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And because of it, he needed to believe in her. But to convince himself of so bizarre a tale . . . ? |
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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?" |
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Thoughtfully, his hand shaking, Thorn returned the paper to its spot beneath the mattress. So what, now, was the answer? |
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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? |
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If the Will here wished to kill this Thorn, did that not prove Mariah's tale? |
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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. |
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Thorn put away Mariah's paper, then hurriedly left her room and the stable. |
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There he was. The bearded young soldier named Will stood in the cleared area in the midst of the compound. |
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Perhaps Thorn could learn his answers, right here and now. "What have you done with the raiders?" he called. |
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"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." |
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"Thanks," Thorn said. "I owe you. Come inside, and I will give you a drink." |
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He saw confusion play on the lad's face. "All right," he said with obvious reluctance. |
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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?" |
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