by Andy Conway
Katherine nodded and swallowed and seemed to be summoning up some strength from somewhere.
“The dovecote,” she said. “In Moseley. It’s about a mile or two up that road. Straight on south.”
“Why there?”
“I don’t know, but I think that’s where I can get home.”
It didn’t make sense. But none of this had ever made any sense anyhow and it was too late to start demanding logic.
“Okay, hon. I hope you know what you’re doing. But I’m gonna get you there whatever. Now, you best step back as far as you can.”
Katherine’s face disappeared from the window and Annie ran back to the shadows where the men waited.
“Where you headed?” said Frank.
“Moseley. Two miles up that road, due south. Some place called the Dovecote.”
Bronco Bill was translating in whispers to the Indians.
“What is dove cut?” said Gabriel Dumont.
“It’s a little house for birds,” said Frank. “A kind of tower made of stone. For doves to live in.”
“I don’t know why she thinks she can get home from there,” said Annie.
“Maybe it’s a pub,” said Frank, brightening at the thought.
Red Shirt spoke out and Bronco Bill said, “No, this is good and true. The power of the dove spirit gives her flight. She will fly to freedom from this house of birds.”
Rocky Bear nodded and accepted it without question.
“As soon as it’s done,” said Annie, “I take her, steal that carriage and git. Half of you fire on the hole, the rest of you go round the front and keep them busy there.”
They all nodded.
She looked at Frank.
He took her in his arms and kissed her full on the lips. “You be safe now, m’acushla.”
Her heart melted and near dribbled into her boots, but she nodded and set her face with steely determination and said, “Let’s do it.”
Frank and Bronco Bill pulled at the horses. The ropes went taut, zinging in the air. Gabriel Dumont and Rocky Bear strode out of the thicket and across to the window and each took a hold of the bars, pulling with all their might.
The ropes strained. The horses scrambled for footing. One of them whinnied in the night air, breaking the silence, but no one came.
They watched, all eager.
But nothing happened. The wall stood, impervious, and their hopes sank.
And then a crack.
The mortar split and a stone jolted loose. Gabriel planted his feet against the wall, pulling at the bars with all his might. Rocky Bear began a low chant, calling to the spirits for strength.
The police inside the station must surely hear them now.
More mortar cracked and it looked like the wall would split in two, dust falling from the cracks.
And suddenly, with a giant crash, the bars came away, bending through masonry as if fighting to get out of the cell, pulling a gap through the wall as the large stones fell to the floor.
Katherine’s face appeared at the gap and she moved to squeeze through.
“No!” Annie shouted.
The entire wall came away with a giant crash and the roof fell in, a cloud of dust rising.
Annie ran to the cloud, her Winchester rifle in her hand, where Gabriel and Rocky Bear were staggering backwards, coughing, falling. Katherine was dead. Surely the entire cell had fallen on top of her?
She waved at the dust cloud and Katherine came flying through it, knocking her off her feet. They rolled to the ground and she had just a moment of joy in which to shout, “Freedom!” before Katherine pulled her to her feet, and they were running, stumbling, staggering for the carriage.
Katherine clambered up to the stoop first and had the reins in her hand as Annie leapt up beside her.
She saw the cabmen come rushing out of their shelter to see what all the commotion was, tin cups of tea still in their hands.
Katherine whipped the horses and they broke.
One of the drivers yelled out but was too late to catch them.
Annie leaned back over the carriage roof, pointing her Winchester right at him. His face dropped. Then his tin cup was blown from his hand.
He fell and cowered on the dirt road as a hail of gunfire peppered the police station with bullets.
Annie saw the muzzle fire flaring from the shadows, and Frank and Bronco Bill skirting round to the front of the station. Then she held on tight as the carriage rode on out of there and shot southwards like the Deadwood Stage being chased by the entire Sioux nation.
46
DESK SERGEANT WAKE felt the floor beneath him shake. The station exploded and there was a giant reverberation, as of an earthquake. Shouts and cries of dismay went up from those constables who were on the other side, and he heard himself cry out, “Dear God alive!”
He suspected no one heard it fall from his lips. Half of the men were on the floor. The rest rushing to see what had happened. The explosion had come from the rear of the station, in the direction of the women’s cell.
His instant thought had been that it was something to do with the Irish. A Fenian bomb. Dynamite. But he knew, almost as soon as he’d thought it, that there had been no Fenian dynamite attack for almost three years.
His second thought was fireworks, but he knew there was no firework display close enough and large enough to shake this building.
He knew it was nothing to do with Fenians or fireworks.
It was the Red Indian girl in the cells.
It was Annie Oakley.
It was Red Shirt.
A cloud of dust billowed up the corridor from the women’s cell. One brave constable — Donaghy, he thought — ran right into it. Desk Sergeant Wake watched with horror as the cloud flew towards him, paralysed, still clutching his fountain pen.
And then he was coughing, flapping his hand, fighting for air. He edged towards the sounds of commotion, down the corridor, towards the calamity, knowing it was the right thing to do, the brave thing to do, despite the urge in him to flee.
