Coming Up Roses

by Duncan, Alice

  The “Indian troubles” were too complicated for her, so she left them to others to figure out. All she knew was that she didn’t want her friend to get hurt by any Chicago bullies.

  “I don’t like it,” Little Elk said stubbornly.

  She sighed. “I know, and I don’t blame you. But it might be best for Bear. If whoever took him sees you, he’ll probably know immediately that you’ve come to take him back, and that would give him an advantage. He won’t think anything at all about seeing Mr. May and me wandering about.”

  “He will, too, dammit,” H.L. interrupted. He sounded crabby. “You’re going to have to wear something that doesn’t make you look like a sweet little girl from the sticks, Miss Gilhooley, if you aim to pass unnoticed in some of the neighborhoods we’re probably going to be searching.”

  Rose stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “If my suspicions are correct, somebody’s grabbed the boy for a specific purpose. Otherwise, he’d have taken a kid who was easier to snag. I mean, who’d go to the World’s Fair, with people all around, not to mention the Columbian Guards patrolling—”

  “Ha!” Rose interjected, having formed a rather unfavorable opinion of the one representative of the Columbian Guard she’d met thus far.

  “Right, I know you don’t think they’re worth their uniforms, but they do create a presence, and people intent on kidnapping children don’t generally like to do it where they can be overseen by the authorities.”

  “That didn’t stop Bear’s kidnapper.”

  “Exactly. That’s why I think there’s more to this than a simple kidnapping.”

  “Simple!” Rose was offended and didn’t bother to hide the fact.

  H.L. patted the air in a soothing gesture. “I know, I know. Kidnapping’s a rotten pastime. But, you see, there are various business enterprises that buy children.”

  “Buy children! Good gracious, are you serious?” She was both scandalized and horrified. Not only that, but she was unable to comprehend the type of villainy that must be behind such enterprises, if they existed. She doubted it. Squinting at H.L. hard, she said, “I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugged, as if he’d expected nothing else of her. “Fine, don’t believe me. Nevertheless, I’m still going to question my resources while you perform.” He broke off suddenly and gazed at her fixedly.

  “Say, Miss Gilhooley, are you in any shape to perform tonight? Are you too worried to concentrate? If you fall off that horse when it’s going a hundred miles an hour, you’d probably kill yourself.”

  Rose’s exasperation and indignation spiraled. “Thank you so much for your concern, Mr. May, but I shall be fine. I am a professional, in case you’d forgotten.”

  “Oops. Didn’t mean to offend you.” As usual, he sounded not the least bit contrite. Rose thought about kicking him again but decided against it. He’d only chalk it up to emotionalism, and she didn’t want to give him any ammunition.

  “I go,” said Little Elk, cutting through their fight with ease and determination.

  Both H.L. and Rose turned to gaze at the Sioux, who sat like a boulder, his arms crossed over his chest, looking implacable and immovable. Rose sighed and decided to give up sparring with H.L. May. Bear in Winter was in danger, and as much as Rose hated to give Mr. May credit for anything, she feared he might be right about having better luck if Little Elk stayed at the encampment while she and May went hunting.

  It took another forty-five minutes to convince the stubborn Little Elk of the wisdom of H.L.’s proposal, and another half-hour before Rose conceded that she’d best array herself in trousers for the evening’s excursion. As little as she wanted to look like a hick from the plains, H.L.’s vivid descriptions of what might happen to her if the scoundrels in Chicago’s worst slums realized she was a woman, finally convinced her.

  They parted at the Wild West arena about an hour before the show was scheduled to start, and not on the best of terms. H.L. May promised to pick Rose up after the show, and swore he’d be loaded with information. Rose hoped he’d choke on it—after they got Bear in Winter safely back into the arms of his family.

  Chapter Twelve

  The show was over. The crowd, after swarming Annie and Rose and the Indians and the soldiers and the colonel, had finally left the arena. Rose had stabled Fairy as usual, giving her the treat she always got after a successful performance, and Rose and Annie had trundled off to Rose’s tent.

