take a month of Sundays, or he could circle and try to find where sheâd left the corn for parts unknown. He chose the second.
Reining right, Fargo went along the perimeter to the corner and reined left. The only tracks he saw were those of a rabbit and an opossum. He went another thirty feet, and stopped. There, in a patch of bare dirt, was the partial print of a small naked foot. It pointed toward woods that covered a nearby hill.
Fargo tapped his spurs. Out of habit he loosened the Colt in its holster.
At daybreak the trees were always alive with the warbling of birds. Wrens twittered and sparrows chirped.
Shafts of sunlight dappled a clearing where a doe and a fawn grazed.
Fargo was finding it hard to spot sign. The girl was a sprout, barely seventy pounds, and the ground was covered with leaves. Half the time he had to guess which way sheâd gone and twice he had to backtrack. By the middle of the morning heâd traveled barely a mile and had yet to see her. Sheâd been meandering all over the place. It was a wonder, he reflected, that a coyote or a bear hadnât stumbled on her. Then again, one whiff and an animal was likely to run the other way.
A blue ribbon of water gleamed amid the greens and browns. Fargo came to a small creek and dismounted. While the Ovaro drank he scanned the countryside for a patch of white. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and turned toward the stallion.
Not ten yards away stood Abigail, her small body in a crouch, her fingers claws, her eyes as red as the night before, and her chin flecked with froth.
The instant Fargo saw her, she hissed and charged. He side-stepped and she flew past, only to wheel on a heel and come at him again. He pivoted, hooked her legs with his boot, and sent her tumbling. But she rolled and was on her feet in the bat of an eye and came at him again, her teeth bared.
âDamn it, girl.â Fargo dodged, spun, dodged again. She flew past and he grabbed her shoulders, only to have to snatch his hands away when she snapped at them.
Abigail paused, her wiry frame hunched, more froth oozing from her open mouth.
âI donât want to have to hurt you,â Fargo said, knowing full well she couldnât understand.
Hissing, Abigail launched herself at his legs. Fargo tried to dart aside but she lunged and wrapped her arms around his left thigh. Her teeth closed on his buckskins.
Fargo pushed with all his strength and the girl went tumbling. He bent to examine his leg; a horror welling up subsided. But her teeth werenât sharp enough to rip through buckskin. His flesh hadnât been punctured. He smiled in relief and looked up.
Abigail was gone.
Fargo looked right and left and there she wasâstalking toward the Ovaro. âNo!â he cried, and ran at her. She skipped away and hissed. He grabbed at her hair but she was too quick and slipped under his arm and flew into the woods.
âDamn it.â
Fargo gave chase. He was confident she wouldnât get away, not in broad daylight.
Abigail was moving flat out, her small lithe form a blur. She vaulted a boulder with ease and skirted a small pine.
Fargo went around it and nearly ran into her. She had stopped and spun and was waiting for him. This time she leaped at his throat, not his legs. He got a hand up and she snapped at it. He closed his fingers on her neck and felt spittle under his palm. The girl screeched and bit at his wrist but she couldnât quite reach it. Seizing the front of her dress, he forced her onto her back on the ground. She kicked. She clawed. She uttered a wail of fury.
Fargoâs rope was on his saddle. He needed it but he didnât dare let go of her. Instead, he dragged her toward the Ovaro. She resisted with all the might in her small body. Whether it was the disease or her rage or both but she was stronger by far than any normal girl. It was all he could do to hold on to her.
Her foot caught him close to his groin. Her
Reining right, Fargo went along the perimeter to the corner and reined left. The only tracks he saw were those of a rabbit and an opossum. He went another thirty feet, and stopped. There, in a patch of bare dirt, was the partial print of a small naked foot. It pointed toward woods that covered a nearby hill.
Fargo tapped his spurs. Out of habit he loosened the Colt in its holster.
At daybreak the trees were always alive with the warbling of birds. Wrens twittered and sparrows chirped.
Shafts of sunlight dappled a clearing where a doe and a fawn grazed.
Fargo was finding it hard to spot sign. The girl was a sprout, barely seventy pounds, and the ground was covered with leaves. Half the time he had to guess which way sheâd gone and twice he had to backtrack. By the middle of the morning heâd traveled barely a mile and had yet to see her. Sheâd been meandering all over the place. It was a wonder, he reflected, that a coyote or a bear hadnât stumbled on her. Then again, one whiff and an animal was likely to run the other way.
A blue ribbon of water gleamed amid the greens and browns. Fargo came to a small creek and dismounted. While the Ovaro drank he scanned the countryside for a patch of white. The girl was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and turned toward the stallion.
Not ten yards away stood Abigail, her small body in a crouch, her fingers claws, her eyes as red as the night before, and her chin flecked with froth.
The instant Fargo saw her, she hissed and charged. He side-stepped and she flew past, only to wheel on a heel and come at him again. He pivoted, hooked her legs with his boot, and sent her tumbling. But she rolled and was on her feet in the bat of an eye and came at him again, her teeth bared.
âDamn it, girl.â Fargo dodged, spun, dodged again. She flew past and he grabbed her shoulders, only to have to snatch his hands away when she snapped at them.
Abigail paused, her wiry frame hunched, more froth oozing from her open mouth.
âI donât want to have to hurt you,â Fargo said, knowing full well she couldnât understand.
Hissing, Abigail launched herself at his legs. Fargo tried to dart aside but she lunged and wrapped her arms around his left thigh. Her teeth closed on his buckskins.
Fargo pushed with all his strength and the girl went tumbling. He bent to examine his leg; a horror welling up subsided. But her teeth werenât sharp enough to rip through buckskin. His flesh hadnât been punctured. He smiled in relief and looked up.
Abigail was gone.
Fargo looked right and left and there she wasâstalking toward the Ovaro. âNo!â he cried, and ran at her. She skipped away and hissed. He grabbed at her hair but she was too quick and slipped under his arm and flew into the woods.
âDamn it.â
Fargo gave chase. He was confident she wouldnât get away, not in broad daylight.
Abigail was moving flat out, her small lithe form a blur. She vaulted a boulder with ease and skirted a small pine.
Fargo went around it and nearly ran into her. She had stopped and spun and was waiting for him. This time she leaped at his throat, not his legs. He got a hand up and she snapped at it. He closed his fingers on her neck and felt spittle under his palm. The girl screeched and bit at his wrist but she couldnât quite reach it. Seizing the front of her dress, he forced her onto her back on the ground. She kicked. She clawed. She uttered a wail of fury.
Fargoâs rope was on his saddle. He needed it but he didnât dare let go of her. Instead, he dragged her toward the Ovaro. She resisted with all the might in her small body. Whether it was the disease or her rage or both but she was stronger by far than any normal girl. It was all he could do to hold on to her.
Her foot caught him close to his groin. Her
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