The Jeweled Spur (31 page)

Annie proved her skill in many formal shooting contests. In April, at Dayton, Ohio, she broke nine hundred and forty-three out of one thousand glass balls thrown in the air, using a Stevens .22-caliber rifle. Later that year, at Cincinnati, she broke four thousand, seven hundred and seventy-two out of five thousand glass balls, at fifteen yards rise, with shotguns, in nine hours, loading her own guns.

Annie, somehow, had a way of making friends wherever she went, and one dear friend that she never forgot was Sitting Bull. He had watched Annie often and became very excited over her shooting, shouting, “Watanya cicilia!” thus dubbing her “Little Sure Shot.”

More and more acts were added as the crowds grew ever
larger, and Buffalo Bill was looking forward with anticipation to the grand opening in Chicago. The huge arena there had been reserved, and Colonel Cody and others expected a record attendance. Sam Novak and Mac McGonigal were talking a week before the show got to Chicago, and as usual whenever the two cronies got together, their talk turned to Cody and Laurie.

Sam was braiding a piece of leather into a lariat, as he had seen the vaqueros do, and finally gave up in disgust. “I think you have to be a Mexican to do this thing,” he said. “I’ll just use rope.”

McGonigal’s wizened face grinned at him. “Makes no matter, does it, me boy? You don’t catch anything with rope
or
leather.”

Sam’s face flushed, for his ineptness with a lariat was the joke of the show. No matter how much Cody tried to teach him, he seemed to get worse rather than better. Finally, he said, “Well, maybe I can become a trick shot artist, or a trick rider like Laurie.”

At the mention of Laurie’s name, McGonigal’s countenance darkened. He shook his head sadly. “She ain’t herself, that girl. I miss the smiles on her happy face.”

Quickly, Sam Novak shot a glance at him, and then looked down at the ground, where he drew a pattern with his boot toe. Then, when he looked up, he said, “I guess you know what’s wrong with her, don’t you?”

“Know what’s wrong with her?” McGonigal snapped, his eyes flashing. “Do I know my own name? Of course I know what’s wrong with her! She’s got a case of lunacy over that friend of yours.”

Sam shook his head sadly. “I guess you’re right. I hate to see it.”

The two men walked around, looking at the horses, watching some of the actors as they practiced the acts that would be added when they got to Chicago. Finally, McGonigal said,
“I’ve been thinkin’ on it, and I’ve decided there’s only one thing that’s going to work.”

“Well, that’s one more thing than I’ve thought of. What is it?” asked Sam.

“The boy’s got to get right with God,” McGonigal nodded sagely. “He’s going around, down a blind alley, making nothin’ of his life, and as long as he’s like that, Laurie’s not going to have anything.”

“Maybe she’ll find somebody else.”

“I doubt it. She’s like a few women I’ve seen—just a one man woman. I’ll tell you, Sam, we’ve got to do something and I know only one thing that’ll work.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“You and me have got to pray that boy will get himself saved. It’s going to take somebody besides us to straighten him out. He’s got his head all set against it. I know you’ve talked to him about the Lord Jesus, and so have I. But he’s worked up such a case of hardness in that heart of his, I don’t think our talk ever gets to him. Somebody will have to get through to him.”

Sam agreed, though without much hope, and so the two prayed earnestly, both together and apart, for Cody Rogers. It seemed, however, to do little good, for there was no getting close to the young man as far as talking to him about God was concerned.

But one night, when Sam was sleeping soundly, he suddenly felt someone grabbing and shaking him almost fiercely. He came out of his sleep with a start, and when he opened his mouth to cry out, a hard hand slapped over his lips, shutting them firmly.

“Keep your mouth shut,” a voice whispered, and he recognized that it was Mac McGonigal who was holding him. “Now, I’m turning you loose, but don’t make a sound.”

Sam sputtered as the hand was removed from his mouth. He sat up and saw that only the two of them were awake. “What is it?” he whispered.

McGonigal said, “I’ve got it, Novak—what to do about that young man.”

All the sleep vanished instantly from Sam Novak, and he asked, “What’s the idea? You know somebody’s got to be able to get to him, and I can’t think of—”

“Keep your mouth shut and listen,” Mac said fiercely. “Now, who’s the greatest preacher in the world?”

Sam blinked, scratched his head, and then said, “Why, Reverend Moody, I suppose. He’s the most famous, that’s for sure.”

“Right! Dwight L. Moody, the greatest evangelist, maybe, that the world’s ever seen.” McGonigal grew excited. “He’s going to be in Chicago when we get there—and we’ve got to get Cody in to listen to him!”

Sam shook his head. “You’d find it easier to get a buffalo to go down that church aisle than you would Cody. You know that.”

“Maybe so, but we’ve
got
to get him in there. So, that’s why I woke you up, Sam. Let’s pray right now and ask God to do something to get Cody in that meeting when we get to Chicago.”

****

“What’s the matter, Laurie?” Annie asked sympathetically. She had seen Laurie get more and more depressed and finally had come to her one morning as Laurie was grooming Star. She stood there, reached out, and stroked the animal’s silky side, then gave Laurie a compassionate glance. “You’re unhappy and I wish I could help you.”

Laurie could not face her for a moment, then finally she turned and with troubled eyes said, “There’s only one thing that’s going to help me. And that’s—” she almost said “Cody,” and quickly substituted, “Jim Logan getting right with God. And the only way he can do that is for him to hear the Gospel. And that’s what I’m praying for.”

Annie continued to stroke Star’s silky mane and appeared
to be thinking hard. Finally, she said, “Well, I haven’t had much chance for church. My family didn’t go when I was a girl, and since Frank and I are on the road, it’s a little bit hard to get there.” She turned suddenly and faced Laurie, asking, “Do you think God answers prayer?”

“I know He does!” answered Laurie.

Annie watched her carefully. She seemed to be trying to look into the very heart of her friend, then said hesitantly, “Well, I don’t know. I hope so. I guess Frank and I should go to church more, but I’ve been watching Sam, and Mac, and you, and I can’t help but wish I had thought more about God.”

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.