Chapter Thirty-four
Over the next days, Sam led the revival in the Rowdy Roost. Royce Rowdy had promised them full use of the saloon on Sunday mornings and each evening from 8:00 till 10:00 P.M. Often at night after the liquor and cards were put away, drunkards and prostitutes remained for the services—some lingering simply to snore in the chairs—the riffraff often joined by a few more righteous souls from the Rowdyville community. Although aware that most of their congregation was there more out of curiosity or boredom rather than out of a genuine desire for redemption, the revivalists carried on, with Sam preaching, Dolly Dumble pounding the piano, and Annie passing the collection plate.
Each night a few came forward to be saved, weeping loudly on a makeshift mourner's bench, or "anxious seat," as Sam called it, though the depth of the supplicants' repentance was questionable. Often the very ones who sobbed the loudest and made the greatest show of atonement were the first ones to grab whiskey and cards once the session ended. Indeed, on the third night, Royce Rowdy himself made a great ceremony of having embraced the Word. His dark eyes breathing fire, he bolted up from his seat and cried, "I have seen the light, Brother Prophet!" As others cheered and stamped their feet, Rowdy strutted forward to the altar and knelt with shoulders heaving as Sam blessed him.
But no sooner had Sam pronounced the benediction than Rowdy popped back up with a mocking grin, and yelled, "It's free drinks on the house, brothers and sisters, in honor of my salvation!"
Sam and Annie repressed their cynical amusement as the worshipers were transformed into sinners once more, storming the bar and even breaking into scuffles in their zeal to guzzle red-eye. They left the saloon that night convinced that Royce Rowdy was a hypocrite of the first water.
Although neither Rosie nor the mysterious Spaniard made an appearance at the saloon during this period, Sam and Annie did learn more about her ancestor's exploits from various citizens of Rowdyville. On the boardwalk, one of Rowdy's drovers described how Rosie repeatedly terrorized the Rowdy ranch, taking potshots at the cowhands, salting wells, and rustling cattle. At the apothecary, the druggist told them how Rosie and her Spanish crony might ride through town at almost any time, shooting off their guns, yelling obscenities, and sparking fear.
Then one afternoon as Sam and Annie strolled the boardwalk, they heard muffled pleas for help coming from the direction of Rowdyville's small bank. They rushed inside to see the safe ajar and three male employees, clad only in long johns, tied to chairs, with gags on their mouths.
As Annie restrained a snicker over the farcical scene, Sam rushed over and ungagged the first man. Clutching Sam's sleeve, he pleaded, "Please, mister, save me!"
"You mean from Rotten Rosie?" Sam asked.
The man gulped. "Nope, from Mr. Rowdy once he finds out Rosie robbed his bank again!"
True to the man's prediction, when Rowdy arrived and surveyed the scene, he flew into such a temper that several of his henchmen had to restrain him to keep him from shooting the three employees. A posse was hastily organized and stormed off, returning later bedraggled and defeated. Afterward, one of Rowdy's hands admitted to Sam and Annie that Royce had repeatedly dispatched vigilante posses to chase or track Rosie, but all of the expeditions had ended in failure, since no one seemed to know the location of her rustler's roost. Even in their own inquiries, Sam and Annie netted no clue as to Rosie's hideout.
Although dismayed by their lack of progress, the couple continued their charade. Rosie's threat to the community was again driven home on Thursday morning when they passed by the Rowdy Roost to see that all of the front windows had been shot out. Stepping inside with Sam, Annie grimaced at a foul, charred odor, and saw to her horror that the floor had been singed from just inside the doors all the way to the bar! Toward the center of the saloon, Royce Rowdy stood grimly watching several of his henchmen sweep up broken glass and other debris.
Tugging along Annie, Sam hastened to Rowdy's side. "Brother Rowdy, what has happened here? Was there a fire last night?"
"There was a spitfire, that's what there was!" retorted Rowdy in disgust. "That damned Rotten Rosie is at it again! Yesterday the bank, now this. Hell, preacher, you seen her in action. But she's gone too damned far this time. She shot up my town again last night, broke all the windows in this here saloon, then tried to set the place afire by throwing in a lit bottle of kerosene."
Sam and Annie glanced at each other in dismay. "How terrible," Annie muttered.
Rowdy spoke through clenched teeth. "If me and a few of the boys hadn't been here still playin' poker, you'd be preachin' from a pile of rubble tonight, Brother Prophet. It's a miracle we was able to put out the fire."
"Indeed," murmured Sam.
In his fury, Rowdy kicked over a chair. "That damn hellcat is like a nest of ants in my britches, tormenting me at every turn, robbin' and rustlin' and plunderin'. My men already have orders to shoot the witch on sight. Hell, I'm itchin' to strangle her myself."
Watching Rowdy turn and storm away, Annie grimly shook her head at Sam.
***
Later, back at the boardinghouse, Annie expressed her concerns. "You know, I'm worried about my ancestor."
"Worried?" Sam repeated with a disbelieving laugh.
