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Page 293
And because of it, he needed to believe in her. But to convince himself of so bizarre a tale . . . ?
He forced his eyes back to the page. "In the script, a young man named Billy calls Thorn out in a duel right at the Point at Pittsburgh. Who is Billy? Why does he want to hurt Thorn? Can I stop it?"
Thoughtfully, his hand shaking, Thorn returned the paper to its spot beneath the mattress. So what, now, was the answer?
Was the lad named Will, one of the soldiers he had rescued with her, equivalent to the "Billy" in her play? The one who wished to kill that Thorn?
If the Will here wished to kill this Thorn, did that not prove Mariah's tale?
Part of it, perhaps. And only if Will had not known her previously, had not schemed an elaborate plan with her for reasons Thorn could not imagine.
He had to know.
Thorn put away Mariah's paper, then hurriedly left her room and the stable.
There he was. The bearded young soldier named Will stood in the cleared area in the midst of the compound.
Perhaps Thorn could learn his answers, right here and now. "What have you done with the raiders?" he called.
"René and Paul dragged the huge, dead one toward the river to bury him," the young man answered sullenly. He was a thin fellow, and he had lost his hat. The hair on his head and face were unkempt, spotted with dirt and leaves. "I've got the other trussed like a turkey in the smokehouse. Paul and I will take him with us to the fort tomorrow."
"Thanks," Thorn said. "I owe you. Come inside, and I will give you a drink."
He saw confusion play on the lad's face. "All right," he said with obvious reluctance.
Thorn showed the boy, in his tattered red British uniform, to a seat at a table. He gave him a tall glass of rum. Thorn got his own glass and took a seat beside the soldier. "So," he said, "your name is Will?"
The boy nodded.

 
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