by Andy Conway
Annie was beaming as she jumped up onto her horse. “Looks like we got ourselves a posse.”
“Are we sure this is necessary?” Frank said.
“Bright Star Falling needs our help,” said Bronco Bill, simply.
“She need help,” said Gabriel gruffly. “I go help.”
Frank scanned their faces, hoping someone might point out how crazy this was. Ellie Irving was jabbering away to Red Shirt.
He spoke out in Lakota and everyone listened. Bronco Bill translated. “Chief Red Shirt says, when one of our tribe is lost, all of our tribe is lost.”
“Well, let’s go find her then,” said Annie, beaming a smile that Frank loved deeply, but a smile she wore only when she was rushing headlong into an adventure that Frank didn’t care for.
She kicked her horse and shouted, “Yah!” and the posse thundered off to the opposite end of the camp.
Frank saw the winyanpi and show Indians come out of their tipis and call out to them as they passed. No one was going to stop them, it seemed. So he relaxed. He had married Annie for better or for worse, and no matter how bad it got, he would be by her side for it. Maybe this was what love was, he thought: loving her even when she was driving you up a tree and off a limb. Especially when she was driving you up a tree and off a limb.
They thundered down the edge of the camp and came to the wide pole gate where a couple of scouts were posted, huddled over a campfire. They were chatting to a small crowd of locals over the pole bar, no doubt filling their heads with tall tales of the Wild West and doing a roaring trade in souvenirs that weren’t going through Nate’s books.
He only had time to see their startled faces witness the strange posse that bore down on them — four gunslingers and four Indians riding together — before they scattered, and all eight horses leapt the pole and pounded into the city, their iron hooves ringing on cobblestones.
43
LILLIAN WATCHED THEM ride off out of the camp and spat on the ground with fury. Here was Annie Oakley trying to muscle out Lil and prove to the world that she was the better shot, just like she had in Wimbledon, which had all been a fluke.
She stormed into Buffalo Bill’s tent without a care, knowing he was gone anyway, only just having ridden on from the crowd outside the camp.
The Pinkerton agent was slumped in the same canvas chair and looking like he was going to make a night of it, an empty glass hanging in his limp hand, drool oozing down his chin.
She stepped right up and slapped him hard across the face.
He fell back and scrambled to his feet, like a man in a saloon bar who’s missed the start of a fight.
He saw it was only her and looked puzzled, then angry.
“What the god damn!”
“Wake up, damn it! Are you a detective or a no-good drunk?”
“What the hell is that to you?”
He was all itching to slap her around her face, she could see it, fury blazing in his eyes, but he knew she could shoot the eyebrows of his face if she wanted and that was the only thing holding him back.
“You had a job to do, if I recall,” she said. “You failed. So now we’re going to try all over again.”
“Try what?”
“That redhead Indian who thinks she’s white. We’re gonna go get her.”
Calder waved her away and bent down for his hat, dusting it off. “I ain’t going anywhere. I despatched my duty and I’m done with it.”
“Aw, come on,” she said, her tone softening, in that pleading, coaxing voice that got men to do anything you damned well wanted them to do. “You can’t give up now. I know you hate her as much as I do.”
She saw it in his eyes: the fire of malice dancing there. And something else too: that thing that happened to all men when she put on that coaxing voice.
“We’re gonna take one last shot at her. You want in, or what?”
“I want in, all right,” he said.
“We best be quick then. Buffalo Bill’s already set off in his carriage, but he’ll take half the damn night, what with stopping off at every lamp post to tell a story to every dog that’s cocking a leg.”
Calder laughed, and she knew he’d go anywhere with her. She could tell him they were going to take on the entire Sioux nation and he’d probably do it.
“And Annie Oakley’s just ridden off with a whole damn posse to go beat him to it. They’re the real problem. They got a head start on us, but I reckon you know the way better than any of them?”
Calder shook his head. “We don’t need to beat them to the police station. We can get her after they’ve released her.”
“But how will we know where she is? Just put our noses in the air and head for the stink?”
“No need for that,” said Calder, putting his derby on his head and checking the gun in his shoulder holster. “I know where she’s going.”
She followed him as he strode across camp like he was a man in charge. It was like drinking champagne, when a man got a fire in him and it was all because of you. It was a rare occasion and you had to practically light a fire under their breeches to make it happen, but when it did, it was the best feeling in the world. Better than hitting any target.
They thundered out of the camp on their horses and she followed him as he led her to a main street. Startled locals stopped and stared in the gaslight, rubbing their eyes. They passed a pub and he veered sharp to the left, off the road, and through a narrow gap in the redbrick wall.
She wondered where in hell they were going as the horses skittered on cobblestones down a sharp rise, till they came upon a giant wharf, lit by the lanterns that bobbed on a hundred or more narrow boats. A great wooden sign declared Aston Wharf. Black-faced workers paused their hauling of sacks and tea chests as she and Calder cantered along the dirt canal bank, their horses’ hooves drumming on mud.
It was a short cut. The canals ran straight across the city, under the winding roads. She laughed and whooped at the night air as the old cliché from those Buffalo Bill dime novels came to her. We’re gonna head them off at the pass!
