In her family’s pew in the Rosings Baptist Church, Beth kept her head as still as possible as Reverend Tilney read a passage from the New Testament while her eyes took in those assembled. To either side of her was her family. To her left were her father, looking grim, and her mother, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. To her right were Kathy and Lily, both unusually quiet. Next to them were Charles and Jane, little Susan resting quietly in her mother’s arms.
Beth could not see behind her, but she had seen Sheriff Lucas and Charlotte before the beginning of the service and knew they were in attendance, as were George Whitehead and Billy Collins. Mary was at the church organ. Except for a few others, no one else was present.
It was embarrassing for a congregation that normally filled the church to stay away from the funeral for some of their own. Beth knew the reasons—some sensible, some appalling—and a bit of her old disgust for the South burned dimly in her breast. Beth was ashamed that the church was mostly empty.
Mostly, but not quite empty. Beth’s eyes kept returning to the row of pews on the opposite side of the aisle. The seats that usually held the Burroughs family were instead occupied by William Darcy, his sister, Gaby, and two others. She did not know the short man in the black robe, but she assumed it was the Darcys’ priest. It was shocking enough that a Catholic priest would attend a service in a Baptist Church, but even more amazing was that the Darcys’ cook, Mrs. Reynolds, sat next to them. Beth also knew that two Darcy wranglers stood in the back near the front door of the church.
It would have been a wondrous occurrence were it not for the sorrowful nature of the gathering. She returned her attention to the wooden objects before the sanctuary—three coffins, two about six feet long flanking a much smaller one in the middle. Beth would have cried again over the fate of the Washingtons if she were not aware of one other jarring, frightening fact.
Every man in the church, except for the clergy and Collins, was armed—even Charles.
With a final blessing, the funeral service for the Washington family was complete. The women quietly filed out of the church into the noonday sun, Beth taking Gaby by the hand. They stood outside, close to a flatbed wagon with the back unlatched.
Within moments, the pallbearers began their grim duty. Apparently, an agreement had taken place inside the church. The first coffin that emerged was that of Mrs. Washington, borne by Mr. Bennet and the undertaker’s helpers, assisted by Whitehead and Collins. William, Charles, and the Pemberley hands followed with Mr. Washington. They, too, carefully lifted their macabre burden onto the bed of the wagon, the undertaker directing the securing of the coffins. Finally, the last, small wooden box was carried out with infinite tenderness by Henry Tilney and Father Joseph. Both had tears in their eyes, as did most of the ladies assembled. A moment later, the wagon was ready.
The assemblage milled about, preparing to begin the procession. Gaby joined her brother and the Pemberley group. To Beth’s displeasure, Whitehead and Collins approached the Bennets and Bingleys.
“It’s a sad day, isn’t it, Thomas?” Whitehead remarked.
Mr. Bennet was interrupted by Charles. “Tom, Fanny, I’m goin’ to take Jane an’ Susan back to the house. Y’all come by afterwards, all right?” With one sharp glare for Whitehead, the Bingleys walked toward their house, Beth still unnerved by the extraordinary sight of a pistol on Charles’s hip.
Whitehead seemed to take no notice of the doctor. “Well, we’ve got to get back to work, eh, Billy? Tom, you going up to the burial?”
Told that the Bennet family would join the procession, Whitehead displayed an odd look that appeared to Beth as if he wished to dispose of a troublesome insect. The expression disappeared in an instant; Beth blinked, and Whitehead was his usually implacable self again. The chill that ran down Beth’s spine was her only proof that she had not imagined the moment. With a smile, Whitehead took his leave of the Bennets, Collins trailing behind. Beth was relieved at Whitehead’s departure, because she had disturbing thoughts about a person she once considered a friend and now feared and mistrusted.
