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into journalism?”
    â€œNo, sir, I don’t think so,” answered Becky.
    â€œMy brothers, Tad and Zack,” I went on.
    â€œYou’re the young fellow who had some adventures out Nevada way with the Pony Express and the Paiutes, as I recall,” said Mr. Kemble as he shook Zack’s hand.
    I glanced unconsciously at Laughing Waters and saw a look of nervousness on her face. But the conversation went quickly on.
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œMacPherson tells me your writing’s almost as good as your sister’s.”
    â€œThank you, sir,” said Zack, more embarrassed I think than he would otherwise have been because of Laughing Waters being there. “But my sister helped me out some.”
    â€œAnd this,” I said finally, “is our friend Laughing Waters, whom Zack met when he was in the Utah-Nevada territory. She is the daughter of a Paiute chief.”
    â€œCharmed, young lady,” said Mr. Kemble, showing no surprise. “Welcome to San Francisco.”
    â€œThank you,” said Laughing Waters shyly as she took the hand he offered.
    â€œWell . . . sit down, all of you. I hope your visit is to tell me you’ve decided to get back in to journalism, Corrie.”
    â€œI’m afraid not. I’ve only been married about a month.”
    â€œWhat do you do, Braxton?”
    â€œI used to be a minister,” replied Christopher. “At present I’m working the mine with Corrie’s father and brothers.”
    â€œStill trying to coax a few more ounces out of those hills, eh?”
    â€œThere’s still a big vein there,” said Tad. “Pa’s sure of it. We just have to find it, that’s all.”
    Everybody laughed.
    â€œThat’s what they all say!” chided Mr. Kemble.
    We chatted a while longer, then Christopher asked Mr. Kemble where would be a good place to go for dinner that evening.
    â€œThat depends,” he said, “on what you want. If you want the best food in San Francisco, in my opinion it’s found at Mary Pleasant’s place, but then you’d never get in.”
    â€œWhy not?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s a boardinghouse. Once her guests are taken care of, she only has two or three tables available for reservations, and they are hard to come by.”
    â€œA boardinghouse has the best food in San Francisco?” said Christopher in surprise.
    â€œNot just any boardinghouse. Mammy Pleasant’s a well-enough known lady—a colored lady with more spunk than any ten white women, with what you might call a checkered and not altogether savory past. She was housekeeper and cook for Milton Latham, and that’s where she made her mark on this city. You know Latham, don’t you, Corrie?”
    â€œI know of him,” I answered. “I’ve never met him.”
    â€œWell, he knows about you, too. I make sure important people read my newspaper. And so does Mammy Pleasant if I know her. She’s as feisty a woman as you are yourself, Corrie Hollister.”
    â€œCorrie Braxton ,” I corrected him with a smile. “And what do you mean feisty?” I added.
    â€œI mean just that,” rejoined Mr. Kemble with a laugh. “Trying to pass yourself off as a man so I’d give you a job, thinking you were worth a man’s pay, running off to cover the war right in the middle of the worst fighting this country’s ever seen—if that’s not feisty, I don’t know what you’d call it. You always set out to do what no one would figure you could.”
    â€œThat’s my Corrie!” chimed in Christopher.
    â€œNow stop that, both of you!” I laughed. “I just do what I feel I ought to do, that’s all.”
    â€œNo matter what the odds are against you, and no matter that you’re a woman.”
    â€œI still don’t know what that’s got to do with it.”
    â€œI know you don’t,” replied Mr.