THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT
 
 .lA.MF.S \V. COTLTKU
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES W. COULTER 
 
 Second Edition 
 
 PUBLISHED BY H. S. WINANS 
 DENVER, COLO.
 
 Copyright 1898 
 By JAMES W. COULTER 
 
 Prlntin? and Binding by 
 
 Publishers' Press Room and Bindery Co. 
 
 Denver, Colo.
 
 PS 
 
 TO MY WTFE 
 
 937973
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. DlCK .... 
 
 II. YOUNG .... 
 
 III. BOB THOMPSON 
 
 IV. SOME WESTERN VIEWS . 
 V. DARRELL 
 
 VI. WHITEFOOT 
 
 VII. NED LONG 
 
 VIII. DAVID WINTER . 
 
 IX. THE BISHOP . 
 
 X. JOHN DOE .... 
 
 XL Two LETTERS - 
 
 XII. DICK BRIGGS 
 
 XIII. FRANK HORTON 
 
 XIV. MAKING PROGRESS 
 XV. CORINNE ROBERTS . 
 
 XVI. THE TRAMP 
 
 XVII. No. 3708 
 
 XVIII. THE LARGER FAITH . 
 
 XIX. MAUDE .... 
 
 XX. THE HERETIC 
 
 XXI. A DISCOVERY . 
 
 XXII. UNITED . 
 
 XXIII. THE RANCHMAN 
 
 XXIV. OLD FRIENDS MEET . 
 XXV. THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 
 
 11 
 
 18 
 
 24 
 
 35 
 
 46 
 
 59 
 
 70 
 
 90 
 
 105 
 
 115 
 
 127 
 
 136 
 
 146 
 
 157 
 
 167 
 
 175 
 
 184 
 
 194 
 
 205 
 
 215 
 
 235 
 
 244 
 
 256 
 
 271 
 
 280
 
 THE LARGER FAITH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DICK. 
 
 Toward the close of a clear day in the latter part 
 of September, 1890, a horseman was traveling along 
 a trail in the foothills of northern New Mexico. Both 
 rider and horse were travel-stained and looked jaded. 
 The sun was still shining on the hilltops, but the 
 trail was in the deep shadow of the mountains, and 
 the rider gazed anxiously over as much of the sur 
 rounding country as was in sight. The view, how 
 ever, was limited. The road seemed to be in a large, 
 bowl-shaped depression surrounded by mountains. 
 
 The traveler was apparently about twenty-six or 
 twenty-seven years old, of medium height, with light 
 hair, blue eyes, a blond mustache and a beard of one 
 or two weeks' growth of the same color. It was plain 
 to be seen he was not of that country. The way he 
 sat his horse, his clothes, his hat, his gloves, the way
 
 12 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 he looked at the surrounding landscape all pro 
 claimed him a "tenderfoot." 
 
 He had started that morning to ride across the 
 country to the little town and railroad station of Tres 
 Piedras. It was fifty miles by the road, but he had 
 been told that he could save ten miles by following a 
 trail to which he was directed. 
 
 He could only guess how far it was to his destina 
 tion. It seemed to him that he had already traveled 
 full forty miles, but being unused to riding horse 
 back, and the country traversed being strange to him, 
 he was uncertain on this point. Besides, he was not 
 sure that he had kept the right trail. 
 
 Despite his weariness and anxiety the young man 
 could not help being impressed with the awe-inspiring 
 grandeur of the natural scenery through which he 
 was passing. For the time he ceased to think of him 
 self and journey as he gazed in admiration at the 
 mountain in the west, the sharp outline which it pre 
 sented against the fast-receding light making a clear- 
 cut silhouette. 
 
 While his attention was thus withdrawn the horse 
 shied, sprung suddenly to one side, and the rider, taken 
 wholly by surprise, fell violently to the ground. With 
 a snort the frightened horse galloped off up the trail, 
 and the rider, as he raised himself, caught sight of 
 some animal making off through the underbrush and 
 small trees which skirted the trail.
 
 DICE 13 
 
 The young man had no sooner got to his feet than 
 he sunk to the ground with a groan. In the fall he 
 had so badly injured his right ankle that he could not 
 touch his foot to the earth without the greatest pain. 
 