  Rose was nervous about the night’s impending hunt for Bear in Winter, but she wasn’t going to back down. The way she looked at it, the entire Sioux ensemble traveling with the Wild West was depending on her, and she’d sooner shoot herself than let them down.

  Before the performance, she’d assembled an outfit to wear during her tracking mission. She’d had a little trouble buttoning the trousers up, not having had much practice in such an endeavor. Now, however, as she stuffed the plaid flannel shirt into the waist of the trousers, she was beginning to feel rather free. “These really are comfortable, Annie. I expect they wouldn’t be if they were tighter, but they’re plenty loose.” She performed a kick with her right leg and then with her left leg. “You can really get around in them.”

  Annie frowned heavily as she looked Rose up and down. She addressed Rose’s comment in a roundabout manner. “I don’t like this, Rose. I’m worried about you running around after dark with that man.”

  Rose was, too, although she wouldn’t admit it to Annie. “It’s for a good cause, Annie. The police don’t want to do anything about getting Bear back, and Mr. May does, and I really don’t want to go out there and try to track him by myself.”

  Aghast, Annie cried, “For heaven’s sake, Rose! I wouldn’t let you do such a thing. But I do think you ought to take Little Elk with you.”

  Peering into the mirror and trying to make the best of a costume that, while comfortable, was at best outrageous if not indecent, Rose tugged at the big Stetson hat under which she’d crammed her thick, wavy hair.

  “No, I hate to say it, but I think Mr. May’s right about Little Elk. He’d attract too much attention.”

  Both women silently observed Rose in the mirror. Rose didn’t have to guess at the thoughts in Annie’s head: If Rose thought Little Elk might attract attention, what did Rose think she was going to attract? Flies? Rose admired Annie’s restraint in not asking the question.

  Because she was so uneasy about the night’s endeavor, she answered Annie’s unspoken question anyway. “I doubt that anyone will look at me twice. In the dark, I’ll look like Mr. May’s kid brother or something.”

  Annie sniffed. “Or something, is right.”

  “I think I look very much like a little boy,” Rose said, feeling defensive.

  Her bosom didn’t want to squash flat, blast it. Rose had tied a bandage around it, but she still looked too bulky on top. Squinting at her reflection, she turned to get a side view and sighed heavily. “I’ll wear that vest and jacket. That should take care of any . . . bulges.” This was so embarrassing.

  “I want you to take my Colt, Rose. I know you have your Smith and Wesson and your derringer and a knife, and I know you’re good with them all, but I want to be sure you have a weapon I can trust.”

  “I’m going to be better armed than the United States Army,” Rose mumbled, feeling silly.

  “Better to be safe than sorry,” Annie reminded her. “And I don’t trust that man to know what to do with weapons. I’ve heard the myth is that the pen is mightier than the sword, but I doubt that he’d get very far in fending off villains with an ink pen, however sharp might be.”

  Rose chuckled. “You’re right about that.” She sat on her bed and drew on some heavy socks. “I hope to goodness we don’t have to face down any villains.”

  “Face it, Rose, it’s not generally the cream of society that goes around kidnapping little boys.” Annie sounded exasperated.

  Rose didn’t blame her. “I know, I know. We’ll find him. I hope Mr. May was able to d
ig up some clues from his friends about where to start this evening. It will take him less time than it would me, since I don’t know anybody in Chicago.” Except H.L. May, who was rapidly becoming a very large presence in her life. Rose wouldn’t admit that, either.

  “His friends.” Annie huffed as she picked up the vest Rose aimed to wear and held it out for her to slip into. “If his friends are the sorts who know where to find kidnappers, I question his value as a proper companion for you, my dear.”

  Getting up from the bed to take advantage of Annie’s help, Rose muttered, “He says the people he was going to question help him with stories, Annie. I don’t think they’re his friends. Exactly.” She stuck her hands through the armholes of the vest and turned around to face Annie as she buttoned it up. “I expect a good reporter needs to know all sorts of people in all walks of life. They’re probably a gold mine of information when he’s doing research on criminal activities.”

