Captive Trail by Susan Page Davis Read Free Book Online Page B

“That’s right,” Brownie said.
    Ned took a swallow from his coffee and set the mug down. “I sure wish we knew where she came from.”
    “Doesn’t matter where she came from,” Patrillo said. “What you need to know is who she is.”
    “Yup,” Brownie said. “If we knew that, maybe we’d know where she was heading.”
    “She sure was stove up,” Ned said.
    “Makes me wonder if she’d been beaten.” Brownie drained his mug and reached for the coffeepot.
    Ned shook his head. “Someone might have blacked her eye, but I doubt they broke her ankle.”
    “Could be her horse threw her.” Reece scratched his chin through his flowing beard. “Hard to imagine a Comanche woman going far without a horse.”
    “That’s true.” Ned thought about it as he sipped his coffee. “Reece, you know a little of their lingo, don’t you?”
    “Not much. Whatcha got?”
    “Tah-bay-wy-poo,” Ned said carefully.
    “Waipu
is woman.” Reece’s bushy eyebrows drew together.
“Taabe
. I’ve heard that before. Sun, maybe?”
    “Sun woman?” That didn’t make a lot of sense to Ned.
    Reece shrugged. “Ask somebody else. It’s been a long time since I had any dealings with the Comanche—and I’m not sorry about that. Hey, I remember a couple of years back, a girl was stolen not far from here.”
    Ned nodded. “Sally Cunningham. Her parents went to take a look at the girl today. She’s not Sally.”
    “Too bad.”
    Patrillo frowned as though trying to pry an elusive nugget from his memory. “There were some kids taken near Fort Belknap years ago …”
    “Boys,” Brownie said.
    “Wasn’t there a girl too?”
    Brownie shrugged. “Maybe.”
    Patrillo picked up his mug. “There’s always Cynthia Ann Parker.”
    “No, she’d be too old.” Since he arrived in Texas, Ned had heard the stories about one of the state’s earliest and certainly the most famous captive. The girl’s family had searched for her for nearly two decades now. “She’d be nearly thirty, wouldn’t she?”
    “I suppose,” Patrillo said. “But you say this woman was bruised up, so maybe she’s that old and you couldn’t tell.”
    “No.” Ned thought of Taabe Waipu’s face and his impression of youth—and fear. “She’s a girl, but in her teens at least.”
    “I put her between fifteen and twenty-five,” Brownie said.
    While Ned was grateful for his support, Brownie had seen her only from his perch on the driver’s box, while she was unconscious. Today he’d waited outside with the stagecoach while Ned went into the mission with the Cunninghams.
    “Probably twenty or younger,” Ned said.
    “Ah.” Patrillo spread his hands. “Maybe you should send inquiries. Who takes charge of searching for these captives?”
    “The governor, maybe?” Ned said. “I suppose the captain will send some letters.”
    Reece shoved back his chair. “I’d best be getting home before dark. Say, I recall there was a little girl taken ten years or so ago down around Victoria.”
    “We should make a list,” Ned said. “We got any paper?”
    Patrillo stood. “I’ll find something. Maybe if we get somenames, you can ask her the next time you go by there. She might recognize one of them.”
    “I’ll go check on the livestock,” Brownie said. “See you at supper.” He and Reece ambled out the front door together.
    Quinta came in from the kitchen, scowling and carrying a stack of thick ironstone plates. “Papa, Benito says I have to do the dishes all by myself tonight.”
    “Why is that?” Patrillo asked.
    “He says I should have come sooner to help him cook. I only waited a minute, Papa.”
    Patrillo tweaked one of her long, dark braids. “I’ll see about it. Do a good job on the table, now.”
    She set out plates for her father, Ned, her four brothers, herself, and Brownie. Flatware and cups followed. She looked at her father for approval, and he nodded.
    When she had gone back into the kitchen, Patrillo asked, “Did the nuns say