 For a few minutes his suffering excluded thoughts 
 of all other things; then he cursed the horse which 
 had thrown him, the animal that scared the horse, 
 and the ill luck that had brought him into that coun 
 try and subjected him to such an accident. 
 
 After a little time the gravity of his situation sud 
 denly presented itself to his mind. Night was coming 
 on rapidly, as it does in the mountains, and there was 
 in the air the icy chill which at that altitude comes 
 with the first shades of evening. Alone and disabled 
 in a strange country, with no protection from the in 
 creasing cold save the clothes he wore, prevented by 
 his injury from keeping warm by exercise, he shud 
 dered at the thought that his earthly career was very 
 near its end. It seemed to him horrible that he 
 should die that way. 
 
 There had been a time in the young man's life 
 when, under similar circumstances, he would have 
 appealed to a higher power for help, but he repressed 
 the thought of doing so, partly as being a weakness 
 and partly because he felt he was not in a position to 
 claim anything at the hands of Providence. He was 
 wondering whether he could possibly get together 
 some fuel and make a fire to keep from freezing, when
 
 14 THE LARQEB FAITH 
 
 through the twilight he saw some one approaching 
 along the trail up which the horse had run. 
 
 In the gathering darkness but little more could be 
 seen of the approaching figure than that it was that 
 of a tall man wearing a broad-brimmed slouch hat. 
 As he drew near, the young man, with the help of a 
 stick, managed to rise. 
 
 "Good evening," he said, eagerly, feeling tremen 
 dously relieved at the prospect of human aid. 
 
 "Good evening, sir," replied the stranger, in a voice 
 which had about it that indefinable quality which al 
 ways denotes culture. 
 
 "I was thrown from my horse a little while ago and 
 I've got a badly hurt ankle," said the young man. 
 
 "I caught your horse," replied the stranger, "and 
 thought the rider wasn't far away, as the saddle was 
 still warm." 
 
 "I was riding carelessly wasn't paying any atten 
 tion to the horse, and he shied at some animal and 
 jumped clear from under me," said the young man. 
 
 "Well," said the stranger, "the first thing to do ia 
 to get you to my place. It's about a mile from here. 
 Do you think you can walk, with my help and a 
 stick?" 
 
 "I don't believe I can," replied the young man. "I 
 can't bear a pound on this ankle." 
 
 "Then I'll bring your horse or, better still, I'll 
 bring one of my burros," said the stranger. "He'll be
 
 DICK 15 
 
 easier for you to get on and off. I'll be back as soon 
 as possible/' saying which he departed in the direc 
 tion from which he had come. 
 
 When the stranger had gone, the pain which the 
 young man's injury caused him, together with the sud 
 den relaxation from the mental strain caused by his 
 fear, brought on a violent nervous chill. He shook 
 so that the added pain in his injured leg made him 
 groan again, and his teeth rattled. From time to 
 time he broke into profanity of an aimless kind. 
 
 Growing calmer, he reflected upon the very nar 
 row margin, in time, which may separate strength and 
 happiness on the one side from helplessness and ex-> 
 treme misery on the other. He began to wonder if 
 some accident had befallen his rescuer to prevent his 
 return. Listening intently, he could not hear a sound 
 of any kind. The stillness was oppressive; it was a 
 silence that could be felt. 
 
 In his impatience it seemed to him the stranger 
 had been gone fully two hours, when at last he re 
 turned, followed by one of those patient little animals, 
 the burden bearers of the Rocky mountains. Having 
 turned the burro around and stopped it close beside 
 where the young man sat, he said, cheerily: "Did I 
 seem to be a good while coming?" And with 
 out heeding the young man's admission that the 
 time had seemed long, he added: "Let me help you
 
 16 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 up. !Now, just swing your wounded leg over his 
 back and we'll soon have you in a better place." 
 
 The young man hesitated. "Are you sure he's 
 safe without halter or bridle ?" he asked. "I don't 
 want to get this ankle hurt any more." 
 
