by Kari Bovee
“Let go of me.” Annie tried, but couldn’t look away from his gaze. Hard, steely, endlessly blue like the vast ocean.
Frank loosened but did not release his grip.
“You are going to believe whatever it is you have to believe, but know this, Annie Oakley, I love you. I loved you the minute you let me win that goddamned contest in Ohio, and I love you still, no matter what you say to me.”
Annie jerked her wrist free, jammed her balled fist into his chest, and pushed him away.
Frank looked into her eyes one more time, then dusted off his hat and walked away without looking back.
“Good,” Annie called after him. “That’s good—you go ahead and walk out of my life—forever.” She wanted to mean it, but could feel her heart folding in on itself. When Buck nuzzled her and lowered his chin onto her shoulder, she spun around and cradled his head. “You’re the only one.” she stroked Buck’s neck. “You’ve always been the only one I could trust.”
CHAPTER 23
“Private Funeral for Dick Carver Scheduled for Next Week. Suspect Still At Large.”
St. Louis Times – April 25, 1885
By the time Annie crawled into bed that night, she had all of her belongings packed. She decided to take many of the dresses and accessories LeFleur had given her, as it would be a while before she could buy any new clothing. Some of the dresses could be altered to fit Mother and Hulda, so they would definitely be appreciated.
Once in her bed, Annie stared at the tent’s canvas ceiling, hoping the murmuring voices and animal noises floating on the air would lull her into a sleepy trance. She would miss all her new friends, her fans, the excitement of performing, and most of all the enormous self-satisfaction that came with showing the world what a small girl from Darke County, Ohio, could do.
Back in North Star, she would be fighting every day just to put food on the table. She thought of Frank and regretted all the horrible things she’d said to him. But what did it matter now? Tomorrow she would leave, and she would never see him again.
Annie drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to focus on the murmuring voices and animal noises to force her muscles and her mind to relax. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about the pain she’d seen on Frank’s face—it had seared an image in her mind. Eventually, she fell into a fitful, restless sleep, only to be awakened by someone gently shaking her shoulder.
“Annie, Annie, wake up,” Bobby whispered.
“What are you doing here? What time is it?” she asked, her voice thick, groggy.
“It’s early morning. Sun’s not up yet, but Buck’s gone. He’s not in his pen or the barn. Mr. Post had a bad night. I think he’s got the virus. He heard something out in the corral, and when he finally got himself there, Buck was gone.”
“Are you sure? You’ve looked everywhere?” Annie’s heart drummed in her chest.
“Mr. Post came to the cowboy’s tent, fever and all—guess it was closer than yours—and told me to rouse you. He’s in a state, Annie. I have never seen the man so upset.”
“Have you looked for Buck, Bobby?”
“I’ve looked all over the grounds. There’s no sign of him.”
Annie flung the covers off and pulled on a dressing gown she had thrown over the chair. She jammed her feet into her boots and fled from the tent. She could hear Bobby running behind her.
The breaking sun colored the sky pale peach, while stars above winked in the early morning light. Buck’s corral was empty—the gate hung open. She ran into the barn to find Post sitting on one of the tack trunks, his head in his hands.
“Mr. Post, what happened? Where is Buck?” Annie knelt down in front of him.
The old man raised his head and looked up at her with weary, watery eyes. A sheen of sweat glistened on his face and his skin shone pallid.
“He’s gone. Someone took him. I thought I heard something, but by the time I got up it was too late. I’m so sorry, Miss Oakley.”
Annie squeezed her eyes shut, drew a deep breath, and bit her bottom lip to prevent crying or shouting at him.
“Let’s get you back to bed, Mr. Post. You are in no state to be up.”
“I have to find him,” he said, his voice squeaking like a child’s.
“I’ll find him Mr. Post, you know I will. I’m not leaving until I find him. You need to rest or you will be no help to me at all. Do you understand?” Annie’s words came out surprisingly firm and calm. Inside, she wanted to scream with panic. She had to go find her horse. She had to go now.
“Come on.” She wrapped her good hand around Mr. Post’s upper arm, gently urging him to get up. Bobby propped up Mr. Post’s other side.
