“Poor Jane,” Annie said. “She was so nervous.”
Frank nodded. They’d found a bench that was far enough away from the Gem to be safe, yet close enough to watch for Jane, and now they were waiting for her to return.
“At least she can be comforted in the fact that her mother is an evil, no-good . . . I won’t even say the word.”
Frank smiled, because he was pretty sure she had no idea what word she was going to say. She probably wasn’t even thinking it, because it would be improper.
“Yeah, her mom is pretty darn evil,” Frank said. “But, when it comes to being an orphan . . .” Frank paused and scratched his forehead. “I don’t know. I can only speak for myself. I grew up knowing that my parents were killed and Bill took me in and saved me. And despite all of that, there’s always that thought. What would life have been like if my parents hadn’t been killed? It’s just the unknown. Jane thought her mother was dead, and then she found out she was alive, which meant she got this second chance with her. So even though Swearengen is, by every definition of the word, bad, I’m afraid this is going to be very hard for Jane.”
They didn’t speak for a while, Frank kicking at the dirt, Annie smoothing her dress. It was the quiet before the storm, at least it was as quiet as Deadwood ever was, which meant the low rumblings of prospectors rattling rocks and sand around in their tin trays, hoping for gold, and the occasional gunshot going off, gamblers missing spittoons, and painted ladies calling out to men passing by.
“What do you think will happen?” Annie said. “Will those poor enthralled garou remember anything after Swearengen gets the cure for the cure? Or what if the cure for the cure doesn’t even work, and everything stays the same? Except for the news article will come out, and maybe everyone will think Edward Wheeler is a big fat liar? Oh dear.” Annie placed her hand on her chest. “Wooo.”
“I don’t know,” Frank said, but he was more interested in the fact that she’d called the garou “poor.” He shifted on the bench so he was facing her. “Annie.”
“Yes?”
“You probably drew your own conclusions on Edward Wheeler and Winnie and Jane . . .”
“Yes,” Annie said, tilting her head.
“Well, she expressed concern about what Bill would think about such an unconventional love. And I think I said something that was really smart.”
Annie raised her eyebrows. “And what was that?”
“I said that Bill would probably say, ‘Love is love.’”
“Then shouldn’t Bill get the credit for being smart?” Annie said, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“What? No. He didn’t say it.”
“But you said he would have said it.” Annie’s lips turned up at the corners.
“Yes . . . No . . . Well that’s not the point. The point is . . .” Frank cleared his throat. “The point is . . .” He looked into her eyes. And she looked . . . over his shoulder.
“Hold that thought,” she said.
Annie stood and walked past Frank. Frank stayed perfectly still and whispered, I love you toward the spot Annie had just abandoned. He was like 90 percent there. She was this close to knowing how he felt about her. But close only counts in horseshoes. (Later the phrase would be amended to say, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” giving it a little boost in cadence, but since hand grenades as we know them were not invented until 1914, the cliché had to remain slightly unbalanced.)
“Frank, look,” Annie gasped.
Frank turned. A young boy was walking down the street with a stack of newspapers held together with twine. He took up a post on the street corner and untied the stack.
“Extra, extra! Read all about it! Al Swearengen is a garou!”
“It’s starting,” Frank said.
People began to migrate toward the boy.
“That ain’t true,” one miner yelled, and then followed it with a tobacco spit for punctuation.
“Them there are lies,” another one hollered. And yet, they were lining up to buy the papers.
“Here we go,” Annie said.
The news spread like the ripples from a rock thrown in a lake. Pretty soon, everyone on the street was walking and reading, sitting and reading, standing and reading, drinking and reading. And then the whispers started. Then the shouts of disbelief.
Frank could understand the incredulity. The unofficial town leader, the curer of garou, the hater of the abomination . . . a garou herself?
One man with an unusually dirty beard that looked more like a clump of dirt on his chin, crumpled the paper and threw it over his head. “It’s lies. All lies. Who is this Edward Wheeler anyway?”
“Ain’t he the one who outed Calamity Jane?” a man with a wooden leg said.
“So what? Now he thinks everyone famous is a garou? I’d like to see proof.”
“Hmm,” Annie said. “I’m not sure this is going to go the way we thought it would.”
The mud-beard man eyed a few other outraged people and jerked his head, and they all headed off together past the hotel and around the corner to the alley.
“Jane hasn’t had enough time to give Swearengen the cure, that’s all,” Frank said, trying to convince himself as well as Annie.
“You realize that if the cure for the cure doesn’t free all the thralls, Swearengen could send every last garou after us,” Annie pointed out.
Frank’s shoulders tensed. He and Annie were good with their guns, Jane was good with a bullwhip, but there was no way they could fend off hundreds of garou if they decided to get organized. Perhaps they had not considered every possible outcome.
