Read Online The Case of the Deadly Desperados by Caroline Lawrence - Free Book Online

reckoned the door needed a new coat of paint as the Pony Express had stopped bringing letters by horseback nearly a year ago when the telegraph came in.
    I turned the handle and the door swung open.
    A single room was lit by some coal oil lamps and warmed by a potbellied stove at the back. On one side of a long wooden table was the iron printing press. (I could tell because some writing on it said, WASHINGTON PRINTING PRESS. ) On the other side up against the wall were some rolltop desks.
    There were two men in the room. One was sitting at a desk with his back to me. The other stood at the far end of the table putting little cubes in a kind of metal tray. The seated man did not turn around, but the standing man looked up. His fox-colored hair & beard were lightly powdered with pale yellow alkali dust; likewise his blue woolen shirt. He was smoking a pipe that smelled as if something had crawled in there & died. He looked more like a prospector or miner than a reporter. (I had never seen a real-life reporter before, but I imagined them to be ink-stained and bespectacled.)
    When the bearded man saw me, he took his foul-smelling pipe out of his mouth & said, “I am afraid you have come to the wrong place, miss. The nearest saloon is two doors along.”
    The man in the chair looked over his shoulder at me. Seeing what he took for a little girl in a pink bonnet, he chuckled. He had a long face & sticking-out ears. His black mustache & billy goat beard were neatly trimmed. He looked more like my notion of a reporter than the man with the foul-smelling pipe.
    â€œI do not want the saloon,” I said. “I am looking for the boss here. I have a Life or Death Problem.”
    â€œDoes your life or death problem involve a Scoop?” said the dusty man with the foul-smelling pipe. “I am the new Local. It is my first day & I badly need a Scoop.”
    I said, “What is a Local and what is a Scoop?”
    He said, “A Local means a man who reports the local news.”
    â€œAnd a Scoop?”
    He said, “It is an unpublished and startling piece of news.”
    I said, “Then, yes. I reckon I have a Scoop.”
    â€œPlease take a seat, miss.” He stepped forward on long legs & swung a chair out from under its desk. It had little rollers on the feet & a green cushion on the walnut seat.
    â€œMy name is Sam Clemens,” he said. “And that there is Dan De Quille, the editor of this paper. He is of no consequence. However, I will help you, if you will help me.”

Ledger Sheet 15
    THE PROSPECTOR-LOOKING REPORTER named Sam Clemens sat down opposite me.
    â€œTell me, little girl, what is your Life or Death Scoop?”
    I sat on the chair & crossed my ankles like a well-brought up girl might do. Then I said, “My parents were murdered and scalped and I am being pursued by a gang of desperados. I am in disguise,” I added.
    The man called Dan De Quille made a kind of choking noise and swiveled around in his chair. He & Sam Clemens both stared at me with wide eyes. I was pretty sure that was Expression No. 4: Surprise. Their mouths were hanging open, too. Then Sam Clemens leaned forward & snatched my bonnet from my head. My wig came with it.
    â€œDang my buttons!” he exclaimed. “You
are
in disguise. You ain’t a little girl at all. You are a boy, and half Apache by the looks of you.”
    â€œSioux,” I said. “I am half Sioux.”
    Over at his desk, Dan De Quille chuckled. Sam Clemens narrowed his eyes at him. “Is this some sort of prank, Dan?” he said.
    Dan De Quille shrugged. “I know nothing about it.”
    Sam Clemens then rounded on me. “Who put you up to this?” he said. “Was it Dan over there? Or someone else?”
    â€œI do not know what you mean,” I said, taking back my wig & bonnet. I planted them firmly on my head. “I am in disguise for my safety. I am being pursued by a gang of