The visit of the Superintendent to a mission field varied according to
the nature of the field and the character of the work done, between an
inquisitorial process and a triumphal march. Nothing escaped his keen
eye. It needed no questioning on his part to become possessed of almost
all the facts necessary to his full information about the field, the
work, the financial condition, and the general efficiency of the
missionary. One or two points he was sure to make inquiry about. One of
these was the care the missionary had taken of the outlying points. He
had the eye of an explorer, which always rests on the horizon. The
results of his investigations could easily be read in his joy or his
grief, his hope or his disappointment, his genuine pride in his
missionary or his blazing, scorching rebuke. The one consideration with
the Superintendent was the progress of the work. The work first, the
work last, the work always.
The announcement to Shock through his Convener, that the Superintendent
purposed making a visit in the spring, filled him with more or less
anxiety. He remembered only too well his failure at the Fort; he
thought of that postscript in the Superintendent's letter to his
Convener; he knew that even in Loon Lake and in the Pass his church
organization was not anything to boast of; and altogether he considered
that the results he had to show for his year's labour were few and
meagre.
The winter had been long and severe. In the Pass there had been a great
deal of sickness, both among the miners and among the lumbermen. The
terrible sufferings these men had to endure from the cold and exposure,
for which they were all too inadequately prepared, brought not only
physical evils upon them, but reacted in orgies unspeakably degrading.
The hospital was full. Nell had been retained by The Don as nurse, and
although for a time this meant constant humiliation and trial to her,
she bore herself with such gentle humility, and did her work with such
sweet and untiring patience, that the men began to regard her with that
entire respect and courteous consideration that men of their class
never fail to give to pure and high-minded women.
The Don was full of work. He visited the camps, treated the sick and
wounded there, and brought down to the hospital such as needed to be
moved thither, and gradually won his way into the confidence of all who
came into touch with him. Even Ike, after long hesitation and somewhat
careful observation, gave him once more his respect and his friendship.
The doctor was kept busy by an epidemic of diphtheric croup that had
broken out among the children of the Loon Lake district, and began to
take once more pride in his work, and to regain his self-respect and
self-control. He took especial pride and joy in the work of The Don at
the Pass, and did all he could to make the hospital and the club room
accomplish all the good that Shock had hoped for them.
But though the hospital and club room had done much for the men of the
Pass, there was still the ancient warfare between the forces that make
for manhood and those that make for its destruction. Hickey still ran
his saloon, and his gang still aided him in all his nefarious work. Men
were still "run" into the saloon or the red-light houses, there to be
"rolled," and thence to be kicked out, fit candidates for the hospital.
The hospital door was ever open for them, and whatever the history, the
physical or moral condition of the patient, he was received, and with
gentle, loving ministration tended back to health, and sent out again
to camp or mine, often only to return for another plunge into the abyss
of lust and consequent misery; sometimes, however, to set his feet upon
the upward trail that led to pure and noble manhood. For The Don, while
he never preached, took pains to make clear to all who came under his
charge the results of their folly and their sin to body and to mind, as
well as to soul, and he had the trick of forcing them to take upon
themselves the full responsibility for their destiny, whether it was to
be strength, soundness of mind, happiness, heaven, or disease,
insanity, misery, hell. It was heart-breaking work, for the
disappointments were many and bitter, but with now and then an
achievement of such splendid victory as gave hope and courage to keep
up the fight.
At Loon Lake during the winter Shock had devoted himself to the
perfecting of his church organization A Communion Roll had been formed
and on it names entered of men and women whose last church connection
reached back for ten or fifteen or twenty years, and along with those
the names of some who had never before had a place in that mystic order
of the saints of God. And, indeed, with some of these Shock had had his
own difficulty, not in persuading them to offer themselves as
candidates, but in persuading himself to assume the responsibility of
accepting them. To Shock with his Highland training it was a terribly
solemn step to "come forward." The responsibility assumed, bulked so
largely in the opinion of those whom Shock had always regarded as
peculiarly men of God, that it almost, if not altogether, obliterated
the privilege gained.
