Chapter Forty-two
It was going on noon when Patrick O’Brien, riding scout, came upon a black girl in a draw south of the Victorio Mountains.
Her face frightened, the girl ran for her horse, but stumbled and fell.
Patrick rode into the draw and swung out of the saddle. “What are you doing alone out here, and you just a young ’un?”
The girl shrank from him and dug her feet into the sand as she tried to back away.
Patrick smiled and fetched his canteen from the saddle. “Drink? There’s no water in the draw, girl.”
The girl’s face showed interest and she rose to her feet.
Patrick approached her slowly, holding out the canteen. “If you strain it through your teeth, it’s good water,” he said, pushing his round eyeglasses higher on his nose.
The girl snatched the canteen from his hand and drank greedily.
Patrick took it from her. “Whoa, you’ll give yourself a bellyache. Some now, some later, that’s the ticket.”
Patrick was a tall man and he towered over the girl. He squatted on his heels to appear less intimidating. “What’s your name?”
It took a while, but she finally said, “Abby.”
“That’s a pretty name. Mine is Patrick.”
Abby said nothing.
“How did you get out here by yourself?”
“White men brought me,” the girl said.
“Where are they?”
“Dead.” The girl pointed north. “That way.”
“Do you know their names, Abby?”
The girl shook her head.
“Can you take me to the bodies?”
“I can take you there.”
Patrick helped the girl into the saddle. Her mustang seemed tired, but it had been well cared for and took to the trail without protest.
It took a deal of scouting around before Abby pointed out the camp. She was reluctant to go near it, but Patrick rode in front of her and it was he who discovered the bodies.
Both men showed chest wounds and had died almost instantly.
Patrick’s face was grim. The men had been killed by someone who knew his business and that could only be English Nate Condor.
The campsite revealed little, but the tracks told Patrick that two men had ridden north, pushing half a dozen pack mules. He led the horses to the creek to drink their fill. Then he and Abby hunkered down in the meager shade of a mesquite and waited for the colonel and the others to catch up.
“Did Nate Condor kill those two?” Patrick asked.
The girl looked at him, but her eyes drew a blank.
“Well, it was probably him. I wonder why he didn’t kill you, Abby. From what I hear, Condor is not a merciful man.”
“The man who killed the two others told me to leave.”
“Well, I’m glad he did. How old are you?”
Abby shook her head. “I don’t know. I was an orphan. One of the men—I think he was called Frank but I’m not sure—bought me from a farmer. He tried to sell me to the men in the camp for forty dollars, but they didn’t want me.”
She drew patterns in the sand with a twig and without looking up, she said, “I’m an ugly, black Negro, you see.”
Patrick figured the girl had been used and abused, but didn’t ask about her life. Some questions were better asked by womenfolk, who understood such things.
He rose to his feet. “The others are coming. I see their dust.”
To his surprise, Abby clung to him and he could feel the girl tremble.
“Don’t worry. These men won’t hurt you. One’s my pa and my brothers are with him.”
Abby still grabbed on to him and her breath came in quick, frightened little gasps.
The O’Briens, Ironside, and Steele rode into the camp.
“Pat, your orders were to scout ahead, not dally in the sun with a dusky maiden,” Shawn said.
“Condor was here,” Patrick said, ignoring Shawn’s remark. “He killed two men and then scared away this girl.” He pushed up the glasses that were forever sliding down his nose. “Her name is Abby.”
“Pat, how far ahead of us is Condor, do you reckon?” Jacob asked.
“Half a day, maybe less. The mules are heavily loaded and they’re slowing him down.”
Shamus looked at the girl. “Don’t be frightened, Abby. We won’t harm you.”
“I think she’s scared of all white men, Pa,” Patrick said.
“Well, apart from you, Pat, obviously,” Shawn said.
“All right then, Pat, you can take care of her,” Jacob said. “I mean, since she’s taken such a shine to you.”
“She’s only a child.”
“All the more reason why you should look after her,” Jacob said. “We’ve got half a day to make up and it’s a rough trail.”
“Then let’s hope Scout and his friend stick to their job,” Steele said.
Patrick smiled. “Ah yes, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Surrounded by blank stares, he said, “Robert Louis Stevenson’s latest novel, published last year. In the book, which is excellent by the way, Dr. Jekyll is a shape-shifter of sorts.”
“Pat, you’ve got to quit readin’ them dime novels,” Ironside said. “They’re ruining your eyes and makin’ you plumb loco, huntin’ bugs an’ such.”
“It is a good book, Luther,” Steele said. “I’ve read it myself and the title is a very apt description of Scout and his friend.”
Ironside shook his head. “Everybody’s gone nuts around here except me.” He caught Shamus’s glare and added quickly, “And the colonel, of course.”