  Rose didn’t understand why she felt compelled to defend H.L. May against Annie’s suspicions. He aggravated Rose nearly to death whenever she saw him, yet she hated it when Annie disparaged his morals and character. Rose didn’t like to think of H.L. May as a vile seducer of young ladies—Rose, for example—as Annie obviously did.

  “I’m sure.” Annie huffed.

  “It’s true, Annie,” Rose said, indignant on H.L. May’s behalf. “He’s a reporter. If he wants to be a good one, he needs to be able to talk to all types of people.”

  “Whatever you say, dear. Just watch yourself. I don’t trust that man.”

  “I know you don’t.” Rose felt defeated, and she hadn’t even started out on the night’s most important job yet.

  A muffled knocking sound came from outside the tent flap, and both women turned to look at the flap before exchanging glances with each other. Annie heaved a huge sigh. Rose hurried over to lift the flap.

  Her heart did a flying leap when she beheld H.L. May, garbed in dark clothing and carrying his ever-present notebook. She assumed it had been the notebook upon which he’d thumped in order to create the knock she and Annie had heard.

  “Mr. May,” she said, unaccountably flustered to see him. There was no reason for her to be agitated, since she’d known for hours that he was coming to get her tonight. “Please come in. I only have to get my jacket and put on my boots.”

  “Sure thing.” H.L. had to stoop as he ducked under the tent flap and entered her tent. He spotted Annie and grinned at her. “Good evening, Mrs. Butler.”

  “How do you do?” Annie inquired stiffly.

  H.L.’s eyes opened wide, and Rose could tell he understood precisely what Annie thought of him. Apparently, Annie’s opinion amused him, because his grin broadened. “I’m quite well, thanks. You?”

  “Fine, thank you.”

  “Good.” Still smiling, H.L. allowed his gaze to stray over the insides of Rose’s tent. He seemed interested in her possessions, which increased Rose’s level of discomfort. He walked to her bed and lifted a picture from the night table. “Is this a picture of your folks, Miss Gilhooley?”

  “Yes.” She carried that picture with her everywhere she went. It had gone to New York City, London, Paris, Rome, and all points beyond and between for six years now.

  “Handsome couple. It’s clear where you get your good looks.”

  What? Rose didn’t screech the question, but she felt like it. Rather, she concentrated on picking up her boots and moving to a chair, where she sat to put them on.

  H.L. placed the picture back on the night table and continued to peruse the insides of the tent. He walked to the trunk where Rose had laid out commendations and awards she’d been given by various individuals, including heads of state, kings, princes, Indian chiefs, and even an African tribal chieftain. “This is quite an impressive array.”

  “You ought to see Annie’s collection, if you think those are impressive.” She shoved her feet into her boots, shrugged into her jacket, stood up, and stamped to get her feet to slide down properly into her boots. “I’m ready.”

  He turned and surveyed her. “You look swell.” He laughed.

  “Mr. May.”

  That was Annie, and her voice held a sharp edge. Both H.L. and Rose glanced at her. She was standing straight and had her hands folded at her waist. This, Rose recognized, was Annie’s stern look, and it presaged a lecture. Rose hoped it wouldn’t be a long, uncomfortable one.

  “Yes, ma’am?” H.L. finally removed his hat, which he ought to have done as soon as he’d entered the tent. Rose wondered if this lapse in manners betokened a lack of respect for rules on his part, or a lack of respect for Rose Gilhooley. She had her suspicions.

  “I don’t know that I approve of this harebrained scheme to find Bear in Winter.”

  H.L. opened his mouth and took a breath, but Annie cut him off curtly before he could speak.

  “Yes, I understand that the Chicago police aren’t willing to bestir themselves on Bear’s behalf. And I know Rose is probably the best white tracker in the area at the moment. I am still concerned, and I expect you to take care of her. I presume you can be trusted?”

  She gave him a flinty stare. H.L.’s grin faded. He looked both surprised and a little hurt. Rose wondered if he was pretending the hurt part.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I aim to do everything in my power to see that Miss Gilhooley remains safe tonight, believe me.”

  “Hmmm.”

