by Pat Murphy
She sat up on the mattress, staring around her. There were three stone walls and a wall of bars that separated the cell from a larger room. In the larger room was a desk, two chairs, some shelves. A jacket hung on the back of one of the chairs. His jacket—she knew by the smell.
She had to get out. His scent brought back memories that made her breath catch in her throat. She had to run. She had to hide.
Her eyes focused on the square of moonlight on one stone wall of her cell. Blinking, she turned her aching head, looking for the source of light. High on another wall, moonlight streamed through a window blocked by steel bars.
She stood up, one hand against the wall for support, cold stone floor against her bare feet. She prowled the limits of her cell, growing stronger with each step. She tested the steel bars that made up the third wall of the cell, but they did not yield to her tugging.
As she turned away from the bars, she heard a sound from outside the window. “Sarah?” a whispered voice said. “Sarah? Are you all right?” Helen’s voice.
The window was above her head, but she climbed the rough wall, her bare feet finding tiny ledges on the uneven stone surface of the wall. The opening offered a view of a narrow lane between the jail and a ramshackle building. The bars on the window were fixed securely in the stone wall.
Helen stood in the lane, looking up at the window. “Sarah! I’m so glad to see your face. Oh, your poor head! I tried to tell the sheriff that he didn’t need to lock you up. I told him you would stay with me. He wouldn’t listen.”
Sarah clung to the bars, looking down at Helen. “He is bad,” she said. “Very bad.”
“Oh, Sarah—what happened? Why did you attack the sheriff?”
Sarah stared at her friend, remembering the things she did not want to remember. “He killed my mama. I remember his scent.” Helen stared at her. “That can’t be. Mrs. Selby said that Indians killed your parents.”
Sarah’s grip on the bars tightened. They were cold in her hands, as cold as the stone beneath her feet when she crouched in the cave, staring out into the sunlight where Jasper Davis stood over her mother. “He shot my mama. He took her hair.”
“Took her hair?” Helen’s voice was faint.
“With his knife. He cut her—took her hair.” She remembered crouching in the darkness and watching as Jasper bent over her mother. The smell of fresh blood mingled with Jasper’s scent, and Sarah was afraid. “Run and hide, Mama told me. I hid so he didn’t find me.”
“He scalped her?”
“I was hiding,” Sarah said again. Her voice trembled.
“Why would he do that?” Helen asked. “Why would he kill your mother?”
“I have to get out,” Sarah said. “He will come and find me. I have to leave this place.” She tugged on the bars, but they resisted her efforts. She reached through the bars, as if she could squeeze through.
Helen reached up and touched Sarah’s hand. “I’ll get help,” she said. “I’ll get Miss Paxon. I’ll get the Professor. They’ll know what to do.”
In the bar of the Selby’s Hotel, Jasper was telling another version of the story to the Professor, Cassidy, Miss Paxon, and a group of his cronies.
“It was a terrible tragedy,” he was saying. “Her folks had made camp on Grizzly Hill, right on Spring Creek. Injuns massacred her parents—scalped them both. I went up there with a half a dozen men from Selby Flat, and we searched for the little girl, but we couldn’t find her anywhere.”
He shook his head sadly. He started to reach for his whiskey with his wounded arm, then winced and used his other arm. The cut was shallow, but the doctor had insisted on bandaging it. He was glad of that. The bandage reminded everyone of her unprovoked attack. She had set up a perfect situation for him. With care, he could emerge from this as a hero.
“Careful there, Sheriff.” Tom Monroe took the bottle and refilled Jasper’s glass. “We can’t have you out of commission.”
Jasper nodded his thanks and continued his story. “Some figured Injuns had taken the girl captive. We searched high and low for Injuns, but never found ’em. Some thought it was Mexicans, making it look like Injuns’ work. We didn’t find them either.” He sipped his whiskey, holding the glass awkwardly in his left hand. “I reckon the story about her being raised by wolves is true. I just wonder how she’s going to do in civilization, having been brung up by wild animals.”
“She did very well with us,” the Professor said.
“She seemed so sweet,” Mrs. Selby chimed in. She had gone to fetch another bottle. Now she stood at Jasper’s side, frowning. “I really don’t see that you had to lock her up.”
Jasper looked at Mrs. Selby with a pained look. “You can’t imagine I wanted to lock her up.” His voice rang with indignation. “Don’t tell me you think that, Mrs. Selby!”
Mrs. Selby bit her lip, still frowning.
“I had no choice. She attacked me, and I reckon that was just as well. I can defend myself. Suppose she had taken after you or one of the women or one of the children?”
Mrs. Selby was shaking her head. “I don’t see why on earth she would. Think of all the folks she’s rescued from the wilderness. Why on earth would she…”
“I can’t say,” Jasper interrupted her. His tone was that of a man frustrated beyond politeness. “I can’t say what goes on in the mind of a wild animal. She’s a wild animal, and I reckon that’s all you can say about it.”
Jasper watched as his friends around the table nodded, looking solemn at this pronouncement. The circus folks looked dubious, but they didn’t matter. No one trusted circus folks.
“If only Max were here,” Mrs. Selby said. “Can’t we just wait until he gets here from San Francisco? He would take responsibility for her.”
“I would be willing to take the girl with me,” the Professor said. “I will take full responsibility for her.”
Jasper shook his head. “Thank you kindly, friend, but I’m afraid she’s my responsibility. Tomorrow, I reckon I’ll take her on down to Nevada City, where the judge will decide the best thing to do for her.”
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.