At once, Laurie said, “You ought to, Annie. Can I tell you about Him?” When the small woman nodded, the two went back to Annie’s tent. Frank Butler was gone, and for a long time the two sat down as Laurie gave her testimony, telling her how God had helped her and answered her prayers many times, despite her own limitations and lack of faith. She also told of her father’s life, how God had miraculously saved him and her stepmother. “So you see,” she said finally, “I know God’s there. But, sometimes, Annie, God doesn’t answer all at once, and I’ve asked something so big that I don’t know if my faith’s big enough.”
“What is it?” Annie said.
“Well—” Laurie dropped her eyes and seemed to be struggling with doubt. Then she clamped her jaws together and looked up, saying, “Three of us, Mac, and Sam, and I, are praying that Jim will go to hear the famous preacher, Dwight L. Moody, when we get to Chicago. He’s preaching there, and I think if anybody could get through to Jim Logan, Mr. Moody could. He’s such a wonderful man and such a great preacher!”
Annie studied her hands, put them together, and clasped them tightly. When she looked up there was a strange smile on her face. “Well, I can’t pray, but I can get that young man to go to hear that preacher.”
Laurie gasped and thought at first that Annie was joking. “Annie, what do you—”
Annie rose to her feet in a swift motion and said, “You get yourself a new dress to go to church, Laurie. Because you’re sure going to have a chance. I guarantee it!”
****
As usual, Buffalo Bill always had time for Annie Oakley. She was the pride of his heart and like one of his own daughters. Not in the least a religious man himself, he admired the strong streak of goodness that ran through Annie Oakley.
“What is it, Missy?” he asked with a warm smile. He had always called her that, and others in the show had adopted the same term.
“I have an idea for getting people out to see the show when we get to Chicago.”
Colonel Cody stared at her, then he laughed outright. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to stop shooting and start in being our advance man? Why,” he said jovially, “you get people to come just by being in the show, Missy.”
Annie smiled at him, then nodded. “You always say nice things like that, Colonel. But really, I do have an idea. I think you could convince Mr. Salsbury about it, too, and he has such good ideas for bringing people out, I thought for once you could top it.”
This was exactly what Buffalo Bill Cody wanted to hear. Although he was the star of the show, he was painfully aware that it was Salsbury who kept the thing moving, who made the plans, wrote the advertisement, and came up with the new ideas. Eagerly, he said, “You just tell me, Missy, and I’ll do it.”
“All right, here it is. Do you know about the preacher, Mr. Moody?”
“Dwight L. Moody? Sure I do. Everybody’s heard of Reverend Moody. Biggest thing that ever hit the country, in the preachin’ line, that is. I wish I could get him on a horse and ride him around the arena. Is that your idea?”
Annie laughed. “No. Not quite, but something like that.” She sobered and looked at him, saying, “My idea is this, Colonel. You go to Mr. Moody and ask him if the whole show can come and hear him preach. You know—all sit together in the same place.”
The colonel looked thunderstruck for one second. Then his eyes lit up and he clapped his hands together. “By thunder!” he exclaimed. “That will do it! It will fill Moody’s church up, and it will fill our stands up.” He stared at her gleefully and said, “How did you ever think of a thing like that, Missy?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she answered demurely. “It just came to me.”
****
Dwight L. Moody had been preaching for a week in a huge arena built specifically for his coming. The crowds had numbered in the thousands, and the response had been good, but Dwight L. Moody was never a man to be satisfied. He continually prayed that God would do more and more. Moody was not the typical preacher, especially not the typical evangelist. He was short and overweight, and a beard covered most of his lower face. His only outstanding characteristic was his warm, brown eyes that could seemingly embrace a person or a crowd of ten thousand people. That, and his voice, which was powerful enough to carry over a crowd of thousands. And even more than that, Dwight L. Moody was a specimen of the ministry that America had never witnessed.