Someone staggered past him, clutching his throat, choking. He took his shoulder and propelled him towards the reception, losing sight of him as he fell into the cloud.
This was wrong, he thought. It was his job to oversee the reception area. He needed to take control of that. He turned and rushed back and pulled the constable up from the floor where he lay crumpled, hacking. Dragging him with one hand, he heaved him towards the station’s front door. He yanked the door open and fresh air gushed in.
The sweet night air filled their lungs and more constables piled out, doubled over.
Inspector Beadle came out shouting, “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? It’s only a bit of dust!”
Desk Sergeant Wake could see now that the cloud had thinned. “What’s happened, sir?” he croaked.
“The women’s cell has collapsed. Escape attempt.”
He understood it now. They must have pulled down the wall. The cell roof had fallen in and shot the cloud of dust and debris down the corridor like a bullet down the barrel of a pistol. He wondered if the Indian girl was dead.
Something hot whizzed past his face and a brick of the station façade exploded. Everyone ducked. Inspector Beadle scanned the clump of bushes across the street.
Gunshots fizzed and crackled, filling the air like fireworks.
They were suddenly all back inside the station.
“We’re under fire!” Beadle shouted.
Sergeant Macpherson came bounding into reception from the rear of the station. “Shots from the rear too!” he shouted.
Beadle turned to Wake, gripping his collar and shouted, “Unlock the armoury. Pistols issued to every man on duty.”
“Are you sure, sir?” Wake stammered. “We’re only allowed to issue firearms under exceptional circumstances.”
He heard himself say the words, which were the words it was appropriate in every way for him to say. But even as he heard them tumble from his mouth, he thought Who
is this fool saying these words?
It was panic. Shock. Blind terror.
He swallowed it down and gritted his teeth, trying to find the courage for this moment.
Beadle’s nose was almost touching his own now. “Our police station is under fire from a posse of cowboys and Indians. Though it may not be covered under the exact provisions, I rather think it might be a bloody exceptional circumstance!”
“Yes, sir,” said Wake. “It certainly is exceptional.”
“Then go unlock the bloody armoury!”
His hands were already fumbling for his keys and he was running for the armoury, shouting, “All officers collect arms! All officers collect arms!”
47
KATHERINE CRACKED THE reins against the flanks of the horses, urging them on, and fancied she heard gunfire crackling behind them. But they were far away from the station now, the coach hurtling along, the rough cinder road speeding underneath the harness shaft in front of her.
The road ran straight as an arrow. It was lined with buildings either side. Old cottages huddled together, larger new stone buildings with turrets and towers, houses and shops, startled locals watching and pointing as they thundered through.
She felt so weak. It was easier to lie down and die than to struggle on. Death had been so close, welcoming her, luring her into its warm, dark embrace. But now, with the night air storming her face, she felt the promise of life again.
A mile ahead lay Moseley and the dovecote. She could feel it whispering to her on the night air: tiyata... tiyata... tiyata...
From nowhere, a horse came galloping alongside her. She turned and saw Lil Two Face.
Annie leaned over and saw her too, immediately aiming her Winchester across Katherine.
Lil whipped out her rifle and steadied it across her breast, but surely her horse was going too fast to get any kind of aim?
“You get the hell out of our way, Lil!” Annie shouted. “Or I swear to God, I’ll shoot you dead!”
Lil’s voice came back as she galloped alongside the coach. “You can’t shoot straight, Annie Oakley! Everyone knows that!”
“I think Wimbledon proved who can shoot straight!” Annie laughed.
Lil’s voice came back angry now. “Wimbledon was a fluke!”
“Whatever makes you sleep at night, Lil!”
Lil dropped back out of sight. Was she coming round to the other side to attack Annie from the left?
There was a thud.
Katherine thought they’d hit a hole in the cinder road. She glanced back across the roof of the carriage just in time to see Lil come running along, her boot swinging.
Katherine took its impact, twisting and turning and grabbing a hold of Lil as she fell backwards.
They would fall under the horses to be killed by the carriage wheels.
She grunted as she hit the ground, all the breath in her body punched out of her.
But she was not on the ground. She was hanging in mid-air, her boots on the harness shaft between the flanks of the galloping horses.
Lillian was ahead of her, one hand holding onto the shaft, her head hanging only an inch from the rushing road, between the thundering horses’ hooves.
Katherine looked back to Annie, to urge her to rein the horses in and stop the forward flight before Lillian was killed.
But Annie was hanging off the side of the coach, trying to claw her way back into the seat. The reins were dragging under the coach.
Lil’s horse was galloping alongside.
They hurtled forward.
There was no way to stop the forward momentum. By the time the horses had tired and slowed down, they would all be dead.
Katherine righted herself, her boots balancing on the harness shaft, a tightrope walk over a rushing river. She could reach for the driver’s seat and pull herself to safety easily, unless there was any kind of sudden jolt that would topple her.
She looked back down. Lillian’s tight white fist hanging on for dear life. Any moment now she would fall under the horses’ hooves and be crushed.