 "Perfectly," answered the stranger. "You 'can 
 depend on having no further accident on his ac 
 count. Eh, Dick ?" 
 
 It was no trouble to mount. The burro was so 
 small that when mounted the young man's feet al 
 most touched the ground. The stranger started 
 along the trail and the burro followed like a dog, 
 watching every motion of his master. In descend 
 ing to the crossing of a little stream the stranger 
 said, "Steady, Dick !" and the burro, seeming to 
 understand, moved slowly and with the utmost 
 care. Proceeding in this way they arrived in time 
 at the door of a log cabin, where the stranger helped 
 the young man to dismount and enter the house, and 
 seated him in an arm-chair near a cook stove in 
 which a fire was burning. Striking a match, he 
 lighted a lamp and then turned to the young man, 
 saying : "Now, let's take a look at that leg." 
 
 An inspection of the injured ankle showed it to be 
 badly swollen. The young man noticed that in ex 
 amining it the stranger's touch was as firm and gentle 
 as that of any surgeon. After passing his hands ca 
 ressingly over the swollen part of the leg, he grasped
 
 DICK 17 
 
 the end of the foot and moved it slowly, first up and 
 down, then from side to side. 
 
 "There are no bones broken/' he said, "but the ten 
 dons and muscles have been badly wrenched. A hot- 
 water bath is the best thing for it." 
 
 A steaming tea-kettle was on the stove. Emptying 
 this into a clean wooden bucket of the kind used in 
 packing fine-cut tobacco, the stranger added some cold 
 water and then caused the young man to immerse his 
 foot and ankle in it. He then placed on the stove a 
 small pan of milk, which, when heated, he poured into 
 a glass and handed to the young man, saying: "Sip 
 this as hot as you can stand it. It will get away with 
 that chill." 
 
 While the young man bathed his ankle and sipped 
 the hot milk his host got from an adjoining room 
 some muslin which he tore into strips. These pieces 
 he sewed together until he had one strip two or three 
 yards in length which he formed into a compact roll. 
 
 At this time a scraping noise was heard at the door, 
 which, being opened, disclosed the head of the burro 
 with ears set forward and an expectant look on his 
 face. 
 
 "Hello, Dick!" said the stranger. "Waiting for 
 something?" 
 
 And getting some bread crusts from the cupboard 
 he fed them to the burro, patting his neck and say 
 ing: "Good boy, Dick."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 When the sprained ankle had been bathed in hot 
 water for a time, the stranger, having first applied 
 some liniment, proceeded to bandage it tightly with 
 the strip of muslin ; then slitting the young man's 
 sock from the top, he drew it gently on, got an old 
 cloth slipper which he put on the foot, and said: 
 "How does it feel now ?" 
 
 "Much better, thank you," said the young man. 
 
 But few words had passed between them up to 
 this time, the attention of the one being taken up by 
 his hurt, and that of the other in trying to render 
 assistance. The stranger had not yet taken off his 
 hat. He now took it off and hung it up, saying, 
 "I think we'd better have something to eat. It's 
 nearly eight o'clock," glancing at a clock which 
 ticked on the wall. 
 
 As the young man nursed his injured ankle and 
 thought of spending the night on the mountainside, 
 he shuddered and said : 
 
 "You've done me a great service, Mr. "
 
 YOUNG 19 
 
 "Young," replied the stranger, answering the 
 young man's implied interrogatory. "I'm glad to 
 have been able to be of help to you. You are a 
 stranger here?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the other. "My name is Darrell. I 
 live in Ohio, and am here for a few weeks on business. 
 I started to ride across the country to Tres Piedras, 
 and was directed to take a trail for a short cut." 
 
 "The trails through here are a little hard to fol 
 low, for persons unaccustomed to them," said Young. 
 
 "How far is this from Tres Piedras?" asked Dar 
 rell. 
 
 "About twenty miles," answered Young. 
 
 A look of annoyance crossed Darrell's face, which 
 Young noticed. "If you want a physician," said he, 
 "the nearest one is thirty miles down the railroad 
 from Tres Piedras. I could get him here by about 
 noon to-morrow. I think, though, that all your ankle 
 needs is time to get well." 
 
