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

investigating William’s body farther downstream, Sarah was suckling at the wolf’s teat, clinging to Wauna’s thick fur just as she had clung to her mother’s dress. When Rolon came near to sniff the child, Wauna growled, warning the male to keep his distance, just as she had warned packmates away from her own pups when they were first born.
    Later, when Sarah had drunk her fill of the wolf’s rich milk, Rolon’s restless pacing indicated that the pack was ready to move. Wauna, not wanting to leave the child behind, nudged the sleepy girl whining low in her throat. Sarah put her arms around the wolf’s neck, embracing her as she had the old dog on the wagon train. When Wauna whined again, Sarah swung her leg over the wolf’s back, still holding tight to the animal’s neck. Moving carefully, aware of the fragile burden she carried, Wauna followed the pack, carrying Sarah away into the mountains.

2 IN THE MOUNTAINS WITH THE BEASTS
    “The proverb says that Providence protects children and idiots.
    This is really true. I know because I have tested it.”
    — Autobiography of Mark Twain ; Mark Twain
    M AX PHILLIPS TUGGED ON his mule’s lead. “Come along, Wordsworth,” he said conversationally. “You’re a lazy, good-for-nothing beast and an overrated poet. Let’s move along, or we won’t make Selby Flat by nightfall.”
    Max was eager to reach town, where he could sleep on a lumpy strawtick mattress, rather than on the cold, hard ground. He was thirty-three, older than many of the gold-seekers. After three weeks in the hills, he missed the comfort of a bed, however lumpy.
    Max had been wandering the hills, panning gold from the mountain streams and sketching the scenery in his notebook. He was a self-trained artist—he could capture the likeness of a man or a mountain in a quick pencil sketch, a handy talent to have. Down in the mining camps, he drew portraits of miners, earning more gold from that occupation than he ever found in the California hills. Men asked him to draw their portraits, then bought the sketches to send home to their loved ones.
    But sometimes Max grew tired of the company of miners, tired of all the talk of gold, tired of the drinking and gambling and endless conversations about women back home. When that happened, he struck out on his own, prospecting for gold and lingering to capture the beauty of the landscape. Now he had a notebook filled with sketches, a poke full of gold dust, and a hankering for the finest meal that Selby Flat had to offer.
    The trail curved out of the pines and headed downward, following the creek into the valley. Max could see the white canvas of a tent. Someone had staked a claim beside the creek. A greenhorn, Max suspected. The spot didn’t look promising.
    Max made his way toward the tent. “Rallo!” he called. “Rallo!”
    No answer.
    Quilts were spilled in a tangle beside the tent’s front flap. Boxes of food, some burst open, littered the slope. As he approached, three jays flew squawking from the body that lay in front of the tent.
    Max knelt beside the body to examine it. A woman, dead for a few days, by the look of it. Shot and scalped and left unburied.
    Max closed her staring eyes. The wind blew up the valley, carrying white feathers from the torn feather bed that lay among the rocks. He felt cold and empty and suddenly lonely. He hadn’t felt lonely in all the time he had been in the mountains. He liked being alone. He had come to California from Chicago, and he preferred the wide-open spaces to the crowded urban streets. He had been happy, wandering the hills. But now, kneeling by this dead stranger, he felt sad and abandoned.
    He did what he could. He wrapped the woman’s body in a quilt to protect her from the jays and the coyotes until he could bury her. He murmured a prayer over the body, asking God to look out for her, to take her to a happier place. He glanced inside the tent. In the clutter in front of the tent, wedged by the wind