With a word from Henry Tilney, the rest took their positions. The wagon driver flicked the reins, and the horses moved down the street, Henry sitting next to him. In the wagon with the coffins were the undertaker and his men. Following on foot were the remaining attendees. The Darcys were first, Gaby and Father Joseph next to William, while Mrs. Reynolds walked directly behind her employer. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet were next, their daughters trailing, Beth and Mary holding hands. The sheriff and Charlotte, along with the Pemberley hands, brought up the rear.
The streets of Rosings, usually bustling at midday, were practically deserted. A sense of fear was omnipresent. Beth glanced around her, catching a curtain move at Zimmerman’s store. The blacksmith’s shop was silent. The only sound was the tolling of the church bell and the creak of the wagon’s wheels.
The story around town was that a roving band of the Ku Klux Klan had descended on the Washington homestead, and outsiders were to blame for the lynching. Beth was surprised and troubled at the rumors, for in the years she had lived in Rosings, there was not even the hint that the feared, masked terrorists were in the area. In fact, all the newspapers had said that the Klan was on its last legs, put down by the power of the army and the federal government. But if the Klan was riding the range killing former slaves, where had they come from? Why hadn’t they heard about such outrages before? It didn’t make sense to Beth.
Another thing that didn’t make sense was the nonattendance of Richard Fitzwilliam. Beth was witness to the horror on the foreman’s face when he learned the fate of the Washington family. With the Darcys present for the funeral, why was Fitz not? Was he needed at the ranch, or had Beth misjudged the man? She glanced behind her at Charlotte. Beth had known for several weeks of her friend’s feelings for the Pemberley foreman, and she wondered how Charlotte felt about Fitz’s absence.
The procession continued in silence to the major crossroads of the town, passing Younge’s Saloon before turning onto the North Road. Outside the barroom lounged two men, whispering to each other. Beth recognized one of them as Kid Denny, which set off another series of questions in her head. If Fitz was needed at Pemberley to keep things running, why was Denny absent from the B&R? She saw William look hard at the man, which drew a laugh from the gunfighter as he leaned back against the wall, a nasty smirk on his face.
The incident alarmed and angered Beth. Seeing Whitehead’s cohort mock the funeral procession reinforced 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… unfortunate incident.”
“Unfortunate incident!” cried one man. “Cold-blooded murder is what I’d call it!” Others murmured their agreement.
“Uhh, yah, that’s what it looks like—sure.” Zimmerman, obviously nervous, wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. To Bennet the man seemed frightened. “I now call on Sheriff Lucas to give his report.”
The lawman made his way to the lectern. “There ain’t much to say right now, gentlemen,” Lucas stated. “My men and I were called to investigate a fire at the new settlement, an’ when we got there, we saw what had happened to the Washington family. The rain washed away most everything, but it was obvious from what hoof prints remained that there were at least a half-dozen men there. The McDaniels were the only witnesses. They told me afore they left town that they heard some gunshots, an’ by the time they got outside, the cross was lit, and they saw a bunch o’ riders headin’ east.”
“Heading east,” a man near Bennet pointed out. “Heading away from town. So they were outsiders.”
“I didn’t say that,” Lucas said. “There’s a lot we don’t understand. I’m asking for your help.”
“Are you going to form a posse?” asked Dr. Bingley.
“I would if I knew where to look. It don’t make any sense right now. I need more information.”
“What else do ya need to know?” cried Wilkerson. “That was done by the Klan. Ain’t nobody here in the Klan. The McDaniels said the riders were headed east. They done what they did, an’ there ain’t no reason for ’em to stay. I say that’s the end to it.”
“And I say you’re wrong!” said the blacksmith. “There’s killers running loose, an’ they could come back. We gotta protect our families. Fellers that would do somethin’ like that are likely to do just about anything.” A general argument broke out amongst the men over Sheriff Lucas’s call for calm. Bennet watched the brouhaha for a couple of minutes before one clear voice was heard over the din.
“That’s enough, gentlemen.”
The noise in the church died out as Will Darcy stood up. Even ten pews away Bennet could feel the authority flowing from him. Darcy slowly surveyed the room before speaking again.
