Girl with a Gun Read online

  Annie let Buck munch on grass. She rested against him, surveying the surrounding purple hills, dark as velvet, and the miles of long green grass.

  “You’re going to have to find a way to deal with our new life.” She ran her fingers through his ebony mane, taking advantage of his lowered head to pick through the tangles. At the sound of gunfire, Buck raised his head, pricked his ears and whinnied. Annie followed Buck’s gaze to the cowboys practicing in an unfenced sandy field behind the barn.

  Annie walked Buck back to the barn and tied him to a hitching post outside. She spotted her saddle, bridle, and saddle blanket resting on top of a wooden chest.

  After she got Buck tacked up, she rode him over to the area where the cowboys were practicing. They had devised a course that included glass ball targets perched upon wooden tripods. One of the shooters made his way through the zigzag course, his body leaning this way, then that, the horse’s legs in perfect harmony under him. Still weaving, he pulled a pistol from his belt and deftly fired at the targets, shattering the colored glass. He pulled his horse to a stop and let out a wild whoop, while another man repositioned and reloaded the targets. A group of mounted cowboys watched, their arms resting on their saddle horns. One of them approached Annie.

  “You the new shooter we’ve heard about?”

  “Yes. My name’s Annie.”

  “Doc Hanson.” He extended a hand. “Wanna give the course a whirl?”

  “I’d like to see how Buck handles it first. He’s having a little trouble adjusting to his new situation. Could you explain the course to me?”

  Doc Hanson waved for her to follow him, and they made their way to the other riders. He explained what corners she should take and how deep she should take them, what targets to go for first, and the various patterns they used to maneuver through the field.

  Annie squeezed Buck into a lope, circling the field a few times, letting him work his legs and burn through his nervous energy. He pulled at the reins, wanting to go faster, but Annie sank deep into the saddle, moving with his rhythm, and he soon let up. After Buck settled into a slow, rhythmic cadence, Annie ran the course. As she approached the targets, she held out her arm, as if shooting a pistol, and aimed for each one.

  The second time around the course, she laid the reins over Buck’s neck and held her arms up as if carrying a rifle, and practiced aiming at the targets. She used her legs and her seat to veer Buck in and out of the turns, marveling at the synchronicity she felt as his body flexed and surged through the obstacles. After a few turns through the course, Annie brought Buck to a stop. The cowboys whooped and hollered, obviously impressed with her skill. Annie felt heat surge through her body and up into her face.

  She spied Frank Butler leaning against a fence post near the barn, watching her, a cigar glowing red between his lips. Nervousness settled in the pit of her stomach. She hoped he’d approved of her performance, but the look on his face told her different.

  “That’s a thing of beauty, Annie.” Doc broke the silence. “You and your mount are gonna fit right in. Now, take my pistol and give the course another turn, this time shooting the targets.” He handed her a Colt .45.

  “Kid, reset the course!”

  Bobby, the boy who’d entered her tent earlier, jumped to his feet. Once the course was reset, Annie squeezed Buck into a gallop and maneuvered through the obstacles. Buck, sure-footed and stable beneath her, made it easy for her to hit every one of the targets, bursting each colored glass ball. To her surprise, Buck never flinched when broken glass soared through the air. She brought him to a stop to another round of wild applause, and turned to get a glimpse of Frank, but he was gone.

  Annie opened the flap to her tent to find Kimi straightening Annie’s clothes and toiletries, the girl’s previous distress gone. At least that’s the way it appeared. The girl greeted Annie with a warm smile.

  “Hello, Miss Oakley. I’m sorry about before.”

  “No apology necessary.”

  “It’s not you. I just want you to know that.”

  A cry came from the baby, and Kimi went over to comfort her. She picked up the bundle and brought it over to Annie.

  “This is Winona. The name means ‘firstborn child’ in my language, Sioux.”

  Bright blue eyes stared back at Annie from the baby’s full, round face, her skin the color of gently tanned rawhide. The baby gave her a gummy smile.

  “She’s beautiful. May I ask, if you are staying with me, where does your husband stay?”

