“As it turned out, Dr. Biggs and his wife took a liking to me. They had no children of their own, and adopted me as their daughter. After what I had gone through, to be taken into the hearts and home of such kind and loving people was beyond anything I could have dreamed of. My name is now Caroline Biggs.”

She looked down at her folded hands. “When I was in the hands of that evil man, Calverson, he . . . and other men . . . did things to me. When it was happening, I used to close my eyes and pretend I was a princess in a fairy tale. I imagined all the bad things that were befalling me were only occurring so that when a handsome prince came to rescue me, it would make the happy ending that much more wonderful. And then you showed up. You rescued me.”

“I’m no prince,” Pritchard said. He didn’t know what else to say. He wasn’t thirsty, but suddenly found his throat dry, and tight, and the room oddly warm.

“Since that time, I have resided in Austin,” Caroline continued, “attending the finest schools, and in truth, living a fairy-tale existence. My adopted parents are quite wealthy, and I haven’t wanted for anything. But I never forgot the orphan I once was, or the tall, brave, young man who came to my rescue and made my fairy tale come true.”

She produced a gold coin and placed it on the table between them. Pritchard recognized it as the ten-dollar gold piece he and Ditch gave her when they deposited her at the church in Mount Ida, Arkansas.

“I still have the blanket and the clothes you bought for me, as well,” she said, staring at the coin and smiling. “Although, I must admit, they no longer fit.”

“They no longer suit you,” Pritchard said. “How did you find me?”

“Last week, I happened to glance at a newspaper headline regaling the Texas Rangers. These Rangers, at great peril to their own lives, apparently rescued a group of captive women from a band of slave traders. Naturally, given the circumstances of my own history, I was keenly interested. I read the article.”

She looked up from the coin, directly into Pritchard’s eyes. Her own were brimming with tears. “You can only imagine how I felt when I saw your photograph and read your name. It was the same name you gave the pastor’s wife at the church, that morning in Arkansas, on the day of my salvation.”

Pritchard felt his face flush.

“After that, I devoured every news account of the raid I could find. One of them described you as the ‘fastest, most accurate, and deadly pistoleer in the Texas Rangers.’ Then I remembered how quickly you gunned down Calverson, even though he drew on you first. Any doubt I may have had about your identity vanished.”

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Pritchard said.