It had all happened so fast. One minute they'd been running their usual trick in Central Park, the next, Amelia was caught.

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They'd been in the middle of their routine, but something had gone wrong, Amelia had been too slow, the man had felt her hand in his pocket and grabbed her, stopping her dead in the process of lifting his wallet.

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"Chloe, run!" she'd shrieked, desperately trying to jerk her arm out of his grasp as she aimed a kick at his shins.

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"You little thief!" he was sputtering in rage, looking around for a policeman even as he held her hostage. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and Amelia cursed herself at the foolish bravado that had made her think they could have picked his pocket and gotten away with it.

�

Taking one look at her sister's white face, Chloe turned tail and ran, darting through the crowd of people with the speed and agility honed from years on the street. She didn't stop until she was halfway to the Battery, when she finally slowed to a halt and leaned against a building to catch her breath. Anyone watching her would have thought they were seeing a thin, small-boned boy, but if one looked more closely, beneath the grime there was a pretty face set off by huge blue eyes and delicate features. A dirty cap hid a long fall of blonde hair, carefully bound up underneath. The disguise kept Chloe just that much safer from the many dangers that stalked females on the streets of New York in the first year of the new century, 1900.

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Amelia and Chloe Cavanaugh had been on those streets for the better part of five years, since their mother had died of pneumonia one dark winter day when Chloe was eleven and her elder sister twelve. Since then, they'd been on their own, stealing to live and running from the consequences. Amelia, called Flip on the streets because of her sarcastic, quick tongue (how many times had someone said to her "don't be flip with me, girl!"?), was the arrogant, cocksure one who was responsible for the both of them. She was a stubborn, headstrong girl who always knew the best places to hide and the warmest places to sleep. Now, she had been arrested and for the first time in her life, Chloe was entirely alone. It was a frightening prospect indeed.

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The next day, word on the street was that infamous pickpocket Flip Cavanaugh had been arrested and would be having her hearing at three o'clock that afternoon. Chloe arrived at the courthouse looking as different from the grimy urchin who had run from the police the day before as midnight from high noon. She'd dug through their belongings, carefully stored away in an abandoned building, and found an old skirt of their mother's, along with a simple shirtwaist and hat. Dressed in them, instead of in her usual uniform of boys' clothes, she looked like a fairly respectable young lady. She made her way to the courthouse with fear skittering around in her stomach.

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It took her twenty minutes of standing on the front steps to get up enough nerve to actually go inside the opulent Manhattan Courthouse. She was thankful for the long skirts that hid her trembling knees as she walked into the courtroom and hid herself in a back corner.

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She sat there on one of the wooden benches, nervously twisting small hands together in her lap, for over an hour before the bailiff called out "Case of Amelia Cavanaugh, theft and resisting arrest." Chloe jumped up and rushed to the front of the room as a guard led a handcuffed Amelia in.

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"Heyah, liddle sistuh," Amelia grinned when she noticed Chloe. There was a nasty bruise on one high cheekbone and one blue eye was entirely black, evidence of her so-called resisted arrest. She smirked at the judge as the charges were read again and she was sentenced to three months in the State Home for Girls, the feminine counterpart of the infamous and now defunct House of Refuge. Her expression didn't waver once from its mask of arrogance; even the prospect of three months in one of the most feared institutions in the city didn't seem to daunt her. "Your honuh, could I at least say goodbye to me sistuh?" When the sentencing was over, Amelia smiled sweetly at the elderly judge and tilted her chin in Chloe's direction.

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"Make it fast, move it along," he said, waving a chubby hand in dismissal. Amelia turned and leaned in close to Chloe, as if to kiss her cheek.

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"Go to the Newsboys Lodging House in Manhattan, ask for Cowboy," she whispered in the younger girl's ear. "Tell 'im where I am and he'll get me out, all right?"

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"How do you know he'll help?" Chloe whispered back. Amelia shrugged, tossing strawberry blonde hair off her shoulders.

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"He owes me one," she murmured, and kissed Chloe on the cheek. "You be careful, kiddo," she added, loud enough for the guard to hear. She was still smiling as they led her away. Chloe watched her go and tried her hardest not to cry. Crying wouldn't help her now; she had a cowboy to track down.

* * * * * *

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The Lodging House was a large ramshackle old building in lower Manhattan. The paint was peeling and the sign over the door that read "Newsboys Lodging House" was faded and chipped. Chloe stood in the lengthening shadows on the opposite side of the street and watched the activity going on there. So far, not much had happened. An old man had swept off the front step, then went back inside. A few boys, younger than Chloe herself, had gone in; one had come back out and headed off down the avenue. Other than that, all was quiet. As much as she wanted to saunter over, knock on the door and ask for the one called Cowboy, she wasn't sure if she should. Years on the street had made her canny and suspicious, and a lone female didn't just stroll into a house filled with boys she didn't know if she could help it. So she watched, and she waited. Night fell. More boys returned to the house. Some girls too. Their presence gave Chloe a small measure of courage, but still she held her peace. By now her stomach was growling with hunger and her knees were cramped from huddling against the brick wall behind her. It was time for action.

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Pushing off the wall, she slipped through the darkness and around the side of the Lodging House. A black iron fire escape twisted up one side of the building, and Chloe started up it, towards the window that was lit with the warmth of lamplight, with voices pouring out into the night air.

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"I'm tellin' ya, Sunshine, I didn't cheat dat time!" a boy's voice protested.

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"Yeah, and me ma wears purple knickers! Youse a cheata, Racetrack!" came the sarcastic reply.

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"Like you nevuh cheat, Sunshine," another boy laughed.

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"You knows I nevuh 'cause I always wins anyway."

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Chloe sat down on the iron steps that led to the roof and leaned close to the edge of the window so she could hear. From their words, she assumed the inhabitants of the house were engaged in a card game of some kind. The curtains were ragged and threadbare, and she didn't dare peer oo close to them for fear someone might see her. She wasn't quite ready to approach them yet, so she huddled on the fire escape and strained her ears to listen.

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"Hey, youse know what I heard?" a new voice broke in. "Dat Flip Cavanaugh got herself arrested."

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"Really?" a girl's voice now.

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"Dat's whatcha get when ya pick pockets for a livin', she oughtta do some honest woik like da rest of us," someone commented, and Chloe bristled in indignation. That was so unfair! Amelia would work honestly, if she thought she could make any money at it, but they had both gotten so good at their routine that they barely ever thought about doing anything else. It wasn't that they were bad people or anything�. Angrily, Chloe surged to her feet, curious now to see who was talking about her sister. She grasped the windowsill and peered over the edge, straight into a pair of blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses.

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"Hey!" there was a yelp, but Chloe was gone practically before the word was out of the boy's mouth, instinct sending her fleeing down the fire escape and into the safety of the shadows below. "Dere's somebody out dere!"

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"What? What are you talkin' about? Dere ain't nobody out dere." A rustling like curtains being moved

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"Dere is too! I saw her! It was a goil!"

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"Dere ain't nobody dere, Dutchy, I'm shoah of it."

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"But dere was!"

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"Maybe you saw a ghost," one of the girls snickered and Chloe buried her face in her hands. How was she ever going to get her sister out of jail if she spent all of her time skulking around on fire escapes? She couldn't do this, she just couldn't do it. Too embarrassed to even consider approaching them tonight, she slipped away to find a safe place to sleep.