Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell (31 page)

His cronies were nodding. They liked the idea of sending her to Nevada City, comfortably passing this difficult responsibility on to someone else.

“I reckon in the morning that’s just what I’ll do,” Jasper said.

Tired of the talk in the bar, the Professor and Cassidy had gone out for some air. They were sitting and smoking their pipes on the porch of Selby’s Hotel when Helen appeared from the darkness. Her face was pale and she looked frightened.

“Helen, what’s wrong? I thought you’d gone to bed,” Cassidy said.

“How could I sleep?” Helen said. “How could anyone sleep? We have to help Sarah. We have to…” Then she burst into tears.

The Professor smoked calmly as he watched Cassidy comfort her. She was a sweet young woman, but she had not yet learned that it is better to meet crisis with a placid demeanor.

Between her sobs, she managed to tell Sarah’s story in its entirety. “That’s why she tried to…to kill him,” she sobbed. “And now, we have to help…we have to help her.”

“There, there,” Cassidy was saying. “Of course we’ll help.” He looked frantically to the Professor. “The circus takes care of its own.” The Professor puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. “It’s obvious that we can’t leave her there. I don’t trust that sheriff.” Throughout the conversation in the bar, the Professor had been studying Jasper. The sheriff had said he was sad when he thought of little Sarah, lost in the wilderness. But his jaw had been set and his eyes had narrowed, signs of anger, not sorrow. When Mrs. Selby had questioned him, the Professor could see the pulse pounding in Jasper’s temple. This was a man who did not like to be crossed. “We’ll have to spring her from jail and send her to safety.”

Cassidy was staring. “You make it sound so easy.”

The Professor shrugged. “Helen said the jail had a barred window facing the alley. I imagine that Ruby could yank those bars loose.”

Helen nodded enthusiastically.

“Then what?” Cassidy asked.

“Then I would suggest we find her friend Max, who is on his way from San Francisco.”

“I’ll dress her in my clothes,” Helen said. “We can take the wagon to Grass Valley and catch the stage.”

Cassidy looked dubious. The Professor smiled. An unlikely approach to a difficult problem—it was the sort of thing he loved. The Professor was a man of extravagant plans. He knew that this one was full of holes, but he didn’t mind that. He liked to get a plan rolling—and then see what happened. There was such joy in improvisation.

Cassidy frowned. “How do you plan to lead an elephant through the streets of town without attracting some attention?”

The Professor raised an eyebrow. “I am a master of the Oriental arts of illusion. Leave that to me.”

The Professor left the hotel alone, following a dirt track that led along Rock Creek toward a log cabin he had noticed earlier. Over the door were the words: “The Hall of Comparative Ovations. E Clampus Vitus.”

From outside the door, the professor could hear boisterous laughter and shouting. When he opened the door, he was met with the overpowering reek of whiskey and beer. He stepped inside, doffed his derby, and called in a stentorian voice: “Brethren, I come to you with a great thirst, a heavy purse, and a need for the assistance of my brothers.”

The Professor was, of course, a member of the Ancient Order of E Clampus Vitus, and he knew very well how to enlist the aid of the Order. First, he bought a round of drinks. Second, he explained, at the top of his lungs, that an orphan needed their help.

“Pity she ain’t a widder,” muttered one old Clamper.

“The rescue will involve much noise and confusion,” the Professor proclaimed. “And all participating members must feign drunkenness.”

“Well,” the old Clamper said, downing his whiskey. “I reckon we could lend a hand. One more drink and I might be able to manage that.”

“The Noble Grand Humbug has spoken,” shouted another man. “We’ll lend a hand.” He lifted his glass and asked the ritual question, asked at every meeting of the Order. “What say the Brethren?”

From a score of drunken Clampers thundered the ritual answer: “Satisfactory!”

If anything can distract a town from an elephant, it is a mob of drunken Clampers, laughing and shouting through the streets. A well-behaved elephant like Ruby has no need to call attention to herself. She can stroll quietly down the street, the dusty gray of her hide blending with the darkness surrounding her.

The Clampers, on the other hand, do not choose to blend quietly with the darkness. They hoot, they bray, they create every kind of ruckus—smashing bottles (empty ones, of course), singing bawdy songs, dancing in the street.

