“Ah di’n hear Massa Ashton say any o’ y’all was invited on his nice clean porch,” he said almost amiably. His big, square grin displayed a full set of gleaming white teeth. “Ah be careful about dirtyin’ it if’n Ah was y’all. Massa Ashton’s gots a mighty mean temper when he’s riled. He jes’ might tell me to blow a few heads off. It be a mess all right, but Ah gotta to do what he sez, ’cause he de massa. Y’all understand?”

“You’d better understand, nigger! You kill a white man, and you’ll be hanged. You’d better think twice about that!”

Judd’s broad grin never wavered as he met the man’s glare. “Dat ain’t gonna do yo no good, mistah, ’cause yo be six feet under befo’ dey ketch me.”

“Arrogant nigger!” an unkempt, slovenly fellow sneered. “Anybody’d think he’s got a title or somepin’.”

“There’s enough of us to take ’em,” another man urged from the center of the fray.

“Well, I seen the two of ’em clean ol’ Sal’s place out last year,” one who favored caution argued. “We’d better think on this some more.”

“Good advice, gentlemen,” Ashton agreed. “Consider the odds carefully before making any hasty decisions.”

“You don’t scare us, Mistuh Ashton,” a burly fellow jeered. “We’re gonna make pulp outa you an’ your black boy here.”

Ashton raised his arm and beckoned to the right and left. “You men best show yourselves now before these fools get hurt.”

Somewhere in the back one man nudged another, then jerked his head to one side. Other heads began to turn warily on suddenly stiff necks, while jaws began to sag. If the arrival of the massive black had not been enough to dampen the spirit of adventure, this latest development was well calculated to do the job. A steady stream of sweating black men came marching from around both ends of the house. Some of them bore scythes, while others carried pitchforks or axes, and a few had found pistols or other paraphernalia that could do injury to the common man. By the grins they wore, it was easy to determine that they were going to enjoy this rout. Willis’s eyes were wide as he slipped out the front door, and the long weapon he carried matched the one Mr. Titch had so zealously guarded. Hiram came around the end of the house, and he too bore a firearm of some length and power.

Ashton leisurely strolled across the front of the porch and, turning, retraced his steps as he considered the suddenly troubled faces of his visitors. “You men know I’m not fond of trespassers, especially those who come to poach, steal, or destroy anything of mine. Some say I’m a hard man, demanding retribution for the slightest offense. Now, it’s obvious that I can’t hang all of you, because you haven’t stolen anything or killed anyone yet. You’re too many for the sheriff to lock up, and you’d only abuse his hospitality anyway. I could give each of you the thrashing you deserve for coming out here as an unlawful mob, but I have other affairs that demand my attention. However, I think a nice, long, reflective saunter back to Natchez will suit my purposes….” He smiled tolerantly and, glancing over his shoulder at Judd, casually inclined his head. The black chuckled and, descending a step, raised the pistol and blunderbuss into the air. The bits of metal and shot went skyward with a roar, and in quick accompaniment those with similar weapons copied his manner. The blasts caused a horrendous cacophony that thoroughly startled the mounts, and to add to the chaos the falling debris rained down like a swarm of stinging bees on their hides. The bedlam was immediate and almost unbelievable. The frightened steeds snorted, whinnied, and bucked beneath the smarting shower. The reins snaked out of Horace’s hand, and the nag, sensing his freedom, took flight. The rest of the men scurried to catch flying reins, manes, or tails before their own steeds followed the example. Iron-weighted hooves lashed out in every direction, and it was a wild dance to escape their abuse. Some stalwarts foolishly persisted and ended up yelping and jumping around while others grimaced in silent agony and staggered away, and all this to the chortling amusement of those who witnessed the melee.

Finally, the last of the steeds broke loose, and the herd stampeded off down the road, raising a plume of dust out behind them. They had no more than disappeared from sight than another group of horsemen swung into the long, tree-lined lane and approached the house. Sheriff Dobbs rode in the van, and among those who followed was one who made Ashton frown. It was Peter Logan from the asylum. The man’s presence caused Ashton to regret the tardiness of the steamer’s departure.

Harvey Dobbs pulled his horse to a halt near the porch and thoughtfully chewed on the stub of a cigar as he contemplated the bedraggled rabble and the blacks who stood around with their various weapons. He peered down the dusty lane, then removed the cigar butt and stared at it for a brief moment before flipping it away.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t need any help.” Harvey gave Ashton a lopsided grin, then inclined his head toward his deputy. “Ol’ Foss here heard the commotion in town, and we decided to come out here and have a look-see.”

The grizzled and bewhiskered deputy cocked a bushy brow at the leader of the now horseless pack and spat a long spurt of chewing tobacco juice in the dust near Titch’s feet, making that one dance away in outraged dignity.

“See here!” Horace protested and jerked his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away some of the dark liquid that had splattered his boots. As he bent over, the barrel of the gun slipped downward. He grabbed for the clumsy piece, unwittingly catching his fingers in the trigger guard. The resulting force of both barrels firing into the ground at close range rolled him over, right into the tiny puddle of dark slimy spittle that he had so fastidiously avoided a moment before. There was stunned silence for a moment, then the faces of the gawking men began to break in sporadic waves as the sheriff’s chortling laughter infected them and they were able to see the humor in the incident. When the guffaws grew louder, Horace’s cheeks took on a hue that was nearly as dark and red as beets. With his lips pulled back in repugnance, he got to his hands and knees and gingerly held his trouser leg away from him as he raised himself to an upright position.

