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Page 169
ingly graceful form of the ugly Frenchman, and then on the eager, smiling face of the red-headed Kerr. The young woman would have some choices as to the next path her life would follow.
Unlike Mariah, whose lot was to be governed by a screenplay, of all things.
The screenplay! How could she have forgotten it, even for a moment?
In it, a band of settlers had come to Thorn's inn, followed by a troop of soldiers bent on arresting them for breaking the laws against homesteading. A fight broke out. Settlers were injured, maybe even killed.
Francis's group could be the one in the story. Were enforcers after them?
How could she mention the subject without revealing that she knew what the future heldif, this time, the screenplay was accurate.
She didn't dare ignore it. Some characters had turned up here, though they had been different from the way they'd been depicted in the script. Some plot points, too, resembled things that had happened.
She hesitated, then said, "You know, a couple of days ago a fellow passed through. He was hired by the government to locate a new settlement rumored to have sprung up west of here. He was supposed to enforce the law against homesteading."
Francis shrugged. "I am aware of the law, but it is absurd, with all the empty, bounteous land just ripe for the taking."
"Is it really empty?" Mariah protested. "The Indians"
"This is not the traditional homeland of any tribe remaining here,"
"That doesn't stop them from warring over it." Thorn filled the doorway, his arms folded. Mariah wondered how long he had been listening. As usual, she hadn't heard him approach. "Some tribes displaced from other areas of European colonization wish to adopt this as their new home. In any event, they do not want to encourage further usurping of what they regard as their birthright."
"Farms mean the cutting down of woodlands," René

 
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