Moody had been a shoe clerk in Chicago. He had been converted and had begun at once witnessing for the Lord. At first, he simply went out and gathered a group of ragged boys from the poor section of the city and took them to church. As that developed, he began speaking to them about their souls, and one by one, they were won to Jesus. Finally, he began speaking in very small groups, and it was obvious from the first that there was something about Dwight L. Moody and his message that was unusual.
Perhaps it was that he didn’t sound like a preacher. “He ain’t got no stained-glass voice,” one rustic said sarcastically. “He don’t puff up like a bull frog and act like he’s better than anybody else. No, that Reverend Moody, he just talks to us, so we can understand him.” The speaker had ended by shaking his head, “Some preachers, seems like the worst fear they got is that somebody will understand what they’re saying.”
Moody used simple stories, homey illustrations from the fields, and the fords, and the shops, interwoven with scriptures. And as his admirer had said, he spoke as a man to men, as simply as he possibly could. Moody had told more than one man, “If I could make the Gospel any simpler, I’d do it in a flash.”
God had blessed his efforts, so that everywhere he went, in this country or abroad, thousands poured out to hear him, under any circumstances, enduring almost any difficulty to get under the sound of his voice. Within the span of a few years, he had become a phenomenon in the history of the church of America.
****
Dwight L. Moody looked up when his secretary, a young man named Simpson, entered with his eyes wide. “Mr. Moody,” he said, almost strangling with excitement. “You’ve got a visitor that wants to see you.”
Moody smiled at the young man, saying, “Well, we have lots of those, Simpson. What’s so different about this one?”
“It’s Buffalo Bill Cody!” the secretary gasped. “Will you see him, Mr. Moody?”
Moody, like everyone else in America, had heard of Buffalo Bill Cody’s Wild West Show. He knew of the man’s early life as a frontier scout and of his victorious killing of Yellow Hand, and curiosity got the better of him. Famous people came to see him often, but there was nobody quite like Buffalo Bill Cody. “Of course, Simpson. Show him in.”
Moody got to his feet just in time to get around his desk and meet the tall man clothed in fringed buckskin and thigh-high, black boots. Moody was overwhelmed by the presence of Cody, as most people were. “Delighted to see you, Mr. Cody,” he said, putting out his hand with a warm smile.
Buffalo Bill had been apprehensive. He had not been on friendly terms with many preachers, having seen quite a few that he did not admire. But the simplicity of this short, rotund figure with the warm, brown eyes, and the openness of manner struck him at once, and he put his hand out, which almost swallowed the other man’s. “Reverend Moody,” he said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”
“Nonsense, it’s not an imposition at all, Colonel Cody. Come over here and sit down and tell me about your show. How have you been doing?”
Cody found himself telling about his early days, about the show, about himself, and he realized suddenly that he had never responded to any man so quickly.
Finally, Moody asked, “Is there something I can do for you, Colonel?”
“Yes, Reverend Moody, there is. You know, I’ve come up pretty rough, and so have most of the men who are with me in the show. Haven’t gone to church like I should. Most of us haven’t. So I thought it might be possible that I might bring my whole troop to hear you preach. I know it’s hard to get a seat, and some of the men are a little apprehensive.
But if we could all sit together, I think they’d all come.”
Moody was taken by surprise, but at once said, “Why, nothing easier in the world, Colonel Cody. We’ll be delighted to have you come. We’ll reserve the front section. How many will you be bringing?”
Shocked at his easy success, Cody talked a few more minutes to Moody, settled the time and the seating, and got up, saying warmly, “I’ll be looking forward to hearing you, Mr. Moody. And if you’d be interested in coming to the show, you’ll be an honored guest.”
“I’d be most happy to come,” laughed Moody. “Everyone is talking about your show, how you’re trying to preserve some part of our national heritage, and I’m proud of what you’re doing.”
The words caused Buffalo Bill to pause. He ducked his head, stroked his beard slowly, then nodded. “I’m glad you see that, Reverend Moody. It’s more than just a show to me. It’s part of America, and I want to do all I can to save it, so that boys and girls, and people all over, can see what it was like in those days.”