“I told the Colonel and Mr. LeFleur. They’ll be along in a minute.”
“Help me get him to bed, Bobby. We also need to wake Chief Sitting Bull. Mr. Post needs his medicine.”
Together, Annie and Bobby helped Mr. Post limp to the tiny room he called home. The room, about ten feet by ten feet, housed a rickety cot, a small table, and hooks along the wall for Mr. Post to hang what little clothing he had. Annie’s stomach churned at the filth in the room. The Colonel made lots of money from his show. She’d been shocked at the opulence and luxuriousness of her own quarters. How could the Colonel let Mr. Post live in this squalor?
They scooted their way through the small doorway and finally lowered the old man onto his cot. Annie picked up a tattered wool blanket and laid it over him, tucking it in around his body. Mr. Post let out a groan and shivered, his teeth chattering.
“I’ll go get the Chief,” Bobby said.
Annie nodded and knelt down on the floor next to Mr. Post. She hoped the Colonel and Mr. LeFleur would arrive soon. Every minute wasted, not looking for Buck, would mean he was getting farther and farther away. Annie held her breath, forcing down panic. Mr. Post laid his head back, his eyes closed and mouth open.
“What happened?” Annie heard the Colonel’s voice in the doorway.
“Mr. Post is sick. He heard someone out in Buck’s corral, but by the time he got there Buck was gone. He’s gone, Colonel. Mr. Post thinks someone took him. I have to find him. I have to. I just have to—”
“Simmer down, girl. We’ll send out a search party.”
LeFleur arrived. “What’s wrong with Post?”
“It appears he’s caught the same virus Nakota and Michante had,” Annie said.
Bobby and Chief Sitting Bull pushed their way into the small room. Now that the Chief had arrived, Annie rose and looked imploringly at the Colonel.
“Can we go now? Right away?”
“What’s this about?” LeFleur asked.
The Colonel motioned for LeFleur, Annie, and Bobby to exit Post’s room and gather in the barn’s hallway.
“Buck’s gone missing,” the Colonel said. “I’ll need you to get messages out to all the horse traders in this area, tell them to be on the lookout for Buck.”
LeFleur nodded, but made no comment, his face void of any emotion.
“Colonel, I want to go with the search party,” Annie said, her voice cracking.
“But Annie, your hand,” LeFleur protested.
Annie ignored him, looking hard into the Colonel’s eyes.
“Of course you want to go along. We’ll find you a mount.”
“Colonel, can we go now?” Annie’s fear rose to a thunderous level.
“Bobby, get Isham saddled up and find a mount for Annie.”
“She can ride Fancy,” LeFleur said. Startled, Annie spun her head toward him. “Frank has gone.” LeFleur stared at Annie with cold eyes, his expression flat. “His tent’s been cleaned out, but Fancy’s still in the stables.”
Annie’s mouth hung open. Could Frank have been so angry at her that he would take Buck?
“You don’t think Frank took Buck?” Bobby asked LeFleur.
“Now, now.” The Colonel looked into Annie’s eyes. “Frank Butler may be a lot of things, but he isn’t a horse thief. He’d never ste
al. He knows what that horse means to you. ”
Annie felt her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
“It could have been McCrimmon,” LeFleur said.
Annie’s chest tightened. Yes, it could have been McCrimmon.
“Can we go?” she pleaded.
“Bobby, tack Isham,” the Colonel said, “and I’ll help you with Fancy.” The Colonel grabbed a halter and lead rope from the nearby hooks. After he retrieved Fancy and tied her to the hitching post, he followed Annie to the tack room to get her saddle and one of the Indian print blankets. Annie noticed Buck’s bridle still hanging on a hook, but instead took the bridle she’d seen Fancy wear in the performances.
The Colonel placed the saddle blanket on Fancy’s back and then swung the saddle on top of it in one fluid motion. They heard the clip-clop of Isham’s hooves behind them as Bobby emerged, holding the saddled gray by the reins.
“Bobby, Annie and I will go on ahead in a few minutes. You rustle up anyone who might be interested in assisting, and you all follow behind. We’re going to head north into the forest. Once everyone is there, we’ll split up. Understand?”