"Yes. I'm afraid Rosie may get herself killed before we can find her. Royce Rowdy seemed very upset."
Sam only shook his head. "Sugar, pardon me for saying it, but the man had cause."
"I'm just so frustrated because we can't seem to get close to her," Annie continued. "She's hit the saloon twice now—do you suppose we ought to try staking it out?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, hide in there and wait for her to appear?"
"Have you gone loco?" Sam waved a hand. "We'd only get ourselves shot or barbecued the next time she stages one of her raids. No, thank you. Hell, I'm gettin' so worried about your safety, I'm about ready to cancel the rest of the revival."
"Sam, no."
He shook a finger at her. "Then I want your promise we ain't taking any chances, that we're going to keep on doing what we're doing and not lose our heads about this."
"Very well," Annie said heavily.
"Surely if we go on with the revival and winning the trust of the people, someone will step forward with some useful information."
Noting that Sam's words seemed to lack conviction, Annie nonetheless flashed him a brave smile. "I hope so, Sam."
Although Annie remained concerned about Rosie's safety, she could understand Sam's reasoning that they must keep up the charade and win the confidence of the people. This was especially true with respect to Sally Mott, whom Annie continued to feel might be their best bet for finding Rosie. The young widow had attended several revival sessions with her children, and she remained passably friendly toward Annie. Each time she saw Sally, Annie sensed the widow had information about Rosie that she wasn't as yet willing to divulge.
Thus she felt pleased the next morning when she ran across the woman and her charges at the general store.
With her older girl and boy knelt nearby, gleefully rifling through a box filled with toys, Sally stood at a table of yard goods, trying to hold her squirming baby while perusing fabrics.
"Well, hello," greeted Annie. "Good to see you, Mrs. Mott."
Sally glanced up and smiled, and the baby gurgled at Annie. "Thought I'd make up some new duds for my kids with the offering money."
"That's a good idea. May I hold the baby while you look?"
Sally grinned. "Sure, thanks. This young 'un's a real handful today."
Sally deposited the child into Annie's arms, and she chuckled as the baby cooed while chewing on a cookie. Thank goodness the child appeared much improved today, her nose dry and her coloring normal.
Annie watched Sally carefully examine bolts of wool, broadcloth, and calico. "It's been nice seeing you at the services."
"Brother Sam's a good preacher."
Gathering her fortitude, Annie said, "Mrs. Mott, about what we were discussing on Sunday when we visited your home . . . You know Rosie Dillon, don't you?"
A mask closed over Sally's features. "Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
Biting her lip, Annie decided she may as well take the plunge and try to win the woman's confidence. "Mrs. Mott, can you keep a secret?"
"Sure," Sally replied with a shrug.
Stepping closer, Annie whispered, "I'm a relative of Rosie's, and I'm here to help her. It's critical that I locate her immediately, before she gets in even worse trouble."
Sally frowned. "You her kin?"
"Yes. Didn't you yourself notice the resemblance between us?"
"Maybe I did."
"Can you tell me where Rosie is?"
Sally considered this for a moment, then sadly shook her head. "Look, ma'am, I'm real sorry, but even if I wanted to tell you, I got no idear where she is."
"Could you get her a message?"
Sally hesitated. "Not if I don't see her."
"But what if you do?"
Sally's features grew fraught with turmoil. At last, she confessed, "Ma'am, you been right good to me and my young 'uns, but I reckon I got other loyalties, too."
Annie touched her arm. "I'm not asking you to betray her, only to give her a message."
"Maybe," came the reluctant response.
"Tell her if she wants help, to look up Reverend and Mrs. Prophet at the boardinghouse. Okay?"
"I'll, try ma'am," was all Sally would say.
At the rooming house, Annie told Sam about her meeting with Sally. "I think she knows something, and I'm praying she'll get a message through to Rosie. If only I can meet with her—I know I can make a difference."
Sam gave her a reassuring hug. "I expect anything's possible. But I do hope we make some progress soon, since I don't know how much longer we can keep up this masquerade. Sooner or later, one of us is bound to be recognized."
"I know," Annie agreed glumly.
That night when they went to bed, it was quiet at the boardinghouse, almost too quiet, without any of the normal sounds of revelry drifting up from the streets. The very eeriness of the silence put Annie on edge, keeping her wakeful for a long time.
Much later, a low hissing sound made her flinch in her sleep. She jerked awake to face the shimmering light of a lantern. Squinting, she shuddered to find herself looking down the barrel of a gun—a pistol held by a woman who appeared to be her mirror image, a woman whose fierce green eyes were angrily fixed on her! Heart roaring with terror, Annie gasped and sat up, prodding Sam, who at once jerked awake beside her.
As both of them gaped in horror, the intruder perused them and finally spoke, in a frontier twang edged with outrage. "Well, ain't you two a sight for sore eyes. My twin in bed with a Bible-puncher." She set down the lantern and leveled her Colt on Annie. "As for you . . . I oughta shoot you for stealin' my face, sister."