Two Face Lil. Her tormentor. Her enemy.
Katherine twisted back, steadying herself on the flanks of the two horses, feeling their warm hair between her fingers. Any second now Lil would fall and die.
Katherine reached down with all her might.
“Lillian! Grab my hand!”
Lillian glared back up at her and then at her own hand, desperately gripping the bridle shaft. She would have to let go of it in order to take Katherine’s hand, and she didn’t look like she wanted to do that.
But the next jolt might knock her off her precarious perch and she would fall under the horses to certain death.
“Do it! Now!”
Lillian gritted her teeth and swore, her curse lost in the thunderous cacophony of the horses’ hooves and the mechanical scream of the coach wheels on gravel.
Her hand came up, stiff and desperate, and Katherine grasped it, almost pulled down with the force of her grip.
She screamed in defiance and heaved herself back, pulling Lillian with her so that Lillian could crawl over her and up to the safety of the driver’s perch.
Katherine jolted forward and jumped to sit astride one of the horses.
Annie climbed back into the seat just as Lil clambered up beside her. Annie got her gun and aimed it at Katherine.
“Stay on the horse, Katherine! I’m gonna set you free!”
Lillian saw what Annie proposed to do — the Winchester crooked under her arm, swaying at her waist — aimed at the horse bridle.
“You’ll shoot her!” Lil said. “Or the horse!”
“I’m aiming for the bridle.” Annie said.
“No way. You can’t hit that!”
“Watch me.”
She pulled the trigger. The pommel split. The horse broke free from the carriage, Katherine astride it.
The coach veered, hit a rick in the road and careened to the left, swerving and twisting, and there was the unmistakable sound of a wheel shattering into pieces and the axle grinding onto stone.
Sparks flew.
Annie lurched off the roof of the coach, flying through the air, to roll into the gutter with Lil holding onto her.
Katherine jerked her horse back, calling, “Nimitawa Ktelo!” to see Lil punch Annie across her jaw.
Annie fell back and struggled to her feet, dizzy, glancing about for her rifle, knowing she had only moments before Lil shot her.
But Lil didn’t shoot.
She had no gun.
She leapt onto her own horse and sped up the street after Katherine.
Annie croaked, “Run, Katherine. Flee!”
But Katherine kicked her horse’s flanks and charged back at Lil, speeding for her.
Lil held out an arm to knock Katherine from her mount. They tore at each other like jousting knights.
Lil swung her arm to punch Katherine clean off her horse.
Katherine fell back across her horse’s spine.
Lil punched clean air. She looked back as her horse sped on, and shouted something at the night. Something obscene. But she did not return. Instead, she sped on up the long road.
Katherine sat up astride her horse and returned to Annie.
“You should have ridden on,” said Annie, rubbing her jaw.
“I couldn’t leave you here.”
Annie reached up, so Katherine might pull her onto her mount. “We can go now.”
“Lillian’s gone on up ahead. Why did she do that?”
“Maybe she knows where we’re going.”
“How could she?”
Katherine reached down for Annie and as their arms crossed and she braced herself to pull her up, they heard horses thundering towards them.
They stared back down the road, fearing it was the police.
Katherine peered through the gloom and the faint pools of gaslight that lit the long dark road that led back to Birmingham.
Six horses came out of the darkness, riding full pelt d
own the middle of the street. She knew who they were before she’d even seen the unmistakable outlines of Stetson hats and Indian feathers.
Annie yelped out with delight and cried, “It’s Frank and the boys!”
48
KATHERINE NOTICED THE joy in Annie and Frank’s reunion. They had been apart only a few minutes, but they grinned at each other like it had been a year. True, the intermission had involved a prison breakout, a gunfight and a stagecoach chase, but it was still only a few minutes.
She watched Frank ride up alongside Annie with her horse, which she mounted, and he leaned over to kiss her full on the lips. Katherine wondered at the power of love. She had not felt it. Never, since she’d woken on the Plains. Only hate and suffering. But hadn’t Peter warned her of a man she’d loved? A man who was, at this moment, living an arrow’s flight from the dovecote.
This man she had loved, apparently. Was that what she’d felt, drifting to her on the night breeze, as she’d stood on the church tower? Was it love?
Or was love that warm feeling she felt inside when she thought of Peter?
Annie quickly told the others what had happened, with Bronco Bill translating for Red Shirt and Rocky Bear. Frank turned to Katherine, bewildered. “You saved her? Why’d you do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Katherine.
“You could have let her die,” said Annie. “Lord knows it was her own damn fault, and no one would have judged you for letting her die when she was trying to kill you.”
“I don’t think she wanted to kill me.”
“Well, it sure as hell looked like it to me. She’s been an evil bitch to you, but when it came to the moment of truth, you risked your own life to save hers.”
“It felt like the right thing to do.”
Red Shirt came alongside her and said, “To save an enemy is truly the bravest act of a brave.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks, and she knew he was welcoming her as not just part of his nation, but as a diplomat like himself, as a peacemaker.
“We best skidaddle,” said Frank. “The police won’t be long after us.”