Bobby nodded and handed the Colonel Isham’s reins. They finished bridling Fancy and led the horses outside. Fancy was much taller than Buck, so the Colonel gave Annie a leg up before he mounted.
“We’ll need to fetch our weapons—and you need to get dressed,” the Colonel said, his voice somber.
Annie looked down at her dressing gown and night shift. She’d completely forgotten she hadn’t dressed. They rode into the camp, stopping outside Annie’s tent. The Colonel ground-tied Isham and ran to his tent.
Annie went inside hers, dressed, and grabbed the beautifully tooled gun belt and pearl-handled pistols Frank had given her.
Once the Colonel returned with his weapons, he helped Annie mount again, climbed aboard Isham, and they rode toward the forest at a brisk trot, moving into a rolling canter. Annie wanted to urge Fancy to an all-out run but realized it wouldn’t do any good. She had to fight the frenzied panic rising in her chest, so she matched her breathing to Fancy’s rhythm. The mare had a wonderfully smooth gait, and Annie forced herself to sink down into the saddle. Panic would serve no purpose here. She had to be sharp.
When they reached the tree line, they brought the horses down to a trot. They separated and began searching among the trees. Annie strained her eyes, searching for Buck’s tawny golden hide among the thicket. Soon, they heard the thunder of hooves as riders charged toward the forest. Annie and the Colonel brought their horses to a halt to wait for the rest of the search party.
The Colonel removed his hat and placed it over the horn of his saddle. Without the hat, his thinning hair, which transitioned from soft brown to silver at his temples, betrayed his age. His eyes bore the weight of sadness, and Annie knew that sadness spread further than Buck gone missing.
“What’s going to happen with Twila?” she asked.
“She was taken in for questioning.”
“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
The Colonel sucked air through his teeth.
“That woman has a mean streak as long as the Mississippi. She’s jealous as a she-wolf. Demanding. Doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no.’” He paused, used his long fingers to brush dust off his hat’s brim. “But she’s not a murderer, Annie, simple as that.”
Annie looked at the glowing horizon, searched for something to say.
“Who’s taking care of the baby?”
“One of the Indian women.” The sadness in his voice touched Annie.
“It’s probably for the best. She needs to be with her own kind.”
Horsemen approached, halting their conversation. Bobby led the group.
“There are a dozen of us. What do you want us to do?” Bobby’s face was flushed with excitement.
“You and Annie and someone else head that-a-way,” the Colonel pointed east. “I’ll take three and continue north. The rest split into two groups and head west and southwest.”
Sensing the group’s anticipation, the horses snorted and pranced.
Annie turned Fancy toward the east and took off at a brisk walk. Bobby and his mount came up beside her. The other cowboy stayed in the rear.
“We’ll find him, Annie,” Bobby said, hope in his voice.
Annie turned to him, swallowing down her fear.
“Yes, we will, Bobby. We have to.”
CHAPTER 24
“Twila Midnight, Former Buffalo Bill Wild West Star, Taken in for Questioning in Dick Carver Murder Investigation.”
St. Louis Times – April 26, 1885
Annie had lost track of the time, but her stomach told her it must be near noon. Not wanting to talk, she had ridden ahead. Bobby and the other cowboy followed behind her, talking in low tones. Although she felt heartsick over Buck’s disappearance, the sunshine beating down on her, in tandem with Fancy’s rhythmic cadence, calmed Annie. She had to believe they would find him, or she would go mad with terror.
“Annie, look,” Bobby said.
She turned around in her saddle and followed the line of his finger. He pointed to a dilapidated old cabin with a sunken roof. Several logs had come loose from the frame and sprawled at awkward angles. Smoke poured from the chimney.
Bobby motioned for the other cowboy to catch up with him, and they maneuvered their horses in front of Annie, providing a protective wall of horseflesh. Annie rolled her eyes. She could outshoot both of these boys even on a bad day, but she appreciated their desire to be protective. Nevertheless, she laid her good hand on the butt of her pistol.