44
DESK SERGEANT WAKE looked up from his ledger and adjusted his spectacles, as if they might correct the sight he saw before him. It had been a curious night so far, with the usual couple of drunks to process through to the male cell, but also the American woman sitting in the women’s cell.
They called her the ‘Red Indian girl’, but when Desk Sergeant Wake had taken a good look at her, she hadn’t appeared to be Indian in any way. The only thing red about her was her hair.
But there had been a great deal of fuss about her, with visits from noted police superintendents and the release of the American gentleman earlier, and some of the constables had chattered excitedly about the possibility of Buffalo Bill walking through the door and issuing everyone with tickets for the Wild West show.
But this was not Buffalo Bill walking into the station.
They might have passed for any British couple, if it were not for a few small details: the man wore a wide-brimmed black hat. Not a Stetson exactly, but definitely the type Wake had seen in illustrations of cowboy stories. He also wore a neat bow tie at his starched collar and his three-quarter-length riding coat clearly hid a gun holster hanging at his side. Wake could see the tip of the holster tied around his trouser leg.
The woman had a fringe of tassles hanging from her dress, with riding boots, and an even wider brimmed hat that crowned her flowing mane of brown hair.
The little details of their dress had given them away as American, but it was also the cocky charm that marched in with them, like they walked to the sound of a brass band that no one else could hear.
And there was also the matter of the Indian chief behind them.
He had a face as dark as walnut with piercing eyes that, when you looked into them were as brown as any Indian’s, but seemed to shine like sapphires. Two long plaits of black hair rested on his chest and a single white feather made him seem inches taller than everyone else.
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Desk Sergeant Wake recognized him immediately. He’d read many reports of him in the press throughout his stay in London, in particular the story of his audience with the Queen. He was as much a star as Buffalo Bill.
“Chief Red Shirt,” he said, checking himself as he actually bowed in deference.
The couple looked behind them with surprise, then both smiled ingratiatingly.
“Good evening, sir,” said the woman. “This is indeed Chief Red Shirt. And I am Mrs Annie Oakley.”
She held out her hand to shake and Wake took it, bewildered. Annie Oakley and Chief Red Shirt, walking into his station. He looked to the other man, expecting him to introduce himself as Buffalo Bill.
“Frank Butler. Honoured to meet ya.”
Irish accent. Wake swallowed disappointment and looked back at Chief Red Shirt, who surveyed the station like a visiting prince.
“Chief Red Shirt,” said Annie Oakley, “has come to take delivery of his good friend and subject, Miss Bright Star Falling, whom I believe is awaiting release?”
“Why, yes,” Wake stammered. “Yes, she is. Chief Red Shirt,” he said again.
The Indian chief gazed back at him impassively and he felt himself falling into a trance.
“So, er, can she be handed over to us now?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Wake, unable to take his eyes from the chief’s, which pierced his soul. He felt his feet shuffling, eager to take himself away from the desk and go fetch the Indian girl. Anything to serve this Indian royal.
“Sergeant Wake. What is this?”
Inspector Beadle was at his side.
“Prince Red Shirt,” he said. “I mean, Chief Red Shirt. Here. To collect the Indian girl.”
“And you are?” said Beadle, looking to the man and woman either side of the chief.
“Annie Oakley, at your service,” said the woman, smiling brightly. “And this here is my husband, Frank Butler. We’ve been sent by Colonel Cody to collect Bright Star Falling from you and take her back to the camp.”
Beadle looked them up and down and did not seem remotely impressed by the Indian chief standing imperious before him. Desk Sergeant Wake began to feel embarrassment crawling in a hot wave up his neck, and all the way to his face to scald his cheeks.
“Where is Colonel Cody?” said Beadle.
“He can’t be here,” said Annie Oakley. “And as Bright Star Falling is a member of the Sioux nation, he has sent Chief Red Shirt here to personally retrieve her into his care. She’ll be taken care of now.”
Wake found himself nodding. It was all perfectly reasonable. But for some reason his Inspector was shaking his head.
“I gave strict instructions that only Colonel William Cody himself should take her into custody, seeing as he is the one ultimately responsible.”
“But as I’ve explained, sir,” said Annie, “the girl is a member of the Sioux nation. She is Chief Red Shirt’s interpreter. That’s why he has come personally to take her back to his tribe.”
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” said Beadle. “I’m expecting Colonel Cody. She stays here until he comes.”
Wake wrung his hands together to stop them taking hold of his Inspector and shaking him. Why was he being so obtuse? And to a visiting royal?
“Well,” said Annie Oakley. “Buffalo Bill ain’t gonna like it, that’s all I can say.”
The Irishman stepped forward now, and in a gruff, businesslike manner said, “You ever hear of delegation? Buffalo Bill’s a very busy man with over two hundred people in his show to take care of. He delegates. That’s why we’re here and he’s not.”
Beadle smiled politely and said, “I do apologize if there’s been some misunderstanding on Colonel Cody’s part, but I’m afraid the prisoner remains in custody until Colonel Cody personally collects her. Good evening.”
He turned and strode from the reception desk, leaving Wake to stammer and stutter an apology.