When a man like Sinclair, whose reputable character and steady life
seemed to harmonize with such a step, he had little difficulty; and had
the Kid, with his quick intelligence, his fineness of spirit and his
winning disposition, applied for admission, Shock would have had no
hesitation in receiving him. But the Kid, although a regular attendant
on the services, and though he took especial delight in the Sabbath
evening gatherings after service, had not applied, and Shock would not
think of bringing him under pressure; and all the more because he had
not failed to observe that the Kid's interest seemed to be more
pronounced and more steadfast in those meetings in which Marion's
singing was the feature. True, this peculiarity the Kid shared with
many others of the young men in the district, to Shock's very
considerable embarrassment, though to the girl's innocent and frank
delight; and it is fair to say that the young men, whom Shock had put
upon their honor in regard to one who was but a child, never by word or
look failed in that manly and considerate courtesy that marks the noble
nature in dealing with the weak and unprotected.
The truth about the Kid was that that gay young prince of broncho
busters, with his devil-may-care manner and his debonair appearance,
was so greatly sought after, so flattered and so feted by the riotous
and reckless company at the Fort, of which the Inspector and his wife
were the moving spirits, that he was torn between the two sets of
influences that played upon him, and he had not yet come to the point
of final decision as to which kingdom he should seek.
It was with Ike and men like Ike, however, that Shock had his greatest
difficulty, for when the earnest appeal was made for men to identify
themselves with the cause that stood for all that was noblest in the
history of the race, and to swear allegiance to Him who was at once the
ideal and the Saviour of men, Ike without any sort of hesitation came
forward and to Shock's amazement, and, indeed, to his dismay, offered
himself. For Ike was regarded through all that south country as the
most daringly reckless of all the cattle-men, and never had he been
known to weaken either in "takin' his pizen," in "playin' the limit" in
poker, or in "standin' up agin any man that thought he could dust his
pants." Of course he was "white." Everyone acknowledged that. But just
how far this quality of whiteness fitted him as a candidate for the
communion table Shock was at a loss to say.
He resolved to deal with Ike seriously, but the initial difficulty in
this was that Ike seemed to be quite unperplexed about the whole
matter, and entirely unafraid. Shock's difficulty and distress were
sensibly increased when on taking Ike over the "marks" of the
regenerate man, as he had heard them so fully and searchingly set forth
in the "Question Meetings" in the congregation of his childhood, he
discovered that Ike was apparently ignorant of all the deeper marks,
and what was worse, seemed to be quite undisturbed by their absence.
While Shock was proceeding with his examination he was exceedingly
anxious lest he should reveal to Ike any suspicion as to his unfitness
for the step he proposed to take. At the same time, he was filled with
anxiety lest through any unfaithfulness of his on account of friendship
a mistake in so solemn a matter should be made. It was only when he
observed that Ike was beginning to grow uneasy under his somewhat
searching examination, and even offered to withdraw his name, that
Shock decided to cast to the winds all his preconceived notions of what
constituted fitness for enrollment in the Church of the living God, and
proceeded to ask Ike some plain, common sense questions.
"You are sure you want to join this church, Ike?"
"That's what," said Ike.
"Why do you want to join?"
"Well, you gave us a clear invite, didn't you?"
"But I mean, is it for my sake? Because I asked you?"
"Why, sure. I want to stand at your back"
Shock was puzzled. He tried another line of approach.
"Do you know, Ike, what you are joining?"
"Well, it's your church, you said."
"Supposing I was not here at all, would you join?"
"Can't say. Guess not."
Shock felt himself blocked again.
"Ike, do you think you are really fit to do this?"
"Fit? Well, you didn't say anything about bein' fit. You said if anyone
was willin' to take it up, to stay with the game, to come on."
"Yes, yes, I know, Ike. I did say that, and I meant that," said Shock.
"But, Ike, you know that the Apostle calls those who belong to the
church 'saints of God.'"