 "I don't think I need a doctor," said Darrell, "but 
 I'm quartered here on you against my will, and mak 
 ing you trouble." 
 
 "Be easy on that score," answered Young. "You'll 
 be no trouble to me, and I think with time and pa 
 tience your leg will be ready for use again." 
 
 So saying, he took off the jumper he had been wear 
 ing, washed his hands and set about preparing sup 
 per.
 
 20 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 For the first time Darrell had an opportunity to ob 
 serve his new-made acquaintance. In person he was 
 tall and well-made, though somewhat slender. His 
 gray eyes were set wide apart and overhung by a full, 
 high forehead. The nose was straight, but a trifle 
 too long and a shade too large at the lower end for 
 a Grecian model. The jaws inclined to be square, and 
 the chin, extending forward, though not obtrusively 
 prominent, had a well-defined indentation up and 
 down the center. Except for a heavy, untrained 
 brown mustache which hid the mouth, the face was 
 clean shaven, or had been within three or four days. 
 The face was tanned brown, except the forehead, 
 which, by comparison, seemed unusually white. A 
 full growth of dark brown hair completed the picture. 
 In age he might have been anywhere from thirty- 
 five to forty. The expresssion of the face was calm, 
 though some little lines about it give Darrell the im 
 pression that it was the face of a man who had suf 
 fered. 
 
 Darrell prided himself on being something of a 
 physiognomist and reader of character. He had first 
 been struck with the peculiar character of Young's 
 voice. While not especially low or subdued, it was a 
 quiet, musical, cultured voice. He now noted that 
 Young, in moving about preparing the meal, had a 
 certain precision of movement and sureness of touch, 
 and before supper was ready he felt a degree of inter-
 
 YOUNG 21 
 
 egt in his companion which was entirely unconnected 
 with the service being rendered to himself. 
 
 "That's a strong character/' he said to himself, 
 "and a refined one. I wonder how the devil he comes 
 to be living in this God-forsaken region." 
 
 Supper being ready, Young set the table directly in 
 front of the chair where Darrell sat, so that he could 
 eat without moving. The meal was plain, but every 
 thing was well cooked and palatable. During the 
 meal Young was quietly attentive to the wants of his 
 guest, and Darrell noticed that he handled his knife 
 and fork as people do in civilized communities. 
 
 When the meal was ended, Young cleared the table, 
 washed the dishes and tidied up the room with the 
 same quiet celerity of movement which Darrell had 
 before observed. Then going to the door he sounded 
 a long, shrill blast on a dog-whistle. In two or three 
 minutes a dog of the collie shepherd variety bounded 
 into the room, expreessed his fondness for Young, and 
 then suddenly stopped and looked inquiringly, first 
 at Darrell, then at his master. "A friend of mine, 
 George," said Young. The dog wagged his tail and 
 looked knowingly at Darrell. "Here's your supper," 
 said Young, setting down a generous plateful of scraps 
 from the supper table. After eating, the dog laid hia 
 head on Young's knee and gazed up at him. "Have 
 enough supper?" inquired Young, as he stroked the 
 dog's head. For reply, George wagged his tail.
 
 22 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 "You talk to your animals as if they understood 
 you/' remarked Darrell. 
 
 "A habit I've got into from being alone with them," 
 replied Young. "They expect it from me. Besides, 
 they do understand much more than they get credit 
 for." 
 
 The latter statement seemed to be verified, in the 
 case of the dog, at least; for when a few minutes later 
 Young said in his ordinary tone, "Now you may go 
 back to the sheep, George," the dog at once went to 
 the door, and on being let out trotted off contentedly, 
 waving a good-night with his tail as he vanished in the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Do you live alone here, Mr. Young?" asked Dar 
 rell. 
 
 "Yes, except for such company as you have seen," 
 replied Young. 
 
 "How far off are your nearest neighbors?" 
 
 "There's one ranchman, a German, about six milea 
 up the creek; there are no others much nearer than 
 Tres Piedras," replied Young. 
 
 "I should think it would be lonesome," remarked 
 Darrell. 
 