“We’ve heard a lot of talk and a lot of conjecture but very few facts. Sheriff Lucas here has told you what he knows, so let’s take a look at that. The Washington family was lynched in a fashion that has been used in the past by the Ku Klux Klan. They even had a burning cross in the yard. The only witnesses saw riders heading east. This is what we know.
“Now, there never has been Klan activity in Long Branch County or any county within a hundred miles. According to the newspaper, the army and the government in Austin put down the Klan in East Texas, where it had been strong, over two years ago. Yet, we’re supposed to believe that a roving band of Klansmen just happened to be in the county four days ago. Now I ask you, have we heard about a group of robed riders terrorizing the area? No, we have not. So, where did these supposed Klansmen come from?”
Denny spoke up. “You don’t believe it? Then what do you think happened, Darcy?”
Darcy glared at the gunman. “I think lots of things, Denny, and I dismiss nothing. When I know, then I’ll act. Until then, I ask all of you to consider one thing.” He paused as he looked about the church. “Who profits from this?” One could hear a pin drop in the silence that followed. “I ask again—who profits from the murder of the Washingtons?”
Darcy took his seat, which seemed to electrify a perspiring Billy Collins. “See here, what are you saying?”
Edmund Bertram, the manager of Darcy Bank, spoke up. “You foreclosed on the Washington property, didn’t you, Collins?”
“Well, yes, but… but that was perfectly legal! There was no one left to pay the mortgage.” He grew angry. “You would have done the same thing in my shoes, Bertram. Don’t you deny it!”
“Eventually, but only after I exhausted all means of contacting any heirs or family,” Bertram shot back. “Certainly not before the man was even buried. But maybe that’s how things are done at Rosings Bank.”
There was a troubled rumbling about the room, and Lucas finally acted to regain control. “Now, that’s enough of that. Nobody’s accusing anybody around here. Let’s settle down and think of what’s to be done.” Even Bennet could see Fitzwilliam roll his eyes at that.
“I agree,” said Judge Phillips as he rose from his seat and walked to the lectern. Sheriff Lucas was forced to surrender the podium to the judge, who smiled and announced, “The events of the last few days have been a trial upon us all. It’s apparent to me that our families and livelihood are in some danger. It’s also apparent that our very able sheriff is woefully undermanned and unable to meet the crisis.
“Therefore, I am happy to announce that effective immediately, I am deputizing a group of brave men to supplement our local law enforcement efforts. These special deputies of the court will assist Sheriff Lucas in bringing these perpetrators to justice while helping to keep Rosings quiet and peaceful.”
To the astonishment of Bennet and many in the audience, Phillips said, “The head of this special detachment is here tonight. Mr. Denny, would you come right up?” There was a low rumbling as the gunfighter walked with a swagger to the front of the church.
“Thanks, Judge. I’m happy to accept this here assignment. Me an’ my boys will see that everything ’round here will stay nice an’ quiet.”
“Hold on, Alton,” cried Lucas. “I know nothing about this. How can you assign me deputies without my say-so?”
“They’re not your deputies, Sheriff,” Phillips said dryly. “They’re officers of the court. They report to me.”
Again the room grew quiet and Darcy stood up. “Your own private army, Alton?”
The judge turned to the rancher. “They won’t cause any trouble except to troublemakers, Darcy.”
Darcy nodded as if in thought before he spoke again. To Bennet’s confusion, he didn’t address Phillips or Denny; instead, he turned to the well-dressed man standing in the corner.
“I told you before, and I’ll tell you again. Keep your people off Pemberley, or you’ll regret it. If just one of your boys so much as spits on my property, I’m coming to see you.”
“Threats, Darcy?” sneered George Whitehead.
“Promises, Whitehead.” With that, the rancher walked out of the church, Fitzwilliam and Bertram trailing behind. Whitehead’s only response was to raise a single eyebrow.
