Lyle, appearing in the frame of the bedroom window overlooking the backfield, fired his LeMat in the air. The explosion halted the posse just as it breached the stalks.
“Get out of there,” Lyle screamed. “Either he’ll pick you off or you’ll end up shooting each other! Come around front!”
Lyle did and met with his boss before holding court on the porch.
“Who the hell cleared the back?” Diggs pressed Lyle.
“The dead one.” Lyle pointed toward the barn-side of the house where two railroad workers dragged the corpse of their fallen brother. Not knowing where to put him, they left him on a dry dirt patch smack in the middle of where the barn and house stood. “For all we know Chandler caught wind of us coming up and hid in the cornfield. Can’t clear that whole area, Mister Diggs. But we did plan for potential interference, and we will make this right.”
“I’m paying you twats a lot of money. Start earning it.” Diggs stepped back to listen.
“I know where the son of a bitch lives,” Lyle started. “He’ll either go there or straight to the Sheriff’s Office—and we will beat him to either place since they’re on foot. Ride the hell out of your horses, gentlemen.”
“What about his parents?” Diggs interjected. “He could go there too.”
“He might could.” Lyle spoke the latter two words as one. “But I’m figuring he’s more apt to protect his own little boy after seeing what we done to the nigger.”
Lyle instructed one of the deputies, Richard Ellison, to ride to the Chandler plantation.
“Make up whatever excuse you have to just to get inside. If he shows, shoot ’em all. Sheriff Clement will come up with some reasonable cover story should it get to the point of killing the Chandlers, and it’ll be worth your time and effort—won’t it, Mister Diggs?”
“Indeed.”
Ellison, after receiving a nod from Clement, mounted his horse and galloped away.
“Deputy Drew Preston is in on this and he’s manning the Sheriff’s Office at this moment,” Clement said. “I think it might be wise to send another of our men there to help watch over the town should Chandler try sneaking in. He knows some of us are dirty, just not who.”
The remaining deputy, Bruce Hughes, rode toward town to update Preston and monitor Henderson for unwelcome arrivals.
“Kill Chandler and whoever else is there. We’ll stage it to look like Chandler did it, like he went berserk,” Lyle told Hughes before he left.
He then ordered Delbert Johnson, leader of the railroad workers, to take one of his pals to Noah’s home.
“Be real quiet,” Lyle said. “Wait until he shows, kill him and whoever else’s there and then burn the place to the ground with them in it.”
“What the hell you gonna do?” Johnson shot back. “Sit back and drink sweet tea?”
Lyle took stock of the railroad men, Sheriff Clement, Brendan in the carriage, and Franklin.
“He might come back,” Lyle said. “But Toby’s assassins will come back. The woman knows this area good. Maybe they’ll plan some kind of attack. But we also got work to do around here—like burying the nigger.” He turned to Franklin. “Get on that. Take him out back next to Stanhope’s grave.”
The big man acquiesced as Lyle continued his conversation with Johnson.
“I need your best shots here with me. Brendan can handle a gun, so can Franklin. Toby Jenkins’s men are still out there waiting for a Klan attack that ain’t gonna happen. They’re gonna wise up and they will come back, and we need to be ready for ’em. Or would you prefer to stay here—considering what happened to those other Klansmen and the Army boys?”
“I ain’t scared. If that Chandler guy goes home we’ll kill him quick and get back here just in case you’re right,” Johnson said.
Even though Johnson towered over Lyle by a good five inches, it didn’t stop Lyle from bumping chests with him.
“I am right, dammit!” Lyle said. “Whoever that nigger’s got working for him—they don’t fuck around. They’ll kill us all. In fact, if you find the bitch and the kid, bring them back alive—we might need them as leverage against whoever’s out there. Ride in the rig out back, but park it far enough away from Chandler’s place so you don’t give yourself away.”
“You want me to bring them all back?”
“Nah, I’d prefer killing Chandler myself, but do what you have to. Him, his wife, his boy: burn them all. I’m assuming you can handle Toby’s woman and the kid.”
Lyle told Johnson where to find Noah’s house.
“Yeah, I know where he’s at,” Johnson said, and with the other guy, Sam something—Lyle never caught it—hopped into the wagon and barreled up to the road.
Franklin dragged Toby by his armpits out of the house, the back of his boots leaving a trail to the grave, where Diggs and the remaining railroad workers waited.
Etched on the crude wooden cross overlooking the empty plot were the words “Jenkins” creeping down the thick vertical stick, and “Toby” scratched along the horizontal one.
“Put him in,” Diggs said.
“This ain’t right,” Franklin said. “Who the hell digs their own grave?”
Diggs raised his finger, as if about to reply with a theory but he hesitated. And for the first time that Franklin had been around the Englishman, he saw Diggs take on the appearance of concern—worry, even.
“I have no earthly idea,” Diggs said quietly.
Franklin slid Toby into the grave with reverence for the dead that neither Diggs nor Lyle would afford.
“Where’s the shovel?” one of the railroad men said.
“Indeed, where?” Diggs looked around the vicinity, before saying, “Likely in the barn, go take a look.”
Franklin and two of the men obliged and returned with a single shovel.
“There was a broken handle next to this one,” Franklin said, holding up the shovel. “Same exact make. Must’ve hit a rock while digging.”
“Well then, it will take twice as long now, won’t it?” Diggs said. “Franklin, since you’re holding the shovel, you do the honors.”
He then spoke to the stragglers. “The rest of you may consult Brendan, he’ll arm you each with a shotgun—and you may keep them. You’ll be on watch. I want one of you up high, enough to see three-hundred-and-sixty degrees—I don’t care how you manage it. The others will patrol the grounds. Franklin here will join you when he’s done disposing of that.” Diggs nodded to the grave.
“Yessir,” the railroad workers said and about-faced to join Brendan.
“Franklin, my boy, I will be inside examining the deed. You will come get me immediately should anyone—I don’t care who—happen upon us.”
“Shouldn’t we just shoot ’em? I mean, you don’t seem concerned about us shooting everyone else.” He didn’t care whether Diggs caught his mounting disdain.
“Just come and get me, Franklin. I’ll do the necessary thinking for both of us.” Diggs flicked a dismissive wave to which Franklin had grown accustomed. “Oh, and when you’re done burying Jenkins, drag that dead railroad chap into the back of the barn—I’m assuming that grave is too small for the both of them.”
“Looks that way. I’d prefer not to keep digging, if that’s all right.”
“Very well.”
Diggs abandoned Franklin, who didn’t let the other men see him weep as he tossed dirt into the grave.