I’ve been trustin’ you. But my boys are gettin’ restless. You better come through, an’ soon.”

“I will.”

“If’n you’ve been playin’ me—”

“Now, that would be incredibly stupid on my part, wouldn’t it? I need you, Denny—you’re my partner.” Whitehead grinned. “Why don’t you go over to the saloon and get a drink? It’s on me.”

Denny hesitated, then nodded, and left the room. Whitehead exhaled the breath he had been holding and returned to his desk.

“He’s dangerous, you know,” Sally said as she got up from the couch.