"Saints, eh? Well, I aint no saint, I can tell you that. Guess I'm out
of this combination. No, sir, I aint no paradox--paragon, I mean." Ike
remembered the Kid's correction.
His disappointment and perplexity were quite evident. After hearing
Shock's invitation from the pulpit it had seemed so plain, so simple.
His answer rendered Shock desperate.
"Look here, Ike, I am going to be plain with you. You won't mind that?"
"Wade right in."
"Well, you sometimes swear, don't you?"
"Yes, that's so. But I've pretty much quit, unless there's some
extraordinary occasion."
"Well, you drink, don't you?"
"Why, sure. When I can git it, and git it good, which aint easy in this
country now."
"And you sometimes fight?"
"Well," in a tone almost of disappointment, "there aint nobody wantin'
to experiment with me in these parts any longer."
"And you gamble? Play poker for money, I mean?"
"Oh, well, I don't profess to be the real thing," replied Ike modestly,
as if disclaiming an excellence he could hardly hope to attain, "but I
ginerally kin stay some with the game."
"Now, Ike, listen to me. I'm going to give it to you straight."
Ike faced his minister squarely, looking him fair in the eyes.
"You have been doing pretty much as you like all along. Now, if you
join the church you are swearing solemnly to do only what Jesus Christ
likes. You give your word you will do only what you think He wants. You
see? He is to be your Master."
"Yes," said Ike. "Yes, that's so. That's right."
"In everything, remember."
"Why, sure." That seemed quite simple to Ike.
"Swearing, drinking, fighting, gambling," Shock continued.
Ike hesitated.
"Why, you don't suppose He would mind a little thing like a smile with
the boys now and then, or a quiet game of poker, do you?"
"What I say, Ike, is this--if you thought He did mind, would you quit?"
"Why, sure. You just bet! I said so."
"Well, Ike, supposing some--one of those chaps from the Pass, say
Hickey, should walk up and hit you right the face, what would you do?"
"What? Proceed to eddicate him. Preject him into next week. That is, if
there was anything left."
Shock opened his Bible and read, "'But I say unto you, That ye resist
not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek turn to him
the other also.' That is what Jesus Christ says, Ike."
"He does, eh? Does it mean just that?" Ike felt that this was a serious
difficulty.
"Yes, it means just that."
"Are all you fellers like that?"
This wrought in Shock sudden confusion.
"Well, Ike, I am afraid not, but we ought to be, and we aim to be."
"Well," said Ike slowly, "I guess I aint made that way."
Then Shock turned the leaves of his Bible, and read the story of the
cruel bruising of the Son of Man, and on to the words, "Father, forgive
them." Ike had heard this story before, but he had never seen its
bearing upon practical life.
"I say," he said, with reverent admiration in his voice, "He did it,
didn't He? That's what I call pretty high jumpin', aint it? Well," he
continued, "I can't make no promises, but I tell you what, I'll aim at
it. I will, honest. And when you see me weaken, you'll jack me up,
won't you? You'll have to stay with me, for it's a mighty hard
proposition."
Then Shock took his hands. "Ike, you are a better man than I am, but I
promise you I will stay all I can with you. But there will be days when
you will be all alone except that He will be with you. Now listen," and
Shock, turning over the leaves of his Bible, read, "Lo, I am with you
always," and a little further over and read again, "I can do all things
through Christ that strengtheneth me."
"That is His solemn promise, Ike. He has promised to save us from our
sins. Do you think you can trust Him to do that?"
"Why, sure," said Ike, as if nothing else was possible. "That's His
game, aint it? I guess He'll stay with it. He said so, didn't He?"
"Yes," said Shock, with a sudden exaltation of faith, "He said so, and
He will stay with it. Don't you be afraid, Ike. He will see you
through."
The Communion Roll when it was completed numbered some eighteen names,
and of these eighteen none were more sorely pressed to the wall in
God's battle than Ike, and none more loyally than he stayed with the
game.