As they neared the cabin, they noticed a man sitting on the ground, his back slumped against a tree stump. Annie spotted the jug at his feet. When he saw them approach, he clumsily stood up.
“Who’s there?” he asked, his speech slurred.
“We’re looking for a missing buckskin horse,” Bobby said.
“Ain’t seen no horse.” The man slowly rolled his head back and forth, his face slack with drunkenness.
Annie walked Fancy out in front of the boys and peered inside the cabin. Amid the logs and rubbish on the floor, she saw another man curled up on a pallet. Something looked vaguely familiar about him. Perhaps it was the sprigs of muddy gray hair that formed a messy halo about his head.
“Who’s your friend?” she asked.
The man turned to look inside the cabin and then swatted his hand in the air.
“That’s Vernon. He’s been doing poorly for a couple weeks now. He’s dying. Been like that for a couple of days.”
Annie jumped off Fancy and pulled her pistol out of her holster.
“Annie, what are you doing?” Bobby asked, alarm in his voice.
The man at the stump stood up, a pistol held in his hand.
“Keep an eye on him, Bobby,” Annie said.
Annie heard rustling, the man protesting as she rushed onto the battered porch, braced herself against the doorframe, and stepped over piles of rubbish to get inside. The stench made her want to vomit. She knelt down at the crumpled up body and confirmed that it was definitely Vernon McCrimmon, unconscious, a heavy rattle coming from his lungs.
A gunshot from outside startled her, but she ignored it.
“Vernon McCrimmon.” She touched his filthy shirt at the shoulder and poked him. “McCrimmon, wake up.”
The man’s wrinkled eyelids flickered and then opened to narrow slits. He groaned. Annie covered her nose to block the vehement stench of stale moonshine.
Annie stood. If Vernon McCrimmon had been in this state for days, there was no way he could have taken Buck.
Just as Annie was about to leave, she felt something grab her ankle.
“You!” McCrimmon said, pulling hard, knocking Annie off her feet. Her elbow thudded against the floorboard and her gun flew out of her hand, skittering away from her.
McCrimmon flung himself on top of her, his breath hot and abhorrent in her face. She struggled against
his weight to get her other gun, but Vernon shoved his pelvis over her hip. She couldn’t get her good hand between him and the pistol. He clamped his hands around her neck and squeezed hard. Annie grabbed at her throat, desperate for air, but his hands kept closing in, tighter and tighter.
Annie thrust her arms outward and scraped them across the floor, searching for anything she could use to clock him. She kept rocking hard to throw him off balance and used those split seconds to scan the room. Her eyes lit on a knife at the end of McCrimmon’s pallet. She thrust her knee into Vernon’s groin to loosen his grip on her throat and gain leverage. As he struggled to wrap his hands around her neck again, Annie stretched her arm as far as it could reach and managed to wobble the knife into her grasp. McCrimmon pressed hard on her windpipe. Annie sank the knife deep into his back. His entire body tensed and then went slack. His weight rested on her like a stinking bag of potatoes.
“Annie!” Bobby rushed into the room.
“Get him off! Get him off!” She struggled under McCrimmon’s lifeless body.
Bobby grabbed McCrimmon by the shoulders, lifted him, and Annie shimmied out from under him. She sat panting, ready to heave her last meal all over the floor.
“My God, what happened in here?” Bobby helped her to her feet.
“Where’s the other man?” Annie bent over at the waist, rested her hand on her knee, and fought to steady her breathing.
“He shot at me but missed, and then the old sot was so drunk he fell over. Took us a while, but we were able to finally wrestle the gun out of his hand. He’s passed out.”
Bobby rested a hand on her back, but she shook him off and turned to see the man who had terrorized her for one long year, sprawled out on his back, a pool of blood soaking the floor beneath him.
When she stood up, Bobby held out her pistol. She took it, shoved passed him, and headed out of the cabin, straight for Fancy.
Annie led the mare over to a tree stump, which she used as a boost to hop onto the horse’s back. Once in the saddle, she settled her gun belt securely about her waist. Bobby and the other cowboy, their faces pale with confusion and concern, got on their mounts, and looked to Annie for direction. She looked over at Vernon’s friend, still unconscious on the ground.