And so it was that Professor Serunca walked Ruby down the back streets of Selby Flat while the Clampers held an impromptu parade (in honor of a noble feat of Saint Vitis) on the main street. They had decked themselves in their finest ritual attire, with jangling medals fashioned from tin cans and flowing robes made of burlap sacks. The Noble Grand Humbug carried the Staff of Relief and delivered a speech that detailed the accomplishments of Saint Vitis, which seemed to involve much drinking.

Helen, Cassidy, and Miss Paxon met the professor in the alley. “Is it an angry mob, coming to get us?” Helen asked. Her eyes were wide and frightened.

“Oh, no. Those are friends. How are you doing?” the Professor asked Sarah.

In the moonlight, her eyes gleamed through the barred window. “I am ready to leave this place,” she said.

“We’re going to get you out, and then you’ll dress up in these clothes.” Helen held a bundle of clothes, which she had fetched from her room. “Then we’ll go to San Francisco and find Max.”

The Professor looped a length of sturdy rope, appropriated from the barn, around the bars, fastening the other end to Ruby’s harness. Then he urged Ruby forward.

The bars were not designed to withstand the force of an elephant. The sound of the bars tearing loose from the masonry wall was lost in the rattling, crashing, shouting hubbub of a horde of Clampers in full celebration. In a minute, the bars were down. Sarah slipped through the opening.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was running—out of the town, back into the wilderness that was her home.

Max stared out the window of the coach, trying to make out the scenery through the dust. His bones ached from the jolting of the coach. When he smiled at Audrey North, he could feel the gritty layer of dust that coated his face.

“Not my favorite way to travel,” he told Audrey, speaking loudly to be heard over the creaking of the coach and the shouts of the driver.

“What is your favorite way to travel?”

“On foot. With a pack mule named after a poet.”

“After a poet?” She frowned.

“After a bad poet,” he said.

They were nearing the outskirts of Selby Flat. Through the window, Max spotted a man he recognized, riding alongside the coach. “Hello, Buck! What’s the news from Selby Flat?”

At that moment, the driver whipped the horses and the coach began to pull ahead. “The Wild Angel has escaped,” Buck shouted after the coach. “Jasper Davis has got a posse after her.”

“What?” Max stuck his head out the window into a cloud of dust. The coach had left the man behind.

“Escaped?” Audrey said. “That suggests she had been captured.”

Max shook his head. “We’ll find out when we get to Selby Flat,” he said. He had a bad feeling about this.

“Max! Oh, Max, thank the good Lord you’re here!” Mrs. Selby rushed from the kitchen to meet them the moment they stepped into Selby’s dining room. Her eyes were red from weeping; even now, she seemed to be fighting back tears. “Sarah is gone,” she said. “Run away.”

“What happened?” Max asked.

Mrs. Selby held her hands out to Audrey. “You must be the dear child’s aunt,” she said. “I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey. Sit down, and I will tell you what happened.”

Over tea and breakfast, Mrs. Selby recounted the events of the past few days: Sarah’s arrival with the circus, her attack on the sheriff, her subsequent escape from jail. “Now Professor Serunca, the owner of the elephant, is locked up in the back of the general store, the elephant is in Mr. Butterfield’s barn, and everyone is out looking for Sarah. The sheriff says she’s a public menace.” Mrs. Selby shook her head.

“Why did she attack the sheriff?” Audrey asked.

“It’s all very muddled. The sheriff says she’s a wild animal. The circus folks say…Oh, here they are. Miss Paxon! Miss Harris! Mr. Orton.” Mrs. Selby beckoned to the people who had just stepped in the door. “This is Max. And Sarah’s aunt, Mrs. Audrey North.”

Max stood, bowing ever so slightly to the ladies, nodding to Mr. Orton. Miss Paxon was a blond woman with regal bearing and piercing blue eyes. Miss Harris was a sweet-faced young woman who looked ever so worried. Mr. Orton had his hand on her shoulder. He seemed to be her protector.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Audrey said. “Do you suppose you might join us for breakfast? I understand that you might tell us something of my niece and the crime she’s accused of committing.” Max sat back, watching Audrey quiz the three newcomers. She quickly learned their first names: Gitana, Helen, and Cassidy.

“No question that she attacked the sheriff,” Cassidy said. “Half the town watched her go after him with a knife.”