Owing to miscarriage in arrangements, when the Superintendent arrived
at the Fort he was surprised to find no one to meet him. This had an
appearance of carelessness or mismanagement that unfavorably impressed
the Superintendent as to the business capacity of his missionary. He
was too experienced a traveller, however, in the remote and unformed
districts of the West, to be at all disconcerted at almost any
misadventure.
He inquired for Mr. Macfarren, and found him in Simmons' store,
redolent of bad tobacco and worse whiskey, but quite master of his
mental and physical powers. The Superintendent had business with Mr.
Macfarren, and proceeded forthwith to transact it.
After his first salutation he began, "When I saw you last, Mr.
Macfarren, you professed yourself keenly desirous of having services
established by our church here."
"Yes."
"Why this sudden change, represented by your letter to the Committee,
and the petition, which I judge was promoted by yourself? I placed a
man here, with every expectation of success. How can you explain this
change in you and in the people you represent?"
The Superintendent's bodily presence was anything but weak, and men who
could oppose him when at a distance, when confronted with him found it
difficult to support their opposition. Macfarren found it so. He began
in an apologetic manner, "Well, Doctor, circumstances have changed.
Times have been none too good. In fact, we are suffering from financial
stringency at present."
"Mr. Macfarren, be specific as to your reasons. Your letter and your
petition were instrumental in persuading the Committee to a complete
change of policy. This should not be without the very best of reasons."
"Well, as I was saying," answered Macfarren, "finances were--"
"Tut! tut! Mr. Macfarren. You do not all become poor in six months.
Your cattle are still here. Your horses have suffered from no plague."
"Well," said Mr. Macfarren, "the people have become alienated."
"Alienated? From the church?"
"Well, yes. They seem to be satisfied with--to prefer, indeed, the
Anglican services."
"Mr. Macfarren, do you mean to tell me that the Presbyterians of this
country prefer any church to their own? I fear they are a different
breed from those I have known, and unworthy to represent the church of
their fathers."
"Well, the truth is, Doctor," said Macfarren, considerably nettled at
the Superintendent's manner, "the people consider that they were not
well treated in the supply you sent them."
"Ah! Now we have it. Well, let us be specific again. Is Mr. Macgregor
not a good preacher?"
"No, he is not. He is not such a preacher as many of us have been
accustomed to."
"By the way, Mr. Macfarren, what do your people pay toward this man's
salary? Five hundred? Three hundred? We only asked you two hundred, and
this you found difficult. And yet you expect a two-thousand-dollar
preacher."
"Well, his preaching was not his only fault," said Macfarren. "He was
totally unsuited to our people. He was a man of no breeding, no
manners, and in this town we need a man--"
"Wait a moment, Mr. Macfarren. You can put up with his preaching?"
"Yes."
"Did he visit his people?"
"Yes, goodness knows, he did that enough."
"Was his character good?"
"Oh, certainly."
"Then I understand you to say that as a preacher he was passable, as a
pastor and as a man all that could be desired?"
"Oh, yes, certainly. But he was--well, if you have met him you must
know what I mean. In short, he was uncouth and boorish in his manners."
The Superintendent drew himself up, and his voice began to burr in a
way that his friends would have recognized as dangerous.
"Boorish, Mr. Macfarren? Let me tell you, sir, that he is a Highland
gentleman, the son of a Highland gentlewoman, and boorishness is
impossible to him."
"Well, that may be too strong, Doctor, but you do not understand our
society here. We have a large number of people of good family from the
old country and from the East, and in order to reach them we require a
man who has moved in good society."
"Well, sir," said the Superintendent, "Jesus Christ would not have
suited your society here, for He was a man of very humble birth, and
moved in very low circles." And without further word he turned from
Macfarren to greet Father Mike, who had entered the store.
"Delighted to see you again, Bishop," said Father Mike. "We are always
glad to see you even though you are outside the pale."
"Depends upon which pale you mean, Father Mike," said the
Superintendent, shaking him warmly by the hand.