  Rose decided that, while it was nice that Annie was concerned, Rose was really old enough to take care of herself. “I’ll be fine,” she told Annie. “I’ve got enough arms on and about my person to fend off a hundred H.L. Mays, should they try to do anything.” She was aiming to be amusing, but H.L. didn’t look as if he found her comment funny.

  “Say,” he cried irritably. “I’m not the bad guy here. I’m out to find that kid. I’m the hero of this piece, remember?”

  “Hmmm,” Annie said again. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that.”

  “Jeeze,” H.L. muttered. “You’re pretty hard on a guy who’s never done anything to you, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mrs. Butler.”

  “I am concerned about my friend,” Annie said flatly. “And I don’t trust you.”

  “Annie!” Rose felt her cheeks bloom with embarrassment. “I’m sure Mr. May has never done anything to earn your mistrust.”

  “Not yet. We’ll see,” she said. “Here’s the Colt. I want you to be sure to keep it at your back, as I taught you.”

  “Right.” Opting to drop the untrustworthiness subject as too volatile to prolong, Rose was glad to take the gun. She checked it over to make sure it was loaded properly, even though she’d seen Annie load it. It was a habit, and a good one, and Rose knew Annie wouldn’t object. She stuffed it carefully into the waistband of her men’s trousers, at her back so that it couldn’t be seen, and fiddled with it until she’d assured herself that it was both comfortable and reachable.

  “Gracious, Miss Gilhooley, do you really think you’ll need that?”

  “Yes,” said Rose.

  “Yes,” said Annie.

  H.L. was startled by the firm duet of female voices. “Well, all right, but I sure hope you won’t.”

  “So do I,” said Rose.

  “And I,” said Annie.

  “And I also have my derringer up my sleeve, my Smith and Wesson—that one’s in my jacket pocket—and my Bowie knife.”

  “Lord on High. You believe in being prepared, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Rose told him. “I do.” She gave her hat a pat and said again,

  “I’m ready.”

  “All righty. Let’s be off.” As Rose left the tent, H.L. turned back one last time to speak to Annie. “Try not to worry, Mrs. Butler. I’ll take care of her. I promise I won’t let anything happen to her.”

  Annie gave him a doubtful nod. “I sincerely hope so.”

  # # #

  H.L. was honestly offended by the lack of trust demonstrated by Annie Oakley.
“What does that woman think I aim to do to you, anyway?” he grumbled. “Hell, we’re out to perform a rescue here.”

  “Annie and I both grew up in difficult circumstances, Mr. May. Annie is my best friend, and she wants me to be safe.”

  Rose lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance H.L. had become accustomed to long since. It tickled him every time she did it. Feeling more cheerful, he said, “Well, all right, but I think she was pretty mean to me.” He eyed her from his superior height. “You’re looking mighty spiffy tonight, Miss Gilhooley.” He laughed. “Nobody will ever know you’re the famous Wind Dancer of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West.”

  “Good. I don’t want them to.” She frowned up at him. “So, did you learn anything?”

  No joking around allowed, he guessed. Vaguely disappointed, because he’d really like to get to know her better, H.L. sighed and said, “Yes. I talked to Milk-Eye Pete, who hangs out at the dock. When I gave him the description of the nabber, he recognized him. He says he’s part of a band of folks who occasionally take children and sell them to various people for different enterprises.”

  “Then you weren’t joking? People honestly and truly sell children? Good Lord! Who’d do such a terrible thing? I mean, I know somebody took Bear, but—but—surely, they can’t do such things on a regular basis. Can they?”

  She appeared honestly horrified. H.L. found the situation moderately horrifying, too, although it wasn’t news to him as it was to Rose. People could be more bestial than the beasts themselves sometimes.

  “Yes, they can, and no, I wasn’t joking. Unfortunately, it’s the truth. I guess children are a hot commodity in some quarters.”

  “Good gracious. It’s hard to believe such things actually happen regularly.”

  “I agree. Milk-Eye Pete doesn’t like it much, either. He’s not exactly an admirable character, but he doesn’t like what he calls baby-snatchers.”

  She stopped looking horrified and frowned as if some other thought had struck her. “Um, did you say Milk-Eye Pete?”