Moody shook his hand again and said, “You come and listen to me preach—and I’ll come and watch you shoot, Colonel!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cody Goes to Church
When Colonel Cody announced that all connected with the show would attend Mr. Moody’s church on Thursday evening, the effect was electrifying.
Most of the hands, including all the Indians, denied any intention of going, but Buffalo Bill informed them all that not only would they be terminated, but they would be blackballed with other Wild West Shows. Since there were only about three other shows at the time throughout the country, this brought the reluctant members into line.
On Thursday, they gave their afternoon performance, and immediately, as soon as the last of the trumpets in the band had sounded, and the last customer had made his way out of the arena, Buffalo Bill lifted his booming voice and said, “All right, you Wild West cowboys! Go slick your hair down and put on your silver spurs. We’re going to church!” He made his way to Laurie and smiled down at her. “And you wear that pretty silver spur with that big ruby in it. It’ll catch that preacher’s eye!”
Laurie, her heart palpitating, went at once to her tent, where she found Leona pouting and angry. “I’m not going to any old church service!” she said. “He can’t make me go!”
Laurie said quickly, “It won’t be so bad, Leona. And I think he’s serious about firing anybody who doesn’t go.” She kept talking until finally Leona’s face lost its mulish expression, and she hurried to change her clothes. Laurie put on a riding costume, as Buffalo Bill had insisted, and the sight of the red ruby set in the silver spur made her think of her father as it always did. As soon as she was dressed, she ran out of the tent. She made her way toward the tent that housed the single men, and as she approached, Sam stepped outside. Seeing her, he stood there shaking his head.
“Cody won’t go,” he said bitterly.
“Oh, Sam! Did you talk to him?”
“Yes, I talked to him, and so did Mac. So did nearly everybody else. He says he won’t go, and that’s all there is to it. He’ll quit first.” He kicked at the dirt, sending a clod flying across that scared a pony and made him snort and rear. “Maybe you ought to talk to him. He’s over at the corral, I reckon, by now.”
“All right, Sam. You pray and I’ll talk.” Laurie walked rapidly to the corral, where she saw Cody shaking out his rope, preparing to rope one of the ponies. She strode over to him and, without preamble, stated boldly, “Cody, you’ve got to go to church!”
He glared at her and shook his head, his lips drawn in a thin, bitter line. “No, I don’t have to go to church. I don’t know whose fool idea it was anyhow—the colonel’s, I guess. He’d do anything to sell another ticket. That’s all it is, just business.”
Laurie hesitated, then spoke the truth. “I think you may be right about the colonel—partly anyway. But that doesn’t change the fact that Mr. Moody’s the foremost preacher in the whole world. Please, Cody,” she softened her voice and put her hand on his arm, “come and go with me. I’d feel better if you did.”
Cody’s eyes lost some of their anger, but he shook his head and muttered, “I’d do nearly anything for you, Laurie—I really would. But something about this seems wrong to me somehow. I haven’t made any secret of the fact that I’m not even sure there is a God. And now I’m supposed to dress up and go to church and sing songs and listen to sermons? No, I’ll leave the show first!”
Laurie, seeing it was useless, responded quietly, “All right, Cody,” then turned and walked away.
He watched her go, and once he lifted his hand as if to call her back. It wouldn’t kill you to go, would it? he thought. What kind of hairpin are you? What kind of a man have you gotten to be? He shook his head, doubt sweeping through him, and somehow his whole future seemed very bleak. As he practiced his roping, he thought suddenly of his parents and immediately knew that what he was doing would be a disappointment to them. But there was a stubborn streak in Cody Rogers that surfaced on occasions, and when it came, nothing short of brute force would change him.
Buck Bronson had been donning his fanciest outfit—including the biggest hat anybody had ever seen, and a silver-plated .44 with a mother-of-pearl handle. “How do I look?” he demanded. McGonigal looked at him with a jaundiced eye. “You look like a mountain with a hat on top,” he said to the big man. Then he grinned. “You look fine, Buck. You’ll be the envy of every gal’s eye in that church.”
