by Cynthia Hand
“So listen up, you prisoners,” Jane amended herself. “You guys better get ready to ride sheepishly into town, where you’re gonna hang by your toenails.”
“Trial,” Annie whispered.
“Where you’re gonna get a fair trial, this time with no obstruction or collusion. And then you’ll hang—”
“If convicted,” Annie whispered.
“Would you please just let me threaten?”
Annie held up her hands. “Fair enough.” Then she turned to Frank. “Remember that time you used a sardine can to shoot the pistol out of Jack McCall’s hand?”
“You mean, three minutes ago?” Frank asked.
Annie smiled. “That was so gosh-darn amazing.”
Frank knew she meant it, otherwise she never would have used such harsh language.
“Looks like I missed out on all the fun.” The voice came from Seth Bullock, who had just arrived on a horse, with Charlie Utter trailing behind on Silver the donkey. “I believe there are some arrests to be made,” Mr. Bullock said.
“Too late,” Jane said. “I already made the arrests.”
Bullock pointed to the metal star on his chest. “I know you did the hard work. But we’re going to follow the letter of the law.”
“Which letter is that?” Jane asked. “I only know a few of them.”
“And as for you two,” Bullock pointed to Swearengen and Jack McCall. “I expect you will spend what little remains of your life in a tiny cell.”
“I hope it’s not the one I broke,” Jane said.
FORTY-FIVE
Annie
Long story short, the town of Deadwood held a second trial for Jack McCall, and included Al Swearengen in that one too, and—this might not come as a surprise—both were found guilty of murder, conspiracy to murder, lying to the public, inciting mob violence, cheating at cards, and generally being unlikable people.
When the prison wagon slammed shut, both villains locked securely behind bars, everyone cheered. Swearengen and McCall were on their way to the USA for a real trial, where the real law would fall down on them like a ton of bricks. Someone would throw the book at them.
“We would have gotten away with it,” shouted Jack McCall, “if it weren’t for you kids and your pesky dog!”
George yipped angrily.
Frank translated: “George says he’s not pesky, and that he barely helped at all. In fact, keeping track of him made things more difficult!”
All that was true, although Annie would never dream of telling George. She had too much respect for him. Plus, she wanted to keep his owner around a while longer.
Overall, she was just relieved to see the prison wagon jerk into motion, getting an early shot on the long road out of Deadwood.
When the prison wagon was out of sight, Sheriff Bullock led Deadwood residents to the cemetery, where Mr. Utter was going to bury Wild Bill Hickok. (And, in a year or two, his “remains” would be exhumed. He’d be moved over to Mount Moriah Cemetery just up the hill, which would be a neat trick for an imaginary body.)
It wasn’t a long walk, not really, but it felt like one as the cheers faded into thoughtful discussion and a few tears. As far as the residents of Deadwood knew, Wild Bill Hickok really was dead, and Mr. Hickok had told our heroes already that he had no plans to come back to life. He just wanted to make it back to his wife, Agnes, before the news of his “death” reached her and he earned himself a slap for scaring her like that. After which, he’d retire both literally and figuratively.
“Not every day a man gets to attend his own funeral,” Mr. Hickok said as Jane, Frank, and Mr. Utter walked along with him. He’d cut his hair and shaved his mustache, which was a pretty good disguise, since the hair and the mustache were so iconic. He’d also swapped his black hat and coat for brown ones, and that was all it took for no one to have any clue who he was.
The cemetery wasn’t far away now, and Annie was about to ask him how he felt about all of this, but two figures appeared around the corner of the No. 10 Saloon, both wearing the borrowed hats and coats she’d left for them.
Annie peeled away from the group and wandered toward the saloon.
“I thought you didn’t come into town,” she said, once they were all safely out of sight.
“We made an exception this time,” Many Horses said. “Because we wanted to say goodbye.”
Annie’s breath caught. “You’re leaving?”
