Free Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell by Pat Murphy

were adopted by a she-wolf who had lost her cubs.”
    “They were left to die!” Henry was outraged. “Where was this?”
    “Ancient Rome.”
    “Foreigners,” Henry said angrily. “You never know what they’ll do.” And he was off on a rant about the Chinamen who had staked a claim down the creek a ways. The miners in town were talking about running them off the land, but figured there was no need just yet.
    Max wasn’t listening. He was wondering about little Sarah McKensie. Could the savage heart of a wolf have been touched by the little girl’s plight?
    The next Sunday he went to Downieville with Henry. He found Socks in the local saloon, drinking up the last of his profits and planning another hunting trip. When he asked the mountain man about the little girl, Socks told the same story that Henry had related—a little girl running wild, a wolf nearby, a heroic mountain man, attempting to save the girl. Socks told also of his return to the lake, with Jasper Davis’s assistance.
    Miners who had come into town for supplies gathered around the mountain man, buying him drinks and talking about the little girl in the mountains. There was a wistfulness about their talk, a sweet melancholy, as if the little lost girl reminded them of all that they had left behind. One man talked of his wife back home, another of his younger sister.
    While they talked, Max sketched, capturing the faces of these hard-bitten men in a moment of sentimental longing. A man with a banjo played a few sad songs—about lost love, about going home, about the ones who were left behind. It was a sweet, sad, maudlin evening.
    The next day, Max had a notebook filled with sketches and a head full of sadness. He told Henry that he couldn’t work that day, and he sat beneath the yellow pine tree and wrote about the night before, managing to be both sentimental and humorous as he told of how a lost child had touched the hearts of the hard-bitten miners and traders. He sent his writings, with the sketches of the men in the saloon, to the Nevada City Gazette .

7 THE BEGINNING OF A CORRESPONDENCE
    “The reason I dread writing letters is because I am so apt to get to slinging wisdom and forget to let up. Thus much precious time is lost.”
    —Mark Twain
    “ PICK UP YOUR FEET , Wordsworth,” Max told his mule. “No need to raise such a cloud of dust.” The beast paid him no mind, continuing to scuff its hooves through the trail dust.
    The summer sunshine was warm on Max’s back as he came over the top of the ridge and headed down toward the trail that ran along the creek to Selby Flat. Just a couple more miles to go. The creekside trail was broad and flat, a pleasant change. For the past few days, he’d been climbing up and down ridges along ill-marked trails and bushwhacking through the chaparral.
    The claim he’d been mining with Henry Johnson had played out a few weeks back. Though Henry had elected to stay in the northern diggings, Max decided to return to Selby Flat.
    He followed the switchbacks down to the creek with a sense of relief. Soon, he could get a fine dinner and a good night’s sleep at Selby’s Hotel. Below him, he could see a mining camp—a tent by the creek, a long tom in the water, a trio of miners lounging on the rocks, enjoying an afternoon break.
    “Hey, Max! Max—is that you?” One of the miners was waving. Max recognized Johnny Barker and returned his wave.
    “Hello, Johnny. Working hard, I see.”
    “Come on and join us,” Johnny called. “Tell me where you’ve been.”
    Max stopped for a time, letting Wordsworth have a long drink while he chatted with Johnny. The miner introduced Max to his companions and they asked the usual questions and touched on the usual topics. How good were the diggings up north? Max said he had done well there. He and his partner had taken two thousand dollars out of the ground between them. Not the richest diggings, but not bad.
    How rich was the ground here? Not bad; not bad. The