 "I don't find it so," said Young. "I have work to 
 do, and enjoy reading. Then," he added, with a 
 slight smile in his eyes, "I try to keep on good terms 
 with myself. A good deal depends on that." 
 
 Darrell glanced about the room and saw no signs
 
 YOUNG 23 
 
 of any reading matter, save some newspapers spread 
 out on shelves. However, he made no comment on 
 this, but inquired : "Are you from the east ?" 
 
 "New York is my native state," answered Young. 
 Then, after a slight pause, he added : 
 
 "Perhaps you are tired after your day's ride and 
 would like to retire. Whenever you wish, I will 
 show you where you are to sleep." 
 
 Darrell expressing a desire to go at once, Young 
 handed him a cane, and, supporting him on the 
 right side, conducted him into an adjoining room. 
 This room was the same size as the one they had 
 left, being about sixteen feet in length by twelve in 
 width. The floor was almost covered with fur rugs 
 made of wolf and coyote skins. There were two 
 beds, and the covers of the one to which Darrell was 
 conducted were neatly turned down. 
 
 "You may find the covers a little heavy at first, 
 but you'll need them before morning," said Young. 
 "If you want anything in the night, don't hesitate 
 to call me." 
 
 Darrell fell asleep thanking his stars that he was 
 there instead of spending the night on the mountain 
 side, and wondering who his host could be and what 
 led him to live alone in that out-of-the-way place.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 BOB THOMPSON. 
 
 Darrell slept soundly, and when he awoke the 
 next morning Young had already risen and was 
 gone. While he was putting on his clothes, Young 
 appeared with a pair of roughly made crutches and 
 saluted him with : "How are you this morning ?" 
 
 "First-rate, thank you, except that I can't bear 
 any weight on this ankle," answered Darrell. 
 
 "Well, we can't expect that for a few days," said 
 Young. "How are these for length ?" 
 
 The crutches being a little too long, Young soon 
 remedied the defect by cutting off the ends and then 
 said : "Breakfast is ready whenever you are." 
 
 Having declined an offer of hot water, Darrell 
 washed his hands and face at a home-made wash- 
 stand, noticing that while everything was rough the 
 soap was of good quality and the towel large and 
 clean. 
 
 After breakfast, during which some desultory 
 conversation had taken place, Young said, "I shall 
 have to leave you for a part of the day, and I may 
 not return till toward evening. You'll find a cold
 
 BOB THOMPSON 25 
 
 lunch in the cupboard here, and if you feel like 
 cooking something or making coffee, the materials 
 are there. If you care to read, you may be able to 
 find something in here that will interest you," say 
 ing which Young opened a door leading to a room 
 which Darrell had not yet entered. 
 
 This room was about twenty feet square and was 
 constructed of logs ; it was, in fact, a separate log 
 cabin built against the main house, thus forming an 
 L. There was no ceiling, this room, like the rest of 
 the house, being covered by a substantial shingle 
 roof laid on heavy rafters. As Darrell entered, he 
 saw at the end opposite the door a large open fire 
 place in which a fire was burning, and at the side of 
 which was a large pile of wood. The floor, except 
 ing that part near the fire, was covered with coarse 
 matting, over which were distributed a number of 
 rugs like those in the bedroom, with the addition of 
 two mountain-lion skins, dressed with the heads on. 
 
 At one side of the room, not far from the fireplace, 
 stood a flat-topped writing desk ; next to this was a 
 bookcase, or rather a set of shelves, containing about 
 two hundred books, nearly all in cheap bindings. On 
 the opposite side was a couch completely covered with 
 gray woolen blankets, under which at one end had 
 been placed some sort of a pillow, forming a head rest. 
 Near the center of the room stooda square table, evi 
 dently of home manufacture as was all the rest of
 
 26 THE LAKQEfi FAITH 
 
 the furniture, save the writing desk and the chairs, 
 including one big easy chair. Notwithstanding the 
 entire lack of ornamentation, the room looked com 
 fortable and inviting. 
 
 "This is where I loaf, when I have time," said 
 Young, as Darrell surveyed the room. 
 