Walks Looking nodded. “We were able to find all the Lakota wolves Swearengen enthralled, and we’re going to take them home.”
“I thought this was your home,” Annie said, even though she knew it was no use. “The Black Hills.”
Many Horses offered a tight smile. “It is, but our people are our home. This morning, I got word my father has moved toward Wood Mountain to regroup. That’s where we’ll go.”
Annie’s heart broke with missing them already, but she nodded. “I understand. But I hope this isn’t the last time we meet.”
“I’d be surprised if it was.” Many Horses and Walks Looking exchanged glances and smiled. “Besides, we want to see your show some day, and we expect the best seats in the house, considering all the times we’ve rescued you.”
Annie laughed, snorted, and then covered her mouth. “I think we can arrange that. And if you ever need anything—anything—you can come to us.”
“Good to know.” Many Horses smiled a bit sadly.
“We will miss you,” Walks Looking said. “Well, I will. My sister would never admit it.”
Annie blinked away tears. “Be safe on your journey.”
They all hugged, and then Annie watched them go. She waited long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to cry before returning to the procession entering the cemetery.
(The sisters—and all the Lakota—had a hard road ahead of them. We wish we could change history here to make things easier for them, but some things aren’t within our power. Even so, we hope that the bond Annie formed with Many Horses and Walks Looking was strong enough to bring them back together again, and that they had many more adventures.)
In the cemetery, Annie found Frank and Jane in the front row. (Mr. Hickok had moved elsewhere, so as not to attract attention.) Mr. Utter stood at the gravesite with the coffin, giving a long speech about how great of a friend Wild Bill had been.
It seemed like an awful lot of pressure when the man you were eulogizing was right there, listening to every word.
“Where’d you go?” Frank whispered.
“Many Horses and Walks Looking came to say goodbye.”
“Oh.” He took her hand and slipped his fingers between hers. “Are you okay?”
She nodded but couldn’t say anything else about them—not without crying. Which would have been wholly appropriate, given that they were at a funeral, but it seemed wrong to cry for losing someone whose funeral this wasn’t, even if the “dead” person wasn’t actually dead.
She looked up at Mr. Utter and the gravestone that had already been carved.
WILD BILL
J. B. HICKOCK
Killed by Assassin
Jack McCall
~in~
DEADWOOD BLACK HILLS
August 2nd, 1876
Pard, we will
meet Again
in the happy
hunting ground
to part no more.
Good bye
COLORADO CHARLIE
C. H. UTTER
Annie tilted her head. “They spelled Mr. Hickok’s name wrong.”
“Well,” Frank said with a smile, “he’s not really in there, is he?”
Annie squeezed his hand. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Back in the stagecoach, when you thought we were going to get blown up, even though I knew we were perfectly safe.”
“Um.”
“You were talking about how you wanted to grow old together. George and rifles were involved.”
“Oh, r
ight.” Suddenly, Frank looked nervous.
“And then you said that you love me.”
“Did I?” Frank’s voice went tight.
“Yes,” Annie said gently. “You did. And even if you’ve managed to forget it, I remember. I have the best memory out of my whole family.”
“That’s not at all a surprise. But I wonder what they’d say about you constantly claiming these things.”
“You can ask them yourself,” Annie said. “Since I’m going to insist that you meet them if we move forward. I mean, I suppose I’ve got a lot of explaining to do with them. I need to make things right with Mama and be sure my siblings know how important they are to me, but . . . Are you even listening?”
“Hanging on every word.” Frank scratched his chin. “It’s just, I’m not sure what we’re talking about. What are we moving forward with?”
“With the wedding.”
“What?”
“Yeah. That was what I was going to ask you: do you want to marry me?”
“I think there’s only one good answer here,” Frank said slowly.
“I agree.”
“And that’s to say . . .” He cleared his throat. “Annie Oakley, I asked you first.”
“What?” The word came out a little too loudly, and everyone nearby glared at her. Right. They were at a funeral. “What?” she asked more softly.