  “No husband. Only me. I’m fortunate to have a place here.” Kimi looked down into the face of her baby.

  “Me, too.” Annie smiled, wondering if Kimi’s husband died, or if she never had one at all. She didn’t think it polite to pry.

  “The Colonel was once a scout and Indian fighter. It was his job to come into our villages and capture us for assimilation into the white man’s world. Some of his men killed our people.” She cast her eyes to the floor. “My parents.”

  Kimi motioned for Annie to sit at the vanity and then placed the baby in her arms. The warmth radiating from the little bundle melted into her and a surge of affection for the precious baby bloomed in Annie’s chest. Winona cooed and blinked up at her with blue eyes and wrinkled her nose in an attempted smile.

  “I was just a small child then.” Kimi picked up a piece of fabric off the table. “The Colonel made amends for what his men did to our village and, instead of turning us over to the government, he took my two brothers and me with him back to his home in Kansas. They had lost their only child, so the Colonel brought us to his wife.”

  “How did you come to be here? With the show?”

  “The Colonel came and got us a few years ago. Said he wanted us to work in the show with him. My brothers play the Indian warriors who try to ransack the white town or hold up the stagecoach. The cowboys always win, of course.”

  Even though agreeable and quick to smile, a lingering unhappiness hung about Kimi, like a cloud of gloom.

  “What did you do—before I arrived?”

  “The Colonel made me work for Twila.” Kimi rolled her eyes. “She’s awful. She hates me. In fact, if you had not come to the show, I don’t know where I would be right now. Perhaps turned out.”

  “But why?”

  “My people are less accepting of me now that I have Winona, because of her blue eyes.” Kimi threw down some of the fabric she’d been holding, her face full of resentment. “She scares them. The Colonel is barely tolerant of me and . . . well, Twila.” Kimi paused, her lips lifting to a smile. “I’m so glad you joined the show.”

  “I’m glad I joined the show, too. And I’m glad to be living with you and Winona.” Annie handed the baby back to her. “I have felt out of place my whole life. I don’t have anything in common with the rest of the girls I know. They want to live their lives inside, sew, cook, and prepare themselves for marriage. I want to be outside, breathing in the fresh air, on my own, answering to no one. The boys I grew up with were either jealous of me because of my shooting skills or they didn’t take me seriously. I know what it’s like to feel lonely—but now we have each other, and Winona.”

  “Hello.” Bobby flipped open the tent flap and stepped in with a package and handed it to Annie. He sought out Kimi again, but she turned her back to him. With a tip of his hat, he ducked out as quickly as he’d come.

  Annie thought the parcel might be from home, so she tore through the paper. Inside rested two pearl-handled, engraved Colt .45 pistols, nestled in a tooled-leather holster belt. She pulled one out and turned it over in her hands, admiring its beauty. A card inside the box said, “Best of luck, partner. Frank.”

  Annie gasped in disbelief.

  “Kimi, I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Yes, please.” The young woman resumed her task of perusing fabrics and sorting Annie’s belongings.

  Annie found LeFleur and Twila in LeFleur’s tent, arguing about something. The Colonel, wearing a white suede bead-embellished ja
cket, sat at the desk smoking a cigar. He sipped at a silver flask like a king on a throne, amusement written on his face.

  “I am sorry to interrupt.” Annie walked further into the lodging, awestruck by its immense size and expensive furnishings. Her tent, though beautiful, did not compare. An oversized, rustic trunk with a bulky and heavily scratched padlock seemed out place next to the desk.

  “It’s no problem, dear,” LeFleur said. “What can we do for you? Are you settling in all right?”

  “Yes, thank you, but I can’t accept this gift.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you mean.” LeFleur shook his head.

  “Mr. Butler sent me these gorgeous pistols.”

  Twila twirled around, her dark eyes blazing. Surprised at her reaction, Annie blinked and then looked at LeFleur, unwilling to engage with the woman.

  “It seems you have a fan, Miss Oakley,” LeFleur said.

  “But it’s too much. I can’t accept them.”

  “Do you have a set of pistols, Miss Oakley?” The Colonel let his chair down with a loud thud and stood up.