"True, sir. And I, for one, refuse to narrow its limits to those of any
existing organization."
"Your principles do you credit, sir," said the Superintendent, giving
his hand an extra shake. "They are truly Scriptural, truly modern, and
truly Western."
"But, Doctor, I want to ask you, if I may without impertinence, why did
you do so great an injury to our community as to remove your missionary
from us?"
"Ah, you consider that a loss, Father Mike?"
"Undoubtedly, sir. A great and serious loss. He was a high type of a
man. I will quote as expressing my opinions, the words of a gentleman
whose judgment would, I suppose, be considered in this community as
final on all such matters--General Brady, sir. I think you know him.
This is what I heard him say. 'He is an able preacher and a Christian
gentleman.'"
"Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir," said the Superintendent. "I thank you
for your warm appreciation of one whom, after short acquaintance, I
regard as you do."
It was Father Mike who drove the Superintendent to Loon Lake next day,
only to find Shock away from home.
"We will inquire at the stopping-place," said Father Mike.
"Let us see," said the Superintendent, who never forgot a name or a
face, "does Carroll keep that still? He did five years ago."
"Yes, and here he is," said Father Mike. "Hello, Carroll. Can you tell
me where your minister is?"
"By japers, it's a search warrant you'll need for him I'm thinkin'. Ask
Perault there. Perault, do you know where the preacher is?"
"Oui. He's go 'way for prospect sure."
"Prospecting?" inquired Father Mike.
"Oui," grinned Perault, "dat's heem, one prospector. Every day, every
day he's pass on de trial, over de hill, down de coulee, all over."
"He does, eh?" said Father Mike, delighted at the description of his
friend. "What is he after? Coal?"
"Coal!" echoed Perault with contempt. "Not mouche. He's go for find de
peep. He's dig 'em up on de church, by gar."
"You see, Doctor," said Father Mike, "no one has any chance here with
your fellow. There's Carroll, now, and Perault, they are properly Roman
Catholic, but now they are good Presbyterians."
"Bon, for sure. Eh, Carroll, mon garcon?"
"Bedad, an' it's thrue for ye," said Carroll.
It was no small tribute to Shock's influence that the ancient feud
between these two had been laid to rest.
"Well, do you know when he will be home?" asked Father Mike.
"I go for fin' out," said Perault, running into his house, and
returning almost immediately. "Tomorrow for sure. Mebbe to-night."
"Well, Carroll, this is your minister's bishop. I suppose you can look
after him till Mr. Macgregor comes home."
"An' that we can, sir. Come right in," said Carroll readily. "Anny
friend of the Prospector, as we call him, is welcome to all in me
house, an' that he is."
That afternoon and evening the Superintendent spent listening in the
pauses of his letter writing to the praises of the missionary, and to a
description, with all possible elaboration and ornament, of the saving
of little Patsey's life, in which even the doctor's skill played a very
subordinate part.
"An' there's Patsey himself, the craythur," said Mrs. Carroll, "an'
will he luk at his father or meself when his riverince is by? An' he'll
follie him out an' beyant on that little pony of his."
The Superintendent made no remark, but he kept quietly gathering
information. In Perault's house it was the same. Perault, Josie, and
Marion sang in harmony the praises of Shock.
Late at night Shock returned bringing the doctor with him, both weary
and spent with the long, hard day's work. From Perault, who was
watching for his return, he heard of the arrival of the Superintendent.
He was much surprised and mortified that his Superintendent should have
arrived in his absence, and should have found no one to welcome him.
"Tell Josie and Marion," he said to Perault, "to get my room ready,"
and, weary as he was, he went to greet his chief.
He found him, as men were accustomed to find him, busy with his
correspondence. The Superintendent rose up eagerly to meet his
missionary.
"How do you do, sir, how do you do? I am very glad to see you," and he
gripped Shock's hand with a downward pull that almost threw him off his
balance.
