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desperados.”
    Dan De Quille chuckled again, and turned back to his writing.
    Sam Clemens did not chuckle. He narrowed his eyes at me. That was Expression No. 5. He was either mad at me, or thinking, or suspicious. Or maybe all three.
    â€œI am not in a joking mood,” he said. “I just arrived in Virginia City. All I know is that the streets are named after the alphabet and the atmosphere is light enough to give you a permanent nosebleed.”
    â€œCall it ‘Virginia,’ Sam,” said Dan De Quille over his shoulder. “Nobody calls it ‘Virginia City.’”
    Sam Clemens ignored him. “I have just walked seventy miles through a totally uninhabited desert.”
    â€œI doubt it,” said Dan De Quille, without turning around. “I’ll bet you hitched a lift with one of those mule trains.”
    Sam Clemens said, “I have been living on alkali water and whang leather for the last six months.” He patted his chest so that a cloud of pale yellow dust puffed up. “And as you can probably smell, I only had sufficient of the former for drinking purposes.”
    â€œBeef and black coffee’s what I heard,” said Dan to the wall. “But I believe the part about you not washing for half a year.”
    â€œI was nearly a millionaire, but for my stupidity,” said Sam Clemens, pounding the table with his hand.
    â€œNow
that
could well be true,” said Dan with a chuckle.
    â€œI do not have time for tomfoolery,” said Sam Clemens. “I need a Scoop or I will have to submit this story about a passel of danged Hay Wagons.” He put his pipe in his mouth.
    I said, “My news is not tomfoolery. This afternoon my foster parents were murdered and scalped. When I found them my ma was still alive but she died soon after.”
    Once again, Dan De Quille swiveled in his chair & stared at me open-eyed.
    But Sam Clemens’s eyes were narrowed. Expression No. 5 again. “You do not look like a child who has just seen their parents massacred,” he said. “You look remarkably calm.”
    â€œThat is my Thorn,” I said.
    â€œThorn?” said Sam Clemens.
    â€œI cannot express emotions well. Or read them neither.”
    Dan De Quille stood up and said, “Are you a Heathen or a Believer?”
    I said, “I am a Methodist. My dead foster pa was a Methodist preacher and I have embraced his faith.” I quoted Matthew chapter 10 & verse 32: “Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in Heaven.”
    Dan De Quille nodded & took a dusty black book from a shelf on his desk. He stepped closer & held it out in front of me. “Swear on this Bible that you are not joshing us.”
    I put my right hand on the Bible & said, “I swear as God is my Witness that my parents was murdered and scalped.”
    They looked at each other.
    Dan De Quille said, “Are you telling us that the Paiute Indians are up in arms? When did this happen?”
    â€œAbout three hours ago at approximately three and a half o’clock this afternoon,” I said. “But it was not Paiutes or any other sort of Indians. The villains who murdered my foster parents wanted people to think it was Indians. I have something they want and they are pursuing me and that is why I am in disguise.” I adjusted my bonnet to make sure it was straight.
    Sam Clemens leaned towards me & gave me Expression No. 5. His narrowed eyes were a blue-green color & very shiny. “And do you know who really did it?”
    â€œThey call him Whittlin Walt. I did not catch the names of the other two men with him.”
    â€œHa, ha, ha,” said Sam Clemens. “A desperado named Whittlin Walt. That is rich. I must make a note of that in case I ever decide to write one of those Dime Novels.”
    But Dan De Quille had turned white as chalk.
    â€œWhat is it, Dan?” said Sam Clemens.