  He seemed a giant to her, standing there, twirling the cigar in his mouth with one hand, the other hand resting on his gun belt.

  “No sir, but—”

  “You’ll need those guns before you get paid. You’ve got routines to learn, practices and rehearsals to attend, lots of targets to shoot. Am I clear?”

  “I see,” Annie said, not pleased.

  “These are fine pistols.” LeFleur peered into the box. He pulled one out, holding it up for the others to see, then placed it back into the box.

  “Yes, they are beautiful, but I’d rather buy my own guns.”

  “Right now, you can’t afford them, and Butler’s a generous man. He doesn’t expect anything in return.”

  Annie took the box and turned her attention to Twila, trying to ignore the insistent glare of the woman’s coal-black eyes. Mr. Post had told her to get some herbs for Buck from this unfriendly woman who always seemed offended by Annie’s mere presence. Would she give him something harmful?

  Annie took in a deep breath, weighing her options. If she wanted to continue with the show—the best opportunity she’d had thus far to help her family—she would have to trust Mr. Post’s word that Twila could help Buck again.

  “I am sorry to bother you, Miss Midnight, but I need to talk to you about my horse. He won’t go into the barn, and Mr. Post thought you could use your herbs to make a calming tonic for him.”

  Twila’s lips turned up in a smile, but the smile never reached her eyes.

  “I will speak with Mr. Post,” she said, dismissing Annie with a wave of her hand.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Tickets to First Six Performances of Wild West Show at Forest Park Going Fast. Get your tickets before they sell out.

  Show to run from April 5 to April 30.”

  St. Louis Times – April 5, 1885

  On the morning of her first performance, Annie knew the butterflies swirling in her stomach traveled through her body right into Buck’s, making him agitated and nervous. She tried to speak to him in soothing tones, but the words came out clipped and sharp, and Buck would have none of her attempted sweet talk. She tried to steady her shaking hands by combing her fingers through Buck’s mane, but only succeeded in ruining Mr. Post’s fine grooming job. He’d polished and waxed Buck’s coat to gleaming gold and his black mane and tail glowed midnight-blue in the sunshine.

  Kimi’s gift, the form-fitting, blue suede blouse and silk-lined riding skirt—the most luxurious things Annie had ever put on her body—threatened to roast her alive. Her protest to Mr. LeFleur about the extravagance of the costume fell on deaf ears.

  “Wearing the costume is part of doing your job,” he’d said.

  The silver diamond-shaped Conchos that trailed down her sleeves and down the legs of the riding skirt, though stunning, felt like burning pools of silver against her arms and legs.

  Adding to her stress, they’d pasted flyers all over St. Louis announcing that Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show would introduce “its newest pride and joy—the beautiful, petite, and most excellent female sharpshooter in the world: Miss Annie Oakley.” When Bobby showed Annie the posters and told her the tickets had sold out “faster than a late summer wildfire,” the blood drained from her head.

  Annie walked Buck in tight circles, trying to get him focused. She calmed herself by breathing slowly in and out, counting her breaths to keep a rhythm.

  Frank Butler came into the paddock area riding a stunning brown-and-white paint with a striped mane and tail.

  “You’re going to be fine.” He pulled his horse to a stop beside her. His mare immediately lowered her head and closed her eyes. “You’ll get used to the nerves.”

  “Easy for you to say, your horse looks like she’s taking a nap.”

  “Once Buck starts to run, he’ll burn off that nervous energy and be as calm as Fancy here,” Frank grinned.

  “Fancy? Isn’t that kind of a sissy name for the famous Frank Butler’s mount?”

  “You’re such an itty-bitty thing,” he said. “Amazing you can wrangle that skittish horse. You might try wrangling me, sometime.” Frank tipped his Stetson, his eyes scanning her body. Annie blushed at his forwardness.

  “Simmer down, Mr. Butler.” Annie knew she wasn’t pretty in a girlish sense, but she had a pleasant face, long, lustrous hair, feminine curves, and tiny waist, even without her corset.

  “How’d you like those pistols?” Frank nodded toward her holster. His gloved hands rested on his saddle horn, and the mirrored silver accents on his suede jacket—made to match hers—blinded her with their brilliance.