 Approaching the table, Darrell was surprised, al 
 most startled, to see, besides a few well-worn volumes, 
 several late copies of the standard magazines and a 
 number of newspapers, including the last number oi 
 the New York Sunday Sun. His face expressing 
 something of the astonishment he felt, he glanced al 
 Young, who smiled and said simply, "Make yourseli 
 as comfortable as you can till I return," and with a 
 nod left the house. 
 
 "Well!" said Darrell to himself, "there are some 
 items of interest in the wilds of New Mexico besides, 
 the climate and the mountains." 
 
 Mechanically picking up and opening a book, his 
 eye fell on this passage, which was marked: 
 
 "Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
 Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Wears yet a precious jewel in his head." 
 
 Turning over the leaves, he saw that many passages 
 were marked, and yet his mind returned to the first 
 one he had seen, as being possibly the key to the char-
 
 BOB THOMPSON 27 
 
 acter of his host, in whom he began to feel an unusual 
 degree of interest. 
 
 Glancing through a window, he saw a range of 
 mountains glistening in the morning sunlight, which 
 suggested to him to go out and take a look at his 
 surroundings and breathe the fresh mountain air. As 
 he passed out of the door Young was just starting 
 away on a gray racker, and he stood looking after 
 man and horse until a turn in the road hid them from 
 view and the clicking pit-a-pat-a, pit-a-pat-a of the 
 horse's hoofs died out in the distance. 
 
 Looking around him, he saw that the cabin was situ 
 ated on a knoll in a valley which seemed to be shut in 
 on all sides by mountains. About the house was a 
 natural grove of large pine trees. At a little distance 
 were some corrals, stables and other outbuildings. A 
 little farther off were two or three fields inclosed by 
 wire fences. But for these few things which men are 
 pleased to term improvements,, the country as far as 
 the eye could reach seemed to be in a state of primeval 
 grandeur. As he gazed at the mountains, some of 
 which seemed to be very near, but were really three 
 or four miles distant, he was impressed with a sense 
 of magnitude, and he wondered whether such sur 
 roundings were not calculated to enlarge and elevate 
 the minds of those living within their influence. 
 There is a massive greatness, a solemn grandeur in the 
 sight of mountains with their peaks clothed in per-
 
 28 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 petual snow which to the dullest mind is suggestive of 
 infinity. 
 
 Darrell's musings were cut short by the arrival of 
 a man riding an undersized, bony-looking horse. The 
 man was roughly dressed, wore a low-crowned, broad- 
 brimmed hat and a pair of the high-heeled boots 
 which had been in vogue twenty-five or thirty years 
 before. There was a coil of rope attached to the 
 pommel of the saddle. Dismounting, the rider threw 
 the bridle-rein over the horse's head, walked toward 
 Darrell with a peculiar, mincing gait, and saluted him 
 with: "Morning." 
 
 "Good morning," replied Darrell. 
 
 "Young about?" inquired the stranger. 
 
 "No," answered Darrell, "he went away a little 
 while ago." 
 
 "Say when he'd be back?" 
 
 "He seemed uncertain, and said he might not re 
 turn till afternoon." 
 
 "I'm down on my luck," said the stranger. "You 
 a friend of Young's?" 
 
 "Only since last night. I had a fall from a horse, 
 hurt my leg so I couldn't walk, and Mr. Young 
 brought me here. I suppose I'll have to stay here a 
 few days." 
 
 "You might've found lots worse places to stay at," 
 remarked the stranger.
 
 BOB THOMPSON 29 
 
 "Yes, I've already found that out," assented Dar- 
 rell. 
 
 "Well," said the stranger, "I want to get something 
 to eat and feed my horse before I go back, anyway; 
 so Fll put him in the stable and wait awhile." 
 
 When he returned, the two proceeded to the house. 
 The stranger seemed very much at home. As they 
 entered the sitting room, or the room where Young 
 said he did his loafing, the stranger remarked: 
 "Young's got about the nicest layout in this part o' 
 the country." 
 
 "Yes," said Darrell, "I was surprised at some things 
 here. Who is this Mr. Young?" 
 
 "He's just Bill Young, and I reckon about as 
 square a boy as was ever wrapped in the same amount 
 of hide," replied the stranger. 
 
