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[Continuing chapter two]
Patton stood up—he had somehow either fallen or dropped to cover when Cleburne fired—and picked up his new rifle, aiming it at McConnell. No examination was needed to prove that the Irishman was dead; Cleburne’s shot had taken him square in the temple, and part of his skull had gone when the ball had exited through the other side of the man’s head. Patton offered a silent prayer of thanks for his salvation, then repeated the thanks out loud to Cleburne.
“Plenty of time for that later, son,” Cleburne said. “We’ve got little time now, and plenty to do.” He knelt down and began to search Nelson’s body.
Patton shook his head; the universe had returned to full speed again, before his mind had. Neither Cleburne’s words nor his actions seemed to make any sense. “What’s the problem?” he asked.
“The problem, Patton me lad, is that half the countryside is up in arms and the Mounties will be here any minute.”
“The who?”
“The North-West Mounted Police. They’re—I’ll explain later.” He pulled something from Nelson’s jacket, and whistled. “Your friend was well provided for,” he said. “Now come on, Patton, do something. Pack everything onto the horses: We’ve got to be moving, and soon.”
At Cleburne’s insistence they left Nelson with McConnell. “Don’t know how interested the Canadians will be in your companion, but somehow I feel he’s not unknown to them. We don’t have time to bury him, and we sure as hell don’t want anyone to see us lugging his body with us.”
When Patton went to Nelson’s horse he found an arsenal strapped to the huge animal. There were two more revolvers there, and one of those massive Currie revolving rifles Stewart had obtained for Walker’s expedition. And cartridge bags containing what looked like hundreds of balls, and at least fifty of the peculiar wood-and-paper cartridges the needle guns fired. Soon as I can, he thought, I’m going to shift some of this weight to the other animals. They had four of them now, which would help them move as quickly as Cleburne seemed to want.
“Why are we in such a hurry?” Patton asked Cleburne as they skirted around the town as far away from its buildings as they could. His mind was beginning to settle and focus now that the mad dash to get away from the killing scene was over. “What are these Mounties to make you so wary of them? And how in the world did you end up here in the first place?”
“First things first,” Cleburne said. “The North West Mounted Police are—well, they’re like Texas Rangers only better dressed and better behaved. They’re not quite an army, but more than a city watch. I guess you could call them a police force organized on military lines, the way some are in Europe. The Canadians formed them a year or two back to enforce law and order in the western territories. Very big on law and order, Canadians are, Patton. And we have just broken the law, with a flourish.”
“I would argue that we’d been doing our duty as soldiers.”
“Save that I’m not a soldier.” Cleburne’s gaze was stern. “Nor, unless I miss my guess, are you any longer.”
“Well, yes. There is that. I still don’t understand why the hurry. In Virginia, nobody would come to investigate something like this until first light.”
“Patton, do you have any idea where you are?” Cleburne’s face, what Patton could see of it in the dawn half-light, looked drawn. “This part of Louisiana was settled by veterans of Wellington’s army. They and their sons have the habit of keeping an eye on things. Everyone for miles around heard those shots, and shooting is something that doesn’t happen much on this side of the river.”
Patton thought a while. “Well, I surely don’t want to draw the law’s attention.” Then he remembered his second question. “And how did you end up saving my life?”
“Call it a parting gift from your friend Stewart. When I said good-bye to him he asked me to look after you. For some reason he seemed to think you might be trouble-prone.” He gave a ghost of a laugh. “I set out after you with not a lot more than the clothes I’m wearing and my only decent pistol. You were easy enough to follow—a woodsman you assuredly are not—but I don’t know how or when McConnell picked up your trail. I didn’t see him until just after you reached the top of that hill back there.”
“What matters to me is that you caught up with him,” Patton said.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two
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