  Annie brought Buck to a stop, dropping the reins onto his neck. The horse finally exhaled a great breath and stood still, his ears pricked forward, his head high and straight, the muscles on the sides of his neck bulging.

  “They’re beautiful, but I really didn’t—”

  Frank held up a hand.

  “LeFleur told me you were uncomfortable about the gift, but don’t think twice about it, Annie. We’re in this together. If you look good, then I look good.”

  Annie feigned a smile at the disappointing reality of his self-serving gift.

  The crowd inside the stadium gave a mighty roar.

  “It’s showtime, darlin’.” Frank snapped down the brim of his hat. “You’re on.”

  The gates opened, revealing a massive arena with tiered grandstands soaring to the sky. Box seats lined the floor of the ring, decorated with colorful swags and pots of flowers. Top hats, parasols, pennants, and banners created a tapestry of color among the masses. Annie reminded herself to breathe as the roaring crowd chanted, “Annie, Annie, Annie,” so loud it sounded like thunder.

  Annie swallowed her nerves, forced the biggest smile she could muster, and gave Buck a squeeze with her legs. In his enthusiasm, the horse leapt off of all four feet simultaneously and charged into the arena.

  Annie galloped Buck around the arena, his speed threatening to take off her hat. She eyed the targets—the familiar colored glass balls set upon tripods, arranged in an intricate course of turns and circles. She breathed in determination and breathed out her anxiety, visualizing her bullets hitting each and every one of them. The image of glass flying like confetti at a parade settled her mind.

  Sensing her fortitude and sense of purpose, Buck’s rhythm steadied. She turned him left onto the course and drew her pistol. It felt heavy and sure in her grip, like it had been molded to fit her hand. She leaned her body to the left, lining up for the first target, and pulled the trigger. The yellow ball exploded, and the crowd roared. She leaned to the right, her body and Buck’s body as one, as they raced through the serpentine course, hitting all the marks.

  For the last set of double targets, set up on two parallel straight lines, Annie turned Buck to position him in the center of the targets and, leaning her weight forward, urged him into a run. She laid the reins on his neck, pulled ou
t her other pistol, and with both weapons shot the elevated glass balls, one at a time on each side of her.

  The crowd rose to their feet, their shouts and cheers a cacophony of music in her ears. Annie felt adrenaline, along with happiness and exhilaration, racing through her body. She never knew she could feel so proud or so fulfilled. Her actions made people happy, and that made the apprehension of living a glamorous life dwindle. In her own way, she could serve God and mankind at the same time.

  To close her shooting stage, emboldened by the crowd’s obvious enjoyment of Buck’s and her performance, Annie sat deep in her seat, shifted her weight back to allow Buck’s hind end to crouch as he slid to a dramatic stop. He raised his upper body into a rear, his front legs pawing the air, and Annie leaned forward, riding the upward momentum. She gave the audience an enthusiastic wave, a giant smile radiating on her face.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, “the brilliant Annie Oakley and Buck the Wonder Horse!” The crowd thundered their approval. “Next up, the most amazing, most charming, most handsome, fiercest shootist on the globe—Frank Butler!” Again the crowd roared.

  Annie loped Buck to the far end of the ring to allow Frank his turn. Fancy sped into the arena so fast, Annie blinked in astonishment. Frank galloped two laps around the arena, waving his gun in the air, coaxing the crowd to cheer louder and louder, raising them to their feet before turning Fancy and aiming for the targets. One, two, and three broke into shards, but he missed the fourth and the fifth. The spectators moaned in disappointment. Three more targets. He hit them all, then made two more laps around the arena. The crowd cheered with abandon.

  He made his way to Annie, and she noticed the same tightness around Frank’s eyes she’d seen before. His face had gone pale, and his smile lacked its usual confidence. Together they rode to the center of the arena, waving to the crowd.

  Several of the crew ran out to meet them. Annie and Frank dismounted, and one of the crewmen took the horses by the reins, leading them out of the arena. Several other crewmembers quickly brought out a small table, several rifles, and a deck of cards.