Chapter Thirty-three
When they drove back through town and passed the Rowdy Roost, Sam remarked to Annie, "Reckon I'd best stop in there and speak with Royce Rowdy like he requested."
"You want me to come with you?"
"Nope. You said Rowdy found you familiar-lookin'. No sense havin' you 'round the rascal more than we must."
"I suppose you're right." Spotting the stable just ahead, she ordered, "Hey, pull up."
He tugged on the reins. "What's the matter?"
"You're going to pass the stable."
He pulled the horses to a halt. As the animals snorted and stamped their hooves, Sam protested, "But I'm escorting you back to the rooming house first."
"Don't be ridiculous," said Annie. "It's only three doors down. I'll walk."
Watching Annie hop out of the buggy, stroll over to the boardwalk, and head off for the boardinghouse, Sam smiled in grudging admiration. How he admired the feisty tilt of her head, the tempting sway of her hips. She was one independent woman. And that was only the beginning of her charms.
"May I help you, sir?"
Sam glanced down to see that the stable boy had stepped outside and was regarding him curiously as he chewed on a piece of straw. He jumped down, handed the lad a coin, and headed off for the saloon.
***
Down the street, Annie was approaching the boardinghouse when she was hit by an eerie feeling, as if someone were watching her. She was glancing about in perplexity when abruptly she was seized from behind. Before she could even think, much less scream, a gloved hand was clamped over her mouth and she was hauled over to the side of the house. Deluged with terror, she felt something cold and sharp prick her neck and she froze. She could smell a man's sweat and his stale, tobacco-soured breath.
"Do you know what this is, señora?" asked a nasty, Spanish-accented voice.
With the hand over her mouth and the blade at her throat, Annie dared neither move nor speak.
"It's a knife, señora," the man continued in a lethally soft tone. "It can slit open your throat faster than you can scream. Now I'm going to remove my hand, and if you make any sound, I'm going to kill you. Comprende?"
Nauseous with fear, Annie managed the barest nod. As the man lowered his knife but continued to hold her powerless against him, she made no sound at all, save the smallest intake of breath.
"Muy bien, señora," said the man. "Now do not turn around and look at me, or it's the last thing you'll see. Comprende?"
"Yes," retorted Annie, her voice seething with barely repressed hostility.
"What are you and the gringo doing in Rowdyville?"
"We're leading a revival."
The man's arm tightened about her. "Don't lie to me, idiota! You came for Rosie, no?"
Heart thundering with fear, she confessed, "Maybe."
"Why, señora?"
"We just want to help her."
The man's cruel laughter mocked her. "And what makes you think she wants your help?"
Annie had no answer.
"Listen well, señora," the man hissed. "Get out of town—or you and the hombre will both die."
The man shoved Annie away so violently that she stumbled and almost fell. By the time she could gather the courage to turn around and look for him, he was gone.
***
Stepping through the double doors into the Rowdy Roost, Sam spotted Royce Rowdy in a corner playing poker with three cowboys. Raucous laughter rose from the table, and a haze of smoke curled about the men's heads.
So much for the impact of his preaching this morning, he thought cynically, noting that the entire saloon was again filled with drinkers and gamblers, and the skimpily clad hurty gurty gals were once again strutting around the stage. He gritted his teeth and strode purposefully toward Rowdy's table.
Spotting Sam's approach, Rowdy tossed in his hand. "Afternoon, preacher."
Sam nodded grimly. "Afternoon."
Rowdy spoke to the others. "Boys, reckon we'll give it a rest. Preacher and I need to ruminate."
The other men grumbled but threw in their cards and shuffled off.
"Have a seat, preacher."
Scowling, Sam sat down.
Rowdy picked up a bottle of whiskey. "Care for a drink?"
"Now you know better than to ask that," Sam chided.
Rowdy chuckled and set the bottle aside. "Well, that was some sermon. Folks have been talking about it all day."
Sam glanced with distaste about the saloon, watching two prospectors at a nearby table scuffle over a bottle of whiskey. "My preaching doesn't seem to have changed much of anything hereabouts."
"Give it some time," Rowdy advised. "In fact, that's why I wanted to have our chat."
"So, speak your mind," urged Sam sourly.
A grin split Rowdy's oily face. "How 'bout you and the missus stayin' over a couple of weeks and hostin' a real old-fashioned revival?"
Sam scratched his jaw. "You mean here in the saloon?"
"It's the largest building in town."
Sam laughed derisively. "And the most corrupt. What about the other activities, here—and upstairs in the cribs?"
Rowdy's gaze narrowed. "I ain't shutting the place down, if that's what you're hintin' at. But the Rowdy Roost will be closed during services."
"How generous of you," Sam drawled. "I ain't so sure. I can't preach salvation from the shores of hell."
Rowdy chuckled. "But ain't that where redemption is needed the most? Heck, we can have all the trimmin's if you like, even end off with a mass baptism over at Pine Creek."