“Don’t you remember? I asked you after the competition. You said it would take more than a cute dog to impress you, so I’ve been trying to impress you this entire time.”
“Does that mean you’re saying yes?” she whispered.
He smiled. “That means I’m still waiting for you to say yes.”
“Well, drat. I wish I’d realized that a long time ago. But in that case—” Annie stood on her toes and kissed him.
At once, Mr. Utter stopped his eulogy, and the rest of the mourners turned to stare.
“What in tarnation?” Jane said from the other side of Frank. “Get a room, you two.”
“Oh, we will,” Frank said.
Annie drew back.
“Once we’re married, of course,” he finished.
“Good save.” Annie grinned.
“You’re getting married!?” Jane shouted. “Since when?”
“Since two seconds ago,” Annie said.
“That was fast,” Jane muttered. “But romantical, I suppose. I’m glad y’all are getting your happy ending.”
Annie grinned and hugged Jane. “This isn’t a happy ending. This is a happy beginning, and you’re getting one, too.”
“I see. And how do I know that?” Jane stood totally still, like a cat unsure why affection was happening.
“Because Frank and I are going to make sure of it. We’ll go on the road together. Perform our show. Mr. Utter will manage it, like before.”
“Mr. Utter is trying to manage a funeral,” Mr. Utter said. “In case you’ve forgotten.”
“See what a good job he’s doing already?” Annie squeezed Jane. Then Frank hugged her, too.
“I am uncomfortable,” Jane said. “I’m exiting this hug.”
Annie started to draw away, but not before Jane got a quick squeeze in. “After the funeral, we should all go practice for the show.”
Jane sighed loudly, but she was grinning. “All right. You know what they say.”
“There’s no business like show business?” Annie said.
Jane rolled her eyes. “The show must go on.”
Epilogue
Denver
One year later
“Look, Mama!” said a girl on the street as Jane passed by. “Isn’t that Calamity Jane?”
“I think so, sweetie,” said her ma.
“She’s a hero, isn’t she?” said the girl.
“She sure is,” said the mother.
Hero-eene, Jane wanted to clarify, but instead she tipped her hat to the pair and continued on down the road. It was odd now when people recognized her. They all smiled at her, for one thing, and said things like, “Wowee! There goes the Calamity Jane!” and they talked like she was some kind of inspirational figure. Times were definitely changing.
She walked over to a post and smoothed a flyer over it. It was a new flyer, and front and center on the paper was a drawing of Annie with her rifle and the words Little Miss Sure Shot under her feet, then a smaller picture of Frank and those good teeth of his, and Jane with her bullwhip.
Jane lifted her hammer, but before she could nail the flyer to the post, a breath of wind came up and stole it from her hand. “Oh, rocks,” she said, and chased the paper down the street, almost catching it a few times before it stopped and fluttered against a pair of shiny black boots.
The owner of the boots bent and picked up the flyer. Jane squinted at her—a young woman wearing a white dress with lace at the throat and a pair of black spectacles. The sun made a halo out of her pale hair.
Jane still thought she was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. “Thanks,” Jane murmured.
Winnie straightened and read the flyer out loud. “‘Come One, Come All, to the New and Improved Wild West Show!’ Oh my goodness,” she said, smiling impishly. “You’re Calamity Jane, now aren’t you?”
“That’s me,” Jane said, grinning right back at her. “And you are . . . ?”
Winnie held out her gloved hand, and Jane shook it.
“Katie Brown,” Winnie said, because Katie Brown was the new name she’d decided on for when she wanted to dress as a woman. She’d also chosen a different name for when she was a man, seeing as how she’d sold the name Edward Wheeler (and the notoriety that went with it) to Ned Buntline before the group left Deadwood. She wanted a completely fresh start, she’d said, and Jane couldn’t blame her. Winnie still wanted to be a spectacular writer, mind you, but she was done penning stories about Calamity Jane. So Edward Wheeler had become Edward Burke, and Edwina Harris—who had been known as the traveling companion of Mr. Wheeler—had become Katie Brown, although Jane would never be able to think of her as anything but Winnie.