 "How long has he lived here?" 
 
 "Goin' on four years." 
 
 "Do you know where he is from or what business 
 he was in before he came here?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "No, nor nobody else 'round here knows, and we 
 don't care. You see, it ain't exactly the fashion about 
 here to ask a man many questions about himself. 
 What he wants to tell about himself, he tells, and what 
 he don't want to tell, he keeps. Anyhow, people here 
 don't bank much on what a man was before he come; 
 it's what he is here that counts." After a short pause
 
 30 THE LAEGEK FAITH 
 
 he added, as if he thought his preceding statement 
 demanded it: 
 
 "My name's Thompson, Bob Thompson I guess it 
 was Kobert once, but nobody'd know who you meant 
 if you spoke of Eobert Thompson 'round here. I'm 
 punchin' cows for the H. 0. outfit about forty miles 
 below here, and I took a day off to come and see 
 Young. I ain't seen him since the round-up last 
 spring." 
 
 "My name," replied his companion, " is John Dar- 
 rell; I live in Ohio and am here for a short time on 
 business." 
 
 "I seen you wasn't a western man," said Thompson. 
 
 "No, I'm what you call a tenderfoot." 
 
 "Well, there's tenderfeet and tenderfeet. We all 
 thought Young was a tenderfoot when he come here, 
 but after the first round-up he was with us nobody 
 ever called him a tenderfoot no more." 
 
 "He took to your ways pretty readily, did he?" 
 
 "No, he didn't take any to our ways; he just kept 
 on his own way; only none of us had knowed him." 
 
 Being urged to tell how they got to know him, 
 Thompson said: 
 
 "This was how we come to take a tumble to our 
 selves: From the time we started on the round-up 
 there was bad blood between Bill Doolin, foreman of 
 the T. E. ranch, and Jack McGonigle, that was workin" 
 for the English outfit out west of the T. E. I never
 
 BOB THOMPSON 31 
 
 knowed what was between 'em, but we was lookm' for 
 trouble for Jack's a stayer, and Bill had several 
 notches on his gun and could get it out and shoot in 
 about two seconds less time than it takes some peo 
 ple to wink. Young rode with Bill some, and when 
 we'd been out three or four days Bill says to me: 
 'That's about as decent a tenderfoot as I've run up 
 against for some time. He looks to me like a good 
 one 'nd a stayer, but he don't carry no gun.' Well, 
 one evening when we'd been out five or six days, we'd 
 just got to camp when the trouble broke out. I was 
 standin' right near Bill and Jack was walkin' away 
 about twenty feet, when Bill said something to him. 
 Jack turned 'round 'nd a few words passed between 
 : 'em and both men reached for their guns. I was just 
 goin' to get out of range when I seen Young comin' 
 up to Bill, square in front 'nd right between the two 
 guns. He lays one hand on Bill's shoulder, takes hold 
 of the gun with the other, and says, quiet-like and 
 smilin': 'Let me take this, old son; I'll hand it to you 
 later.' "We all thought there'd be a dead tenderfoot 
 right there. Bill looked at him a minute and then 
 I'm damned if he didn't let go that gun 'nd turn 
 'round 'nd walk off. I'd 've bet a year's pay against 
 ten cents that nobody in the territory could 've made 
 Bill Doolin give up his gun, 'specially when there 
 was a gun-play on; but Young done it, and ever since 
 then Bill would go through fire 'nd water for him,
 
 32 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 'nd the boys that was lookin' on 'nd seen it wouldn't 
 be far behind him." 
 
 "Why didn't Doolin shoot him?" asked Darrell, 
 more for the purpose of hearing Thompson talk than 
 because he had anything to say. 
 
 "I asked Bill that once, a good while after, 'nd he 
 says: 'I just looked into them eyes of his 'nd I didn't 
 want to kill nobody.' >: 
 
 "I would have taken Mr. Young to be a man of 
 some temper," suggested Darrell. 
 