“I’m so worried about her,” Helen said. “She was hurt when the sheriff locked her up, then she ran away.”

“We’re all worried, dear,” said Mrs. Selby: “But now tell them about why she attacked Jasper.”

“I talked to her after the sheriff locked her in jail,” Helen said. “She said that the sheriff had killed her mama and papa. She said that he killed them and scalped her mama.” She frowned, shaking her head. “She was sure of it.”

Max stared at the young woman, considering what she had said. “That’s why he’s been so interested in finding her,” he murmured. It explained many things: why Sarah was afraid of Jasper, why Jasper had shot at her, years ago at the lake.

“I just can’t believe that of the sheriff,” Mrs. Selby said.

“I can,” Max said softly. “I certainly can.”

Cassidy’s eyes met Max’s. “You’re the only one who can, so far,” he said. “We informed the local justice of the peace…”

“That’s Tom Monroe,” Mrs. Selby added. “He runs the general store.”

“A good friend of Jasper’s,” Max observed.

Cassidy continued. “Mr. Monroe informed us that was impossible. That the girl was clearly deranged, and not a reliable witness.”

Max shook his head. “We have to find her before Jasper does,” Max said. “We have to protect her.”

“Now Max,” Mrs. Selby said, “I know you’ve never liked Jasper, but really…why would Jasper do such a thing?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I believe Sarah. And we need to find her.”

Helen was smiling for the first time since she had sat down. There was something familiar about that smile, Max thought, something familiar about this young woman. But Max had no time to wonder about that.

“Even if we find her, the sheriff will put her back in jail.” Cassidy was saying. “Is there no greater authority to which we can appeal?”

Mrs. Selby looked at Max. “What about your friend, that nice Patrick Murphy?” She looked at Audrey. “Mr. Murphy is the Marshal in Nevada City and he’s an old friend of Max’s.”

Max shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. “Well, yes, he might help.”

“Of course, he will. If you were to send word, I’m sure he’d come along right away.” Mrs. Selby glanced at Audrey.

Max noticed the glance, though he knew he was not supposed to. For the past decade, he had spent most of his time in the company of men, but he recognized this look. It was a look that said, “Men! Aren’t they foolish?” It reminded him of the mysterious ways in which women seemed to communicate. Put a few women together and soon they knew all about each other. They talked constantly, asking questions, telling about their lives—and that was part of it. But it wasn’t the whole story. Perhaps they read signals. They communicated nonverbally, like Sarah’s wolves. They knew each other by the cock of the head, the squint of the eyes, the precise tone of voice. They read signals that people didn’t even know that they were sending.

“Then don’t you think you should send him a message?” Audrey asked.

There was clearly only one correct answer, and Max gave it.

“Now we need to find my niece, that’s clear. Where do you suppose she might be?” she asked.

“If I might make a suggestion?” Gitana spoke up for the first time. “When she ran away, she was remembering the murder of her parents, mourning for them. I suggest that she might go to the place of the murder.”

“And if there is any evidence of the sheriff’s guilt, that’s where it will be,” Helen added.

“Well, it’s been more than a decade since the murder,” Max began. “I doubt we’ll find anything after all these years.”

Helen turned to look at him, her smile fading. He noticed the beginnings of a frown on Audrey’s face.

“But you are right in saying that’s where we’re most likely to find evidence,” Max continued, trying to recover from his misstep. “And that’s as good a place to look as any.”

After that, matters were settled quickly, with Audrey suggesting the roles for various players as efficiently as a general deploying his troops. Max, Audrey, Helen, and Gitana would go to Grizzly Hill. Cassidy would take a message to Patrick Murphy.

Cassidy questioned this division of labor, wondering if it might be wise to include himself in the party searching for evidence and perhaps leave the ladies in the safety of town. His suggestion caused Helen to straighten in her chair and say, in a wounded tone, “Don’t you think we can manage, Cassidy?” Max gave him a sympathetic look, and Mr. Orton quickly backed down, accepting his role gracefully.

“To believe yourself to be brave is to be brave; it is the only essential thing.”

—Mark Twain

T
HEY REACHED GRIZZLY HILL
on a beautiful summer afternoon. The sky was a pure, unsullied blue; the crimson sun was sinking sweetly behind the oak trees. But for Max, there was a chill in the air, a chill that came from his memories of this valley.