Jane grabbed the flyer to read it herself. (Annie had been teaching Jane to read for the past several months, and Jane had finally learned her letters past G.) “‘Exhibitions of Peerless Sharpshooting by Annie Oakley. Trick Shots by Frank Butler, the Pistol Prince! Mar—marvel—’”
“Marvelous,” prompted Winnie.
Jane nodded. “‘Marvelous Feats with the Bullwhip, Performed by Calamity Jane! Hear Tales of the Terrific Three’s Thrilling Adventures in the Black Hills!’” She lowered the paper. “I still say that ‘the Magnificent Three’ has a better ring to it.” This had been her suggestion when the group was trying to come up with a new name. The others had said it most definitely did not have a ring, and Annie had thrown out something like “the Sharpshooting Trio,” which lacked sparkle, Jane argued, and Frank had come up with “the Terrific Three,” to which Annie had shaken her head and said, “Terrific? We’re not trying to scare them, are we?” (Reader, hey, it’s us, one last—or is it the last?—time. It turns out that terrific didn’t always mean “excellent.” Terrific was more on par with “terrible” and “terror.” Basically, it was a bad thing, hence Annie’s worry that “Terrific Three” would send customers running for the hills.)
But then Winnie had wisely chimed in with, “Language is a living thing, you know. It changes all the time. If we want terrific to mean something good, we just have to persuade everyone we ever meet.”
“That sounds like a tall order,” said Annie. “But I like a challenge.” So the group went with Terrific Three, and Winnie turned out to be right: people did accept their new meaning of the word.
Now Jane and Winnie walked back to the post, and Winnie held the flyer down while Jane nailed it on. “Are you nervous?” Winnie asked.
Jane pshawed her. “I’m never nervous about the show.”
“No, I mean, this is the last town before we head to Salt Lake City,” Winnie said. “You’re so close to home.”
�
�Haven’t you figured out by now that my home is with you all?” But Jane’s heart did start to beat faster at the mere mention of Salt Lake City and the notion that she’d finally get to see her brother and sisters again. “But yeah, I’m a little nervous, I guess. What if they’ve forgotten all about me?”
“Nobody could forget you, Jane Canary,” said Winnie, and took Jane’s arm, and together they strolled around the city posting up flyers, until it was time to head back to get ready for the show.
In the dressing room, Annie finished putting on her show dress. She’d sewn it herself—of course—and matched it with her favorite stockings (so she never accidentally showed leg). She liked to pin the medals she’d won in various shooting competitions in the past year to the bodice, even though Frank sometimes said she’d blind the audience with the shine of all of them. And to top it off, she put on her hat, the one with the star on the underside of the brim.
“You’re lovely,” Frank said as he walked in. “As always.”
Annie blushed and finished pinning her hat. “You look very dashing as well.”
Frank grinned. “That’s what your mother called me.”
“Can we not talk about my mother?” Annie asked with a groan, but it was mostly in jest.
As Annie had, ahem, demanded, after the events in Deadwood, the two of them had gone back to Ohio to meet Annie’s family. Annie had been pretty nervous, considering how she’d left things with her mama and everyone else. Mama had all but forbidden her to return if she didn’t return with a man, and here Annie was—returning with a fiancé.
“All my dreams have come true!” Mama cried. “You’ve got a man! And a handsome one!”
It would have been embarrassing if Annie wasn’t so happy that Frank had agreed to marry her.
Sarah Ellen, Huldy, and John had all loved Frank immediately, partly because he had a nice dog and their requirements for a good-for-Annie husband were pretty limited: must have a nice dog. Mama had been thrilled, of course, but Grandpap Shaw had gotten right to the interrogation.
“So, young man.” Grandpap Shaw stroked his beard. “Annie will be an assistant in your show?”