Sam regarded Rowdy quizzically for a long moment, taking in his eager though crafty countenance. "What's your stake in this?"
"What do you mean?" Rowdy protested with feigned innocence. "I'm just tryin' to help out the community."
"Pardon my bluntness, but you don't seem the type."
Rowdy laughed, reaching out to punch Sam in the arm. "I like you, preacher. I do."
"Then tell me why you're helping me. There's somethin' in it for you, ain't there?"
Rowdy's dark eyes gleamed. "I'll allow I could profit from some respectability in this town."
"How so?"
"You been over to Central?"
Sam shrugged. "Sure, I've passed through."
Rowdy clenched a fist on top of the table. "Well, there's a judge over there, J. D. Righteous, who would love to see me in the calaboose."
"That so?" inquired Sam casually.
"J.D. and I go back a spell," Rowdy confessed with a frown. "He always claimed I jumped his daddy's claim up around Pine Creek, though he never could prove it, since the codger died somewheres out in the hills. Then two years past, old J.D. was forced to help me out, and it plumb rubbed him the wrong way."
"Mind explaining?" asked Sam.
"Sure, preacher." A malevolent expression gripped Rowdy's face. "You see, a pistol-packing mama named Rotten Rosie up and shot one of my men for no good reason."
"Rotten Rosie?" Sam repeated, scratching his jaw. "Think I've heard of her."
Rowdy waved a hand in frustration. "Hell, who ain't heard tell of that thievin', murderin' bitch? She's still terrorizing my town to this day. I'd love to shoot the little she-devil, but so far, I ain't been able to catch her. Anyhow, to get back to my story, Rosie shot poor Bart Cutter dead during one of her raids, and Righteous wasn't too happy when he had to hold an inquest in his court. But I had witnesses, and J.D. had no choice but to order a warrant issued for Rosie's arrest. I put up the reward money myself."
"Did you, now?"
Rowdy lowered his voice and confided, "Luckily, the sheriff of Gilpin County, Cal Oates, is a good friend of mine. But I'll allow old Judge Righteous would love to get me on somethin' if he could."
"So you think a preacher might bring this town an air of decency?" Sam posed.
Rowdy grinned. "You got it, Reverend—a preacher, and a church. Figure we could gather enough in offerings to raise the foundation, don't you?"
"Reckon it's possible."
His expression self-satisfied, Rowdy leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together behind his head. "You know, I've got ambitions, preacher."
"Do you, now?"
Eyes gleaming, Rowdy confessed, "I ain't spending the rest of my days in this backwater town. Nossir. When I hit my next big strike, I aim to move in to one of them fancy mansions on Millionaire's Row in Denver, rub elbows with the Tabors, the Hills, and the Cheesmans, maybe escort one of them fancy debutantes out to the opera house, even meet the governor. But first I got to become respectable, don't you think?"
"Yes, that would be a good beginning," Sam agreed.
"Then it's a deal." Rowdy filled his glass with whiskey and held it high. "To you, preacher."
Rowdy was about to take a gulp when abruptly the glass was smashed out of his hand by a whizzing bullet! For a split second both men sat frozen in disbelief as a piercing female whoop rent the air.
Jerking his head toward the sound, Sam was stunned to spot two strangers standing just inside the saloon doors—a small, grinning woman in a fringed buckskin jacket, matching pants, and light-colored Stetson, and a masked Spaniard in a black suit and sombrero.
Each of the intruders held two six-shooters!
"Shit, it's Rotten Rosie!" yelled Royce. "Hit the floor, preacher!"
Sam needed no further prodding. He dived beneath the table just as a deafening barrage of gunfire burst forth. He winced and held his ears as all around them glass shattered, furniture went smashing against the floor and walls, and panicked cries erupted as patrons and hurty gurty gals stumbled about seeking cover. Worst of all was the sound of the female intruder's shouts—her high-pitched cry was bloodcurdling and exuberant, like a Comanche yell.
"I'll get you yet, Royce Rowdy," Sam heard the woman scream over the blast of gunfire. "I'll skin you alive, you low-down viper!"
Then, as quickly as the assault began, it ended, the silence almost deafening. Sam caught a glimpse of the saloon doors flapping after the intruders fled.
Cautiously, he emerged from beneath the table, gazing at Rowdy through a haze of smoke. "That was Rotten Rosie?"
Rowdy was trembling in his rage. "The goddamned she-devil! The nerve of her, bustin' up my saloon on a Sunday afternoon! I'll kill her!"
Yelling orders at his men, Rowdy ran outside. Sam followed, arriving on the boardwalk in time to watch Rosie and her cohort ride off, hell-bent-for-leather, still hollering and shooting into the air. As several of Rowdy's henchmen futilely fired after the riders, Sam shook his head in grudging admiration. He'd only gotten a brief glimpse of the woman—but damn, she looked like Annie!
Annie! Oh, Lord, was she all right? Sam went dashing off for the boardinghouse.