 "It's there, you bet!" replied Thompson, "but he 
 don't often show it. The only times I've ever heard 
 of him gettin' mad was when somebody or some an* 
 imal was gettin' the worst of it. He can't stand it to 
 see anything hurt. I thought he was goin' to scrap 
 once with a cowpuncher that was kickin' his broncho. 
 I guess there would 've been trouble mighty quick, 
 too, but the fellow took a look at him, like Bill Doolin 
 did, and dropped it right there. A little while after 
 Young says to the fellow: 'Excuse me for speakin' 
 as I did, but I can't stand that sort of thing. It's my 
 weak point.' The cowpuncher wasn't bad, either, for 
 he says to Young: 'Stay with it; you're all right!' " 
 
 After some further talk about cowboys and their 
 life, Darrell asked: 
 
 "Does Young stay with the boys when they're out 
 for a little time?" 
 
 "You bet you he stays plenty all the time. He
 
 BOB THOMPSON 33 
 
 don't never drink himself, though, but he takes care 
 of any of the boys he's with if they get too much. 
 Some of us was up at Tres Piedras one day at old 
 Vigil's place. There was a cowpuncher from Texas 
 in the crowd, that didn't know Young. He was 
 spendin' his money pretty free, like the rest of the 
 boys, and after we'd had several rounds he sees Young 
 with the boys and says to him: 'Here, pardner, you 
 hain't set 'em up yet.' Young walks up to the bar 
 and says: 'What'll you have, boys?' When we'd 
 named our drinks, which was mostly all whisky, 
 Young says: Til take a cigar, please.' 'No you 
 don't/ says Texas, 'you'll take a drink of straight 
 whisky.' 'Thanks, I don't care to drink,' says Young. 
 'But you've got to take a drink,' says Texas. 'No, he 
 hain't got to do anything,' says Bill Doolin, breakin' 
 in. Texas knowed Bill all right 'nd he only aays: 
 'Why can't the tenderfoot take a drink with us?' 'He 
 ain't no tenderfoot,' says Bill, ' 'nd if you want to get 
 out of here with a whole hide you'll drop that, sud 
 den.' Texas knowed it was either shoot or quit, 'nd 
 didn't say nothin'. Young only smiled and says: 'I've 
 tried both ways, boys, and I find I'm better without 
 whisky. I doubt if it helps anybody.' Do you know, 
 pardner, them few words done more good than a tem 
 perance sermon? I haven't taken a drink since, 'nd 
 several of the other boys let up a good deal on their 
 drinkin' right from that time."
 
 34 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 Noon having arrived, Thompson remarked that it 
 was time to get something to eat, and proceeded in the 
 preparation of a meal as if he were the sole proprietor 
 of the place. After dinner he washed the dishes and 
 put everything in order. During the next two hours 
 they talked on a variety of subjects. Darrell noticed 
 that Thompson was not voluble or enthusiastic when 
 speaking of himself as he had been when Young was 
 the subject. Indeed, he was reticent and modest, 
 withal, when asked about his personal experiences. 
 When at three o'clock he remarked that he would 
 have to see Young some other time, Darrell had con 
 ceived a liking for him. There was about him a 
 straightforward sturdiness and a freedom from con 
 ventionality which gave Darrell a new idea of cow 
 boys. 
 
 Thompson being ready to mount his horse, the two 
 men shook hands, Darrell saying: "I hope to meet 
 you again, Mr. Thompson. The day has passed very 
 pleasantly for me." 
 
 "Well, we're likely to run up against each other 
 'most any time. You ought to live in the west," was 
 the answer. 
 
 Which was more complimentary to a stranger than 
 Bob Thompson often permitted himself to be.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SOME WESTERN VIEWS. 
 
 Young returned about five o'clock. When he had 
 taken the saddle and bridle off his horse he threw 
 over him a heavy blanket, though Darrell could not 
 see that the animal was at all heated. 
 
 "Do you turn him out to pasture that way?" asked 
 Darrell,, seeing the horse unfastened. 
 
 "He'll not go away till I take it off," answered 
 Young. "He expects some grain after his work and 
 will stay till he gets it." 
 
 When told of Thompson's visit Young expresssed 
 his regret at being absent, and added: "He's a dia 
 mond in the rough. You'll like him if you get ac 
 quainted with him." 