"I wish to assure you," said the Superintendent, when the greetings
were over, "I wish to assure you," and his voice took its deepest tone,
"of my sincere sympathy with you in your great loss. It was my
privilege to be present at your mother's funeral, and to say a few
words. You have a great and noble heritage in your mother's memory. She
was beautiful in her life, and she was beautiful in death."
Poor Shock! The unexpected tender reference to his mother, the
brotherly touch, and the vision that he had from the Superintendent's
words of his mother, beautiful in death, were more than he could bear.
His emotions overwhelmed him. He held the Superintendent's hand tight
in his, struggling to subdue the sobs, that heaved up from his
labouring breast.
"I suppose," continued the Superintendent, giving him time to recover
himself, "my last letter failed to reach you. I had expected to be here
two weeks later, but I wrote changing my arrangements so as to arrive
here to-day."
"No, sir," said Shock, "no letter making any change reached me. I am
very sorry indeed, not to have met you, and I hope you were not much
inconvenienced."
"Not at all, sir, not at all. Indeed, I was very glad to have the
opportunity of spending a little time at the Fort, and meeting some of
your friends. By the way, I met a friend of yours on my journey down,
who wished to be remembered to you, Bill Lee of Spruce Creek. You
remember him?"
"Oh, perfectly. Bill is a fine fellow," said Shock, enthusiastically.
"Yes, Bill has his points. He has quit whiskey selling, he said, and he
wished that you should know that. He said you would know the reason
why."
But Shock knew of no reason, and he only replied, "Bill was very kind
to me, and I am glad to know of the change in him."
"Yes," continued the Superintendent, "and I spent some time at the Fort
meeting with some of the people, but upon inquiries I am more puzzled
than ever to find a reason for the withdrawal of our services, and I am
still in the dark about it."
Shock's face flushed a deep red.
"I am afraid," he said, in a shamed and hesitating manner, "that I was
not the right man for the place. I think I rather failed at the Fort."
"I saw Macfarren," continued the Superintendent, ignoring Shock's
remark. "He tried to explain, but seemed to find it difficult." The
Superintendent omitted to say that he had heard from Father Mike what
might have explained in a measure Macfarren's opposition. But Shock
remained silent.
"Well," continued the Superintendent, "now that I am here, what do you
wish me to do?"
"First," said Shock, "come over to my house. Come to the manse. Carroll
will not mind."
The Superintendent put his papers together, and Shock, shouldering his
valise and coat, led the way to the manse.
As they entered the big room the Superintendent paused to observe its
proportions, noted the library shelves full of books, the organ in the
corner, the pictures adorning the walls, and without much comment
passed on upstairs to Shock's own room. But he did not fail to detect a
note of pride in Shock's voice as he gave him welcome.
"Come in, come in and sit down. I hope you will be comfortable. It is
rather rough."
"Rough, sir," exclaimed the Superintendent. "It is palatial. It is
truly magnificent. I was quite unprepared for anything like this. Now
tell me how was this accomplished?"
"Oh," said Shock, diffidently, "they all helped, and here it is."
"That is all, eh?"
And that was all Shock would tell. The rest of the story, however, the
Superintendent heard from others. And so, throughout his whole visit
the Superintendent found it impossible to get his missionary to tell of
his own labours, and were it not that he carried an observant and
experienced eye, and had a skilful and subtle inquisitorial method, he
might have come and gone knowing little of the long, weary days and
weeks of toil that lay behind the things that stood accomplished in
that field.
It was the same at the Pass. There stood the hospital equipped, almost
free from debt, and working in harmony with the camps and the miners.
There, too, was the club room and the library.
"And how was all this brought about?" inquired the Superintendent.
"Oh, The Don and the doctor took hold, and the men all helped."
The Superintendent said nothing, but his eyes were alight with a kindly
smile as they rested on his big missionary, and he took his arm in a
very close grip as they walked from shack to shack.
