MacGruder cleared his throat and said more diplomatically, “I understand you’re acquainted with the Republican in question. Came out on the same riverboat, to St. Louis, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right. I don’t believe it’s come up before, though. How did you know?”
“Miss Clay might have mentioned it, in passing. ”
“I see. ”
“Señora,” said the darker of the two men, the one she’d seen at the station with the uncommonly tidy eyebrows. “Please allow me to introduce myself: I am Javier Tomás Ignacio Galeano. ” He said the names in one long string that sounded like music. “And this is my associate, Frederico Maria Gonsalez Portilla. We are . . . inspectors. From the Empire of Mexico. We do not intend to cause a stir aboard this train; we are only in the process of discovering what has happened to a lost legion of our nation’s soldiers. ”
Mercy was glad his English was so good. She didn’t need to strain to understand him, and she didn’t feel that idiotic compulsion to speak loudly. She said, “I’ve heard about that—it’s in the newspapers, you know. ”
His fellow inspector said, “Yes, we are aware that it has made your papers. It is a great mystery, is it not?”
“A great mystery indeed,” she agreed, feeling a tiny thrill over the conversation with a foreigner. She’d known plenty of northerners and southerners, but she’d never met anybody who was from a-?whole-?nother country before. Except Gordon Rand, and he didn’t hardly count.
Inspector Galeano fretted with his napkin and said, “If only we knew what had happened, out in the west of Tejas. ” He called the Republic by the name it’d worn as a Mexican state.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He told her, “Something occurred, and it sent them off course, up past the low, hot country and north into the mountains. We have learned that they made it as far as the territory of the . . . of the . . . ” He searched his English vocabulary for a word, but failed to find it.
“Utah,” Morris Comstock provided. “Where the Mormons live, with all them wives. ”
“Mormons, yes. The religious people. Some of them have made reports . . . terrible reports. ”
Mercy almost forgot that she wasn’t supposed to know any of this, but managed to stop herself from exclaiming about the cannibalism before anyone could ask her how she’d come by the information. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any idea what happened? Do you think the Texians did something . . . rash?”
Inspector Portilla’s forehead crinkled at the use of rash, but he gleaned the context and said, “It’s always possible. But we do not think that is the case. We have had reports that some Texians are implicated as well. ”
“What kind of reports? Terrible reports?” she asked.
/> “Equally terrible, yes. We believe”—he exchanged a glance with Inspector Galeano, who nodded to affirm that this was safe to share—“that there may be an illness of some sort. ”
“That’s possible,” Mercy said sagely. “Or a . . . a poison, or something. ” Then, to forestall any questions about her undue interest, she said, “I’m a nurse. This stuff’s interesting to me. ”
“A nurse?” said Inspector Galeano. “We were told there would be a doctor on the train, but we’ve heard of no such—”
Morris Comstock interrupted. “We were supposed to pick one up in Kansas City, but he never showed. So now we’re supposed to have one in Topeka, maybe. I swear, I think they’re just telling us tales. ”
The captain crossed his arms, leaned back, and said to the Mexicans, “Mrs. Lynch is the one who patched up poor Morris here, when he got winged during that raid. ”
Inspector Galeano wore a look of intense interest. He bent forward, laid one arm on the table, and gestured with the other hand. “We only developed this idea very recently, from inteligencia that found us in Missouri. But perhaps I can ask you this question—and I hope you will not consider me . . . ” He shuffled through his vocabulary for a word, then found it. “Rude. ”
“Fire away,” she told him, hoping that she looked the very picture of enthusiastic innocence.
He said, “Very good. These are the facts as we understand them: A partial force of soldiers was sent from a presidio in Saltillo. They met with commanders and acquired more personnel in El Paso. At the time, their numbers were approximately six hundred and fifty. They traveled east, toward the middle of the old state, near Abilene. From there they were to march on to Lubbock, and up to the settlement at Oneida—called Amarillo by your people. By then they had added another hundred settlers to their number. But they never reached Lubbock. ”
She observed, “That many people don’t just vanish into thin air. ”
“Nor did these,” he agreed. “They’ve been glimpsed, and there are signs of their passing, but the signs are . . . ” He retreated to his original description, finding none other that suited the gravity of the situation. “Terrible. They wander, driven by the weather or whatever boundaries they encounter, bouncing from place to place, and . . . and . . . it is like a herd of starving goats, everywhere they go! They leave nothing behind—they consume all food, all plants and crops, all animals . . . and possibly . . . all the people they meet!”
“People!” Mercy gasped for dramatic effect, and squeezed one of her biscuits until it fragmented in her hand. She let its crumbs fall to the plate, and left them unattended.
“Yes, people! The few who have escaped tell such stories. The missing soldiers and settlers have taken on an awful appearance, thin and hungry. Their skin has turned gray, and they no longer speak except to groan or scream. They pay no attention to their clothing, or their bodies; and some of them bear signs of violent injuries. But these wounded men—and women: as I said, there are settlers among them—they do not fall down or die, though they look like they are dead. Now, tell me, Nurse Lynch, do you know of any poison or illness that can cause such a thing?”
Her instinct was to blurt, Yes! but she gave it half a minute of measured consideration while she nibbled one of the intact biscuits. After all, Ranger Korman hadn’t taken her seriously, and she didn’t know these men half so well. Finally, she said, “Well, I’ve known of men poisoned by putrid foods, canned goods and the like, from battlefield stores. Sometimes those men go a bit senseless. But this sounds to me more like like sap-?poisoning. ”
Inspector Galeano asked, “Sap-?poisoning?” and Captain MacGruder looked like he was next in line with questions.