Judge Phillips rapped the gavel, closing the meeting. Immediately, the murmurings among the men returned in earnest. Bennet noted that both Mayor Zimmerman and Sheriff Lucas were stunned at the apparent transfer of power. Most of the others wore expressions ranging from confusion to fear. A few, Doc Bingley being one, were fuming.
“Well,” he whispered in his father-in-law’s ear, “a line’s been drawn in the sand. Every man’s got to choose which side he’ll stand on.”
Bennet didn’t doubt which side would be Charles’s choice. As for himself, he was torn. Bennet could not but respect the quiet authority and courage of Will Darcy. His dealings with the young rancher had been forthright and profitable.
Bennet was troubled by Whitehead’s association with Denny. He vowed that he would consider acts done during war in the heat of battle be left in the past. But whatever his sins—or Darcy’s or Whitehead’s—it was commonly believed that William Quantrill’s actions during the war were criminal. Didn’t Jesse and Frank James ride with him? The Younger brothers, too? “Bloody Bill” Anderson? All thieves and murderers. It wasn’t too far a leap to lump Kid Denny into that group.
Yet, Whitehead had advised him on improvements to the farm. While the promised increase in yields had not yet been realized, Bennet could see the potential. Besides, Rosings Bank held the mortgage on the property, and Whitehead was close to both Collins and Cate Burroughs.
With a sinking feeling, Bennet realized that he was squarely in the middle of a potential range war with no way out, except to flee. As he would never do that, he could only have his family keep a low profile and hope they didn’t get hit in the crossfire.
Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Bertram walked out of the church into the warm night air, picking up two Pemberley riders who had stood guard outside the church.
“So, now do you believe me?” Fitz demanded.
“Do you believe me about Lucas being in a trap?” Darcy shot back before talking to his banker. “Is everything secure?”
Bertram nodded. “Everything’s as ready as it can be. We’ve got the strongest safe this side of the Brazos. You sure you don’t want me to sleep at the bank?”
“No. My people’s lives are more important than money. I’ll have two men keep an eye on the place at night. I don’t think anything’s going to happen, but I don’t want to take any chances. Get yourself home to Mrs. Bertram, all right?” The banker agreed and strode off towards his house as Darcy turned to the others.
“From now on, no one rides alone,” he demanded. “All details will be a minimum of two. Fitz, make sure your people are carrying a full load of ammo. Rosings is off limits until I say otherwise. Nobody goes to town for any reason unless personally directed by me. That goes double for Younge’s Saloon. I want to give Denny no cause to start something.”
“Boys are gonna be disappointed,” pointed out José. “They gonna miss their Saturday nights.”
“We’ll have a bar set up at the ranch. They’ll get their drinking in. As for the girls, well, we’ve all got to make sacrifices.” His voice hardened. “This is serious. Whitehead’s upping the ante, and I don’t want to be caught shorthanded. We start nothing, understand? Anything happens, get back to me immediately. Remember, Whitehead can still call in the army, so we better have ourselves on the right side. Let’s get home.”
As they mounted, Fitz commented, “Well, Lucas can’t be in the dark about Whitehead’s intentions now.”
Darcy looked at him. “I’m glad you have this all figured out, because I sure don’t.”
“Huh? What do you mean? You heard what Phillips said.”
The party moved off at a slow pace, carefully working their way back to Pemberley in the dark. “Yes, and it doesn’t make any sense. Phillips and Collins are Cate’s creatures. They work for her, not Whitehead. Rosings Bank is calling in the loans on the new settlement homesteads, so the bank—and Cate by extension—has the bottomland. Why? What good does it do them? They lost money on the deal—they must have. So why work so hard to get it back?”
“Because they’re planning to use it for something else? Is there gold there?”
“Not that I know of. But there’s got to be a reason. And where does Whitehead fit into all this? He works for Cate, but all this feels like his idea. Why? What does he get out of this? How does it help him if Cate gets the bottomland back? There’s something missing, and until we know what it is, Cate and Whitehead are going to be a step ahead of us.”
“Why not ask her?”
Darcy snorted. “You think she’d tell me?”