All this time Shock was pouring into his Superintendent's ear tales of
the men who lived in the mountains beyond the Pass. He spoke of their
hardships, their sufferings, their temptations, their terrible vices
and their steady degradation.
"And have you visited them?" inquired the Superintendent.
He had not been able to visit them as much as he would have liked, but
he had obtained information from many of the miners and lumbermen as to
their whereabouts, and as to the conditions under which they lived and
wrought. Shock was talking to a man of like mind. The Superintendent's
eye, like that of his missionary, was ever upon the horizon, and his
desires ran far ahead of his vision.
It was from The Don that the Superintendent learned of all Shock's work
in the past, and of all that had been done to counteract the terrible
evils that were the ruin of the lumbermen and miners. Won by the
Superintendent's sympathy, The Don unburdened his heart and told him
his own story of how, in his hour of misery and despair, Shock had
stood his friend and saved him from shame and ruin.
"Yes, sir," The Don concluded, "more than I shall ever be able to repay
he has done for me, and," he added humbly, "if I have any hope for the
future, that too I owe to him."
"You have cause to thank God for your friend, sir," said the
Superintendent, "and he has no reason to be ashamed of his friend. You
are doing noble work, sir, in this place, noble work."
A visit to the nearest lumber camp and mines, a public meeting in the
hospital, and the Superintendent's work at the Pass for the time was
done.
As he was leaving the building The Don called him into his private room.
"I wish to introduce you to our nurse," he said. "We think a great deal
of her, and we owe much to her," and he left them together.
"I asked to see you," said Nellie, "because I want your advice and
help. They need to have more nurses here than one, and no one will come
while I am here."
The Superintendent gazed at her, trying to make her out. She tried to
proceed with her tale but failed, and, abandoning all reserve, told him
with many tears the story of her sin and shame.
"And now," she said, "for the sake of the hospital and the doctor I
must go away, and I want to find a place where I can begin again."
As the Superintendent heard her story his eyes began to glisten under
his shaggy brows.
"My dear child," he said at length, "you have had a hard life, but the
Saviour has been good to you. Come with me, and I will see what can be
done. When can you come?"
"When the doctor says," she replied.
"Very well," said the Superintendent, "I shall arrange it with him,"
and that was the beginning of a new life for poor Nellie.
The last meeting of the Superintendent's visit was at Loon Lake, after
the Sunday evening service. The big room was crowded with people
gathered from the country far and near, from the Fort to the Pass, to
hear the great man. And he was worth while hearing that day. His
imagination kindled by his recent sight of the terrible struggle that
men were making toward cleanness, and toward heaven and God, and the
vision he had had through the eyes of his missionary of the regions
beyond, caused his speech to glow and burn.
For an hour and more they listened with hearts attent, while he spoke
to them of their West, its resources, its possibilities, and laid upon
them their responsibility as those who were determining its future for
the multitudes that were to follow. His appeal for men and women to
give themselves to the service of God and of their country, left them
thrilling with visions, hopes and longings.
In the meeting that always followed the evening service, the people
kept crowding about him, refusing to disperse. Then the Superintendent
began again.
"Your minister has been telling me much about the men in the mountains.
He seems to have these men upon his heart."
"Sure," said Ike. "He's a regular prospector, he is."
"So I have heard, so I have heard," said the Superintendent, smiling,
"and so I should judge from what I have seen. Now, what are you going
to do about it?"
They all grew quiet.
"You know about these men, no one else does. Are you going to let them
go to destruction without an attempt to prevent it?"
The silence deepened.
"Now, listen to me. This will cost money. How much can you give to send
a man to look them up? Two hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Count me," said Ike.
"Me, too," echoed Perault. "And me, and me," on all sides. In ten
minutes the thing was arranged.
"Now, there is something else," said the Superintendent, and his voice
grew deep and solemn. "Can you spare me your man?"
"No, sir!" said the Kid, promptly.
"Not much!" echoed Perault, and in this feeling all emphatically agreed.
"Do you know where we can get such a man?" said the Superintendent,
"such a prospector?"