Sheriff Dobbs wiped his hand across his mouth, seeming to smooth away his laughter. He swung down from his horse and, with a nod, directed Peter Logan to do the same. Hitching up his trousers, he stepped onto the porch beside Ashton and threw a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the smaller man as that one came forward.

“Mr. Logan agreed to come out here and settle this matter before he left, so no one”-he paused to frown at Horace sharply-“will come out here again on this fool’s errand. He needs only to see the girl to put this rumor to shame.” Harvey gazed out over the heads of the men who were closely following the exchange and explained for their benefit. “Mr. Logan is from the asylum, so he should be able to identify those who escaped.”

Ashton regarded the attendant briefly. “My wife has been indisposed this week. I don’t wish to upset her.”

Harvey Dobbs’s brows shot up. “Your wife?”

Ashton nodded stiffly. “I don’t care to explain now, Harvey, but it is Lierin.”

“But I thought…” Harvey began, then frowning in bemusement, drew his large frame up slowly. “Are you sure, Ashton?”

“Yes.”

The single word satisfied the lawman, but there were other factions to be considered. “For her future protection, Ashton, I think we ought to let Mr. Logan see her and end this thing right now. There’s been a murder committed, and these men could take it in their heads to come here while you’re gone.”

“I don’t wish to put her through this, Harvey….”

The front door creaked open slightly, drawing Ashton’s immediate notice. His heart gave a sudden lurch as he saw Lierin in the narrow opening. Willabelle stood behind her and was anxiously trying to coax her back.

“I have to know!” Lierin whispered urgently, resisting the woman’s effort. Pushing the portal wider, she stepped out in the full light of the lowering sun. There were several audible intakes of breath, for she seemed almost angelic as she approached the three men who stood on the edge of the porch. Ashton thought she had never looked more beautiful. The gold and red rays stretching out across the heavens touched her hair and set the fiery strands aglow. The upswept coiffure and the pale blue of her high-necked, lace-trimmed gown created a soft and lovely setting for her delicate beauty. Her striking comeliness caused the onlookers to debate the wisdom of their leader, for it was clearly evident that this was no wild-eyed lunatic. No raving madwoman. She was only a pale, frightened girl.

A few of the brave hearties who had ridden out recalled some of the rudiments of gentlemanly courtesy and hastily snatched battered hats from mop-haired heads. Even Horace was struck with awe, but the compulsion to beg this one’s forgiveness was promptly squelched by the sure knowledge that Marelda would not approve.

Lierin’s smile wavered with uncertainty as she halted beside Ashton. Hesitantly she raised her eyes to the sheriff, who was taller by a full head and more.

“Did you wish to see me, sir?” she queried softly.

Harvey Dobbs cleared his throat and peered askance at Peter Logan, who had halted beside him. The smaller man stared agog at the one in question; then remembering himself, he tugged off his own soft cap and glanced up into Ashton Wingate’s tense frown. The scowl seemed to bring him to his senses, and he directed himself to the sheriff, giving a quick, negative shake of his head. He repeated the same gesture for the benefit of their host, adding a smile and a wink.

Though the attendant’s manner confused Ashton and made him wonder if the man could rightfully identify anyone, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. He had stubbornly rejected the idea of Lierin being the one from the madhouse, but there had always been the possibility that she had been unjustly imprisoned there. Henceforth no one would question the matter of where she belonged, for Peter Logan had given his answer, and she was safe. Relaxing now, Ashton slipped his arm about her and made the introductions.

“This is my wife, Lierin,” he stated with a sense of pride swelling in his chest. “My sweet, this is Sheriff Harvey Dobbs, a friend of mine, and”-he gestured to Peter-“Mr. Logan, who will be traveling to Memphis aboard one of our steamers tonight.”

“Did I understand them to say that you’re from the asylum?” she asked, startling the three men with the inquiry.

“Aye, that I be, ma’am,” Peter Logan replied.

“I couldn’t help overhearing…I mean, the voices were so loud….” She swept a hand to indicate the loose cluster of men. “I could hardly ignore them, and I heard enough to gather that I’ve been well defended from this mob of duty-minded citizens.” Her eyes calmly rested on Horace, who hurriedly dropped his gaze and, in sudden discomfiture, shifted his feet. His embarrassment was hardly alleviated when she directed her comments to the sheriff. “Sir, if I’m not the one you seek, I urge you to consider the plight of those poor, unfortunate people who did escape and not allow this offense to be repeated.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sheriff Dobbs respectfully agreed. “I shall surely do that.”

“If there has been a murder committed, surely we must all consider that it might have been an outsider who did the deed. Would you judge the inmates guilty before giving them a hearing?”

“No, ma’am.” The sheriff’s adamant tone denied the possibility.

“I shall take comfort in your assurances and in the belief that no harm will come to the inmates while you’re in charge.”

“I’ll do my best not to disappoint you, ma’am,” he pledged with a smile.

“I’m sure you won’t, sheriff,” she replied graciously. “But what of the plight of these men?” Lierin scanned the faces of her audience and, with a slight frown, commented on the obvious. “They’ve lost their mounts, and I see no way for them to return to Natchez. Is it a long walk back?”

Ashton chuckled as those in the adverse party were reminded of their situation and began to mutter and grumble. Their shuffling movements raised a welter of dust from the drive, but having already been told their fate, no one dared voice a complaint. “Long enough to give them time to think, my sweet.”

“Shouldn’t we at least take them back to town?”

“She’s a blessed saint,” a man responded as a hopeful murmur rose up around him. Titch’s followers were more than willing to accept some leniency from this woman and waited with bated breath as their host lifted an inquiring brow toward Judd. “Don’t we have a wagon large enough to accommodate these men?”