Fitz paused, not wanting to ask the next question. “You think your cousin had something to do with the lynchings?”
Darcy was silent for a minute. “God, I hope not.”
The lights were burning late in George Whitehead’s office as an impromptu celebration took place. Joining Whitehead were Collins, Phillips, Denny, and Pyke.
“Congratulations, Denny,” Phillips raised his glass. “Come by the office tomorrow for your swearing in. That was a pretty good idea of mine, wasn’t it?”
Denny laughed. “Never thought I’d be wearin’ a badge. Lookin’ forward to it.”
Whitehead sipped his drink thoughtfully. “Don’t let it go to your head, my friend. Remember what I told you—we can’t afford any more incidents.”
“Look, I took care of them Washingtons, didn’t I?” Denny sneered. Phillips looked away, and Whitehead narrowed his eyes.
“Yes, you did. You also failed to corral that hotheaded Thorpe. He almost caused a confrontation with Darcy, and we’re not ready for that.” Whitehead held up his hand as Denny tried to respond. “Look, everything is still going according to plan. The bank has the properties back. In a few months, this will all be over.” Whitehead rose from his chair. “We’re right where we need to be. We’re this far from total success,” he held two fingers about an inch apart, “but we must do nothing to put this deal off. No more violence. We’ll handle Darcy later, once we’re in complete control. Be patient, Denny, and get hold of your men.”
Denny finished his drink and nodded. “All right. I’ll go join the boys at Sally’s. Make sure they don’t cause another incident.” He put on his hat and left the office.
“I’ll be leaving, too,” said Phillips. “I have a breakfast meeting with Cate. Will you be joining us?”
“Not tomorrow. I’ll see her later. ’Night, Alton.” The three watched the judge leave the building.
“Think he suspects anything?” asked Collins.
Whitehead smiled. “No. You heard what that fool said. He took my suggestion for deputizing Denny and made it his own. Everything is proceeding as we planned. All of the land in the new settlement is back under our control. Everything is in place. Gentlemen, we’ve won.”
“Not everything,” Collins pointed out. “There’s still one last piece.”
“True, but that’ll be no trouble. All I have to do is close my hand, and it’ll fall to us.”
Pyke was nervous. “What about Darcy? He just about called you out.”
Whitehead chuckled. “Don’t worry about Mr. Darcy, strutting around with his land and money. That half-breed doesn’t even recognize when he’s been outmaneuvered. He’s powerless to stop us. If he causes any trouble, I can call for the weight of the government in Austin to fall upon him. Pemberley will just be ours sooner than anticipated.”
Whitehead walked over to the window. “No, gentlemen, as long as we’re patient, we’ve won. We now control the destiny of Long Branch County.”
During the Civil War, partisans from Kansas and Missouri were engaged in violent guerrilla warfare between the “Jayhawkers” or “Redlegs” from Kansas and “bushwhackers” or “partisan rangers” from Missouri. The roots of the fighting came from the Border War (“Bleeding Kansas”) between pro-slavery “Border Ruffians” and “Free-State” abolitionists that preceded the Civil War.Both sides participated in atrocities. On the Jayhawk side, U.S. Senator James H. Lane sacked Osceola, Missouri, killing nine men, while Charles “Doc” Jennison was distinguished by his blatant plunder for personal gain. On the Missouri side, William Clarke Quantrill carried out the raid on Lawrence, Kansas, while William T. “Bloody Bill” Anderson and his men usually shot their prisoners and often mutilated and scalped the dead.At first rejected by both the U.S. and Confederate governments, as the war dragged on, both sides made the guerrillas somewhat “respectable” by offering commissions in the volunteer forces. However, while Jayhawkers occasionally coordinated their activities with regular Union forces, bushwhackers almost always operated outside of the Confederate chain of command.After the war, some bushwhackers became famous outlaws, such as Jesse and Frank James and the Younger brothers.Important note: The term “bushwhacker” is also used for guerrillas—both Union and Confederate—in other theaters of the war.