“Well, come on,” Davis said. “This is no time for boozing. Let’s get this kid on her feet. Scraggy little thing, ain’t she?”
“She’ll ripen,” I said, and lifted the girl’s head. I forced whisky between her clenched teeth. It brought her round after a while, and her eyes fluttered at me.
“Bet she asks where she is,” Davis muttered. “They always do.”
But she didn’t. She took one look at me and dived off the settee to the wall. She gave us the fright of our lives. “Now take it easy,” I said.
“Let me handle this,” Davis said, “She knows me.” He advanced towards the girl with a kindly leer on his fat face. “Hi, Miss Brodey, remember me? Jed Davis of the Morni ng Star? We heard there was trouble up here and blew in. What’s wrong, baby?”
She stared at him, tried to speak.
“Now don’t get upset,” he went on gently. “Come and sit down and tell me all about it.”
“He’s taken him away,” she blurted out in a thin, hysterical voice. “He made him go with him.”
Davis led her back to the settee. “All right, kid,” he said. “We’ll fix it. Just sit down and tell us about it.”
She gave me a scared look. I stood behind her so she couldn’t see me. Davis was patting her hand, clucking over her. I was surprised at his technique.