Free The Wild Girl by Jim Fergus Page A

since the copper mine closed down last year. The chamber is hoping to attract some big money from other parts of the country, men who can afford to invest in mining concerns, ranch land, that kind of thing. So you see the expedition is really just an elaborate excuse to take a bunch of rich guys hunting and fishing in the Sierra Madre. And maybe if they’re really lucky, they’ll get to take a potshot or two at a real Apache Indian.”
    A man carrying a reporter’s notebook walked briskly into the meeting hall. “Okay, kid, get ready,” Jackson said, waving the man over. “We’re on.”
    “Hey, Bill, I got someone here I want you to meet,” Big Wade said to the man as he approached us. “Ned, this is Bill Curry, distinguished editor in chief of the
Douglas Daily Dispatch.
Bill, Ned Giles. Ned apprenticed under an old friend of mine, Jerry Mackey at the
Omaha Daily Star.
Now he’s stringing for the
Chicago Tribune.
”
    Bill Curry shook my hand. “You look mighty young to be working for a big-city newspaper, son,” he said.
    “
Precocious
is the word, Bill,” Big Wade said. “The kid’s got talent. Listen, I just found out that Ned was in the country. So I got in touch with him, asked him if he’d be willing to come down here, maybe cover for me for a few weeks while I head into Mexico with the expedition. You may not know how indispensable I am, but you’re going to need someone to fill my shoes. Kid can write his ass off, too, writes all his own copy for the
Trib.
Of course, he hasn’t said yes yet. But he hasn’t said no, either. And we’d be damn lucky to have him, big-city reporter and all. It would sure make me feel better about being away all that time.”
    Bill Curry laughed. “Why in the hell would a precocious young photojournalist who’s stringing for the
Chicago Tribune
want to fill in on our pissant little newspaper?” he asked me.
    I’ve never been a very good liar but I looked steadily at the man. “Well, sir, Big Wade helped get me my first job in the business,” I said. “And I feel like I owe him.” I believed that while a little premature, maybe this wasn’t entirely a lie.
    “And you could work for us,” Bill Curry asked, “at the same time that you’re shooting for the
Chicago Tribune
?”
    “Yes, sir, I don’t see why not,” I said. “I’m not on staff there yet. I’m only a freelancer.” Also not entirely false. “I guess I can work for anyone I want.”
    Curry seemed to consider this for a moment. “Wouldn’t you rather go to Mexico, young man, than fill in on the day desk in Douglas?”
    “Why, yes, sir, of course, I would,” I said. “But I understood that Big Wade was going with the expedition.”
    “Oh hell, Big Wade doesn’t want to go anyway,” Curry said. “He’s been trying to get out of this assignment from the beginning.” And to Wade he said: “Jackson, do you honestly think I’m going to let this young man cover the local school-board meetings while I send a fat, old, broken-down boozehound like you to cover the story of a lifetime?”
    Although this had been the desired result of his plan all along, Big Wade seemed genuinely deflated by his editor’s words, “Ah, no, Bill,” he said softly, “I didn’t really think that.”
    “Jesus Christ, this is terrific,” Curry said, “just what we’ve been hoping for. National exposure for the Great Apache Expedition. And it couldn’t have happened at a better time. I’m going to tell the mayor about it right now. He might want to announce tonight that we have a reporter here covering the expedition for the
Chicago Tribune.
We’ll talk later, young man. A great pleasure to have met you.”
    Wade Jackson watched as his editor in chief bustled off to the speakers’ table with this news for the mayor. He shook his head thoughtfully. “There, see how easy that was, kid?” he said in a subdued voice. “Now Curry thinks the whole thing was his idea . . . like I said, one of the