Annie Oakley looked to her husband and they both looked to Chief Red Shirt and shook their heads.
The chief did not seem concerned or slighted, which was certainly what had happened. He simply nodded, once, and turned away, striding out with his head held high. Annie Oakley and Frank Butler followed. And when the door swung shut, Desk Sergeant Wake felt a terrible sense of loss and sorrow.
It would be ten minutes before he jumped out of his skin as the entire station shook with a terrible reverberation.
And then the shooting began.
45
AS ANNIE WALKED OUT of the police station into the cool night air, her annoyance at the foiling of their plan was tempered by the flush of love and pride she felt for Frank.
Despite their failure, she had loved every moment of their performance in there. Frank understood her so well. Sometimes they just sparked off each other when they were running a show. It was almost like they were the same person. He understood her more than any man on Earth.
They doubled back along the side of the police station, where a couple of stagecoaches sat waiting, their horses idle, the drivers sitting in a cab shelter across the street. A warm glow filled the windows of the little hut and the faint smell of beef tea drifted on the cold night air.
Around the rear of the station, they ducked into a shady thicket, where the others waited quietly with their horses, their clouds of breath being the only thing that might give them away.
“No deal,” said Annie.
Red Shirt informed the Indians of the same in rapid Lakota.
“So what do we do now?” said Frank.
“Maybe we just ride right in?” said Bronco Bill. “We’ve got guns. No one in there has guns.”
“The British police like to put on a show of not being armed,” said Frank. “But believe you me, every police station has an armoury. They’d be shooting lead before you can say the road to Ballyshannon.”
Bill translated for Red Shirt, who answered him.
“He says we need to know where she is.”
They all peered out at the rear of the station. There were several windows, all of them barred.
“She could be at any one of them,” said Annie.
Rocky Bear put his palms to his mouth and hooted a sonorous owl call that reverberated through the night. They cringed and stiffened, thinking he’d given them away.
A grey face appeared at one of the windows. An owl hooted in response.
“There she is,” said Bronco Bill.
“Okay,” said Annie. “She’s out the back. That’s good. But what now?”
Red Shirt spoke again, and Bronco Bill translated. “This building, it gives the look of a strong building. The walls are made of stone and the stone is heavy and strong, but the mortar that holds it together is old and weak.”
The men looked to each other. Gabriel Dumont spat on both his palms and said, “I pull it down with my hands. Ce la.”
“Horses,” said Annie. “We can tie the horses to the bars and drive them away. Maybe that will work?”
“And I pull it also,” said Gabriel.
Rocky Bear stepped forward and planted a giant palm on Gabriel Dumont’s shoulder, nodding.
“Okay,” said Annie. “You two can pull, along with the horses. But let’s make a plan. Because when that wall comes down, it’s going to be one big hullabaloo and we need to know what we’re doing.”
“You need to get Katherine out of there while the rest of us stay and hold off the police,” said Frank.
“Oui,” said Gabriel. “You ride. We stay and shoot.”
“You take two of the horses and go, no lingering,” said Frank. “We’ll keep them occupied till you’re well away.”
“But you’ll be a horse light.”
“We’ll steal one of them carriages,” said Frank, grinning.
“You won’t make it far with a carriage and the police chasing you,” said Annie. “We’ll take the carriage. Then we get away under cover of your fire. Then you fellahs escape with the horses. How about that?”
Red Shirt spoke again.
“Where are we running to?” said Bronco Bill.
“That’s up to Bright Star Falling,” said Annie. “Suppose we better go ask her.”
Frank and Bronco Bill unhooked their lasso ropes and yoked them to two of the horses’ saddles. Then they stepped out into the moonlight, running the ropes to the cell window. Annie ran ahead of them and came to Katherine’s pale face, her fingers clutching at the bars.
“We’ve come to spring you the hell out of this place.”
The voice that came back surprised her. Katherine sounded like an old woman, croaking her last.
“I was sleeping. I’m so tired. I can hardly move.”
“Don’t you worry, girl. We’re getting you out of here.”
“I’ve come too far, Annie. Let me lie here and die.”
Frank and Bronco Bill knotted the ropes around the bars, pulling them hard and tight.
“Now don’t you be talking like that, child,” Annie scolded. “No one’s planning to let you lie here. They’re coming for you. And when they get you they’re gonna send you back across the ocean in chains, most likely.”
Katherine sobbed. She really was at the end of it all. It fair broke your heart to see her this low. These men had hunted her down like an animal and damn near broken her will to live. It made Annie so angry she could shoot every last man in this damned town.
“Don’t you despair now, you hear? We’re gonna help you. We ain’t letting them chain you up and send you back to live on a reservation. This is your home. We all know it. I won’t let them send you back. Not now.”
Katherine nodded, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. Frank patted Annie’s shoulder and she waved him and Bronco Bill back to the shadows.
“Now, Katherine. I need to know where we’re going. You see, once this wall comes down, we need to git, and fast. You see that carriage over there?”
Katherine peered to the left and nodded.
“That’s what we’re taking, the moment these bars come off. But you need to tell me where we’re going to. You understand?”