He grabbed Annie’s shoulders. “Annie, if this doesn’t turn out well for us, I want you to know . . . I need you to know . . .”
“Jane,” Annie said.
Frank was thrown off. “What about her?”
Annie pointed. “Jane.”
Frank turned to see Jane running top speed out of the Gem.
“Frank! Get the lead out! Annie! Get your gun!”
Frank and Annie stood bewildered for a moment, for it was only Jane.
Then the doors to the saloon burst open again, and out poured at least a dozen men, some in mid-transformation, and all of them chasing Jane.
“RUN!” Jane hollered.
“Annie, do you have your gun?” Frank asked.
“You said I wouldn’t need it because we’d have the support of the town!”
“Haven’t you learned yet not to listen to me?”
Frank and Annie started running as Jane caught up to them. “It didn’t work,” she said breathlessly. “It only made Swear . . . en . . . gen . . . like semi-woof out, but then . . .”
“Explain later,” Frank panted, already winded from the running.
“Obviously the cure for the cure didn’t work,” Annie said in a voice that made it sound like she was out for a brisk walk.
“Annie, if you can run faster, go,” Frank said.
“I’m not leaving you two behind,” Annie said.
They ran and ran, past the Checkmate and the No. 10 Saloon.
“Does this mean you don’t mind that I’m a garou?” Frank asked.
“Really, Frank?” Jane spit to one side. “This is when you choose to ask her that?”
“We might not get another opportunity,” Frank said. “And I haven’t had a chance until now!”
“Cow pucky!” Jane said.
“Yes,” Annie said.
Frank turned toward her. “Yes, you do mind? Or yes, you don’t mind?”
“Consarn it, Frank, she don’t mind,” Jane said. “Get it through your thick skull. Now will you please come up with a plan?”
“I’ve got one,” Annie said. “I’m going to split off and get my gun. You two try to zigzag, and it would be helpful if you could lead them into a trap of some sort. Maybe double back. Then I’ll try to pick them off one by one.”
“Where are you gonna get a dozen silver bullets?” Frank asked.
“Where are we supposed to find a trap?” added Jane.
But by then, Annie was gone.
Frank and Jane tried to do as instructed. They zigged down one alley and zagged down another, went full circle around the McDaniels Theater and doubled back, and then, finally, one turn led them straight into a trap. Only, it was a trap for Frank and Jane. Because blocking their escape route at the other end of the alley was the man with the mud beard and the rest of his cohorts, who now outnumbered the group they’d been running from.
Every single member of this new mob drew their guns.
Jane and Frank reached for the sky.
“It’s over,” Frank said.
“I don’t suppose that if we two surrender right here, ya might spare us?” Jane asked.
But the men’s guns remained drawn. The minions from the Gem rounded the corner, and those who weren’t garou drew their guns as well. Frank and Jane were officially surrounded.
The mud-beard man cocked his gun, and aimed.
“I love you, Frank,” Jane said.
“I love you too, Calam. And Annie. I should have told Annie when I had the chance.” Frank squeezed his eyes shut.
Bang! A shot rang out.
Then two more shots. Bang bang.
Frank had never been shot before, but he was surprised at how little he felt it.
The first shot had probably killed him instantly, thank the good Lord.
“Frank,” Jane hissed.
“You’re here with me?” Frank said, trying to hide the surprise in his voice that Jane would end up in heaven.
She punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Frank said. He didn’t think there would be pain in heaven.
“Frank, we gotta run again.”
Frank opened his eyes to see the townsfolk—who had previously been under the thrall—chasing the Gem garou, shooting at them as they went. They flew past Frank and Jane like a river going around two boulders.
Jane and Frank slowly lowered their hands.
“The cure for the cure must have worked,” Frank concluded.
Jane nodded. “But why didn’t it work on the Gem minions?
“Maybe the garou in the Gem didn’t need the thrall to follow Swearengen. Maybe they only wanted the power. Speaking of Swearengen, where is she?” Frank said.
The two of them exchanged looks and then took off after the mob back toward the Gem. As the brothel came into sight, Frank saw a stagecoach at the ready, the door open, and Swearengen climbing on top, McCall clamoring inside.
“They’re getting away!” Jane yelled.
Without a thought for the crowd of people spread through the street or even her own garou minions who were in front of the carriage, Al Swearengen whipped the horses. “Yah!”
The stagecoach trampled a few people, and Jane threw Frank to the side just in the nick of time.
Right then, Annie jumped into the middle of the street.
“Where did you come from?” Frank looked toward the sky as if she had fallen right from the clouds.
Annie didn’t answer. She knelt on the road, took aim with her rifle, and fired.
But there was too much dust flying about the escaping stagecoach. It was barely visible.
Al Swearengen and Jack McCall were in the wind.