Buck grinned back and slapped McGonigal with his huge hand, almost driving him to the ground with what he considered a light gesture. “I used to go to them camp meetings—them brush arbor meetings—when I was a youngster. They lasted for a week, two, three, sometimes six weeks, and lots of gals were always there. They’d been kept out in the country. Some of them got religion, and some of them lost some, I reckon.” He winked lewdly at Mac, then turned and left the tent, on the way to the entrance where they were all gathering, preparing to go. Glancing over, he saw Laurie standing beside her tent and walked over to her. “Come along, Laurie,” he said. “Go to church with a gentleman.”
“I—I’m not going, Buck.”
Buck Bronson, for all his huge size and tremendous power, had a gentle heart. He saw the tears in Laurie’s eyes and at once put his hamlike hand on her shoulder. “Aw, what’s wrong, Laurie? Don’t cry.”
“It’s—it’s Jim,” she said. “I’ve been hoping so hard he’d go to church. I’ve been praying, too. But now he says he won’t go. He says he’ll quit first.”
“Why, the colonel says anybody’s fired who don’t go!”
“Jim’s just being stubborn, but I know him, Buck. If he says he won’t go, he won’t go, no matter how hard I pray.”
Buck stared at her, and a light leaped into his mild, blue eyes. “You say you’ve been prayin’ he’d go?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I expect you better believe the good Lord will answer your prayers.” He squeezed her shoulder, then said, “You get on down to that bunch and go on to church. You may not see me, but we’ll be there, and we’ll have that young gentleman with us.”
“Oh, Buck! Will you talk to him?”
“Course I will! Now, you get on, gal.”
Laurie quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and ran to join the group. Con Groner came up at once to stand beside her and asked, “What are you and Buck palaverin’ about?”
“Oh, talking about prayer.”
“I bet,” said Con, grinning. “That man-mountain never prayed in his life. Come on, let’s get started.”
They got to the arena where Moody was preaching and were greeted instantly by a tall man in a black silk hat who was to be their escort. He came forward, grinning, and shook Colonel Cody’s hand. “All right, Colonel. We’ve got the whole front center section reserved for you and your people. Step right this way.”
Laurie followed in the procession that entered into the arena, and as they ma
de their way to the front, applause went up and their leader shook his head, saying, “Mr. Moody won’t like that—but I guess you can’t blame folks for applauding Buffalo Bill, can you now?”
When they were seated, Laurie found that she was seated just behind Buffalo Bill. At her left was Con Groner, and on her right was Sam, with Mac beside him. McGonigal whispered to Sam, “I don’t see him, do you?”
Laurie heard the whisper, and leaned close and said, “He’ll be here. Just believe.”
****
Buck had arranged a surprise for Cody Rogers. He had gathered six of the Sioux Indians, under the leadership of Running Bear, and explained that Laurie needed help.
Running Bear at once had said, “What she need?”
He listened intently while Buck explained, then a light of humor touched his dark eyes. He spoke something to the six young warriors with him, then turned back to Buck and said, “We go now!”
Buck led the way to the corral, where he saw Cody practicing with his rope. He said in a whisper, “All right, Chief—there he is. Have your men ready.”
Cody glanced up and saw the procession coming and blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here, Buck? You’re supposed to be in church.”
Buck grinned at him and came and stood right beside him. “I’m gonna be in church,” he nodded. “But ain’t you forgot somethin’?”
Cody stared at him. “What did I forget?”
“You forgot,” Buck Bronson grinned broadly, “that you’re going too!” And without another word, he reached out and put his mighty arms around Cody and lifted him off the ground. “All right, boys. Get the ropes on him.” The Indians immediately tied Cody hand and foot as he kicked and fought. But he was like a child in the arms of the giant, and soon he was all trussed up. He cursed and roared and threatened, but Buck just smiled at him benevolently. “You’re gonna enjoy church,” he said. “I hear he’s a fine preacher. All right, you Injuns—bring him on!”
The Jeweled Spur Page 25