***
"Annie, thank God you're safe. Sugar, you ain't gonna believe this, but I just saw your grandma!"
Sam charged into the room at the boardinghouse, only to skid to a halt when he spied Annie's distraught face. She sat on the bed trembling, her features as pale as parchment.
But of course she was upset—she'd likely just heard the gunfire! He rushed over to join her on the bed and gripped her hand, finding her flesh too cool, her fingers trembling.
"Annie . . . sugar, are you all right?"
She glanced up at him in awe. "You actually saw Rosie? Is that why I just heard all that shooting?"
"Yep. Rosie just charged into the saloon, bold as brass, with some Spanish fellar. The two of 'em shot up the place real good—hell, Rosie even blasted a whiskey glass out of Royce Rowdy's fingers."
"Amazing. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Was anyone else hurt?"
"Nope." Sam smiled at her tenderly. "You know, sugar, I really owe you one big apology for ever thinking you were Rosie—though God knows, after seeing her, the two of you could be twins."
"Really?" Annie asked eagerly. "Does she look that much like me?"
"Yep—though she's smaller."
Annie made a sound of frustration. "God, I just wish I could have been there to see her!"
Sam eyed Annie curiously, again noting how white she was. "Did the gunfire scare you bad?"
She laughed. "No more than usual."
"Then why do you look like you've seen a ghost?"
She shuddered. "While you were at the saloon, a man accosted me."
"A man? Who?"
Her troubled gaze met his. "I don't know. He came up behind me and I didn't see his face. But he sounded Spanish."
"Damn!" Sam wrapped a protective arm around her. "Did he hurt you?"
"No, but he held a knife to my throat—"
"He what?" Sam surged to his feet, eyes wild. "Damn it, I knew I should have escorted you back here! Well, that does it! I'm getting you out of Rowdyville—now!"
Wringing her hands, she popped up as well. "Sam, don't be ridiculous. I told you I'm okay, and obviously we're getting closer to Rosie now—"
"I still won't take chances with your life."
"Don't you even want to know what the man said?"
Sam scowled at her murderously. "What did he say?"
She groaned. "I think he's on to us."
"On to us?"
"He knows we're here looking for Rosie, and he warned us to get out of town, or—"
"Or?" he repeated, voice rising.
"Or we'll both be killed," she finished, shuddering.
Sam waved his arms and let out a slew of purple curses that made Annie's face flame. "That's it. I'm taking you back to my grandma. Then I'll head on back here and shoot these damn sidewinders—"
"Sam, you can't do that," she cut in passionately, fists clenched. "For one thing, you know you're not the kind to take the law into your own hands. Besides which, you'll blow our cover. Can't you see that we must be getting closer to the truth, or we wouldn't have been threatened? You yourself just saw my ancestor."
Sam began to pace. "Hell, all I know is, Rowdy must already be suspicious, or you wouldn't have been attacked."
"How do you know it was one of Rowdy's men?" she reasoned. "I really think the attacker was someone who knows Rosie, perhaps the man who was with her at the saloon."
Sam laughed humorlessly. "How could he have been there and here with you, too?"
"He only accosted me for a matter of seconds. I heard the gunfire after I returned to the room."
Sam scowled. "Doesn't Rowdy have some Spanish drovers? I seen 'em at church."
"Yes, that's true. But there was also another Spaniard, a loner, who kept staring at me throughout the services. I think he may have been the one who accosted me—and his message seemed to be that Rosie doesn't want our help."
Sam laughed bitterly. "Yeah, well I got that same message loud and clear down at the saloon."
Annie drew a calming breath. "Did you get a chance to talk to Rowdy at all before the incident? Did he tell you what he wants?"
Sam laughed. "That was real funny. The sanctimonious hypocrite wants us to lead a revival and establish a church here, so's he can turn respectable."
"Then he doesn't know we're searching for Rosie!" she exclaimed, her face lit with new hope.
"Maybe," he said with a frown. "Hell, Rowdy's such a sly weasel, who knows what he's really thinking?"
She moved close to him and clutched his arm. "Sam, we need to play along with Rowdy, host the revival, keep on doing exactly what we're doing—"
"And get you killed?" he half shouted.
"I'm not going to get killed. I really think the man who accosted me today is the one I saw in church, the same man you saw with Rosie. If he's around her all the time, that's why he picked up on my resemblance to her. Besides, I can't believe my great-great-grandmother wishes me any harm."
His gaze implored the heavens. "Well, honey, you ain't seen that pistol-packing mama in action with six-shooters pumping. Your sweet little granny may have coldbloodedly murdered a man, and 'sides, she don't know you from a bangtailed billy goat."
Annie grasped his hand. "Please, Sam, don't make me stop now. I promise I'll be careful."
He hauled her close, and his voice came hoarse with emotion. "Careful, hell. I'm not letting you out of my sight again, woman—not even for an instant."
"That's fine with me," Annie replied, stretching upward to kiss him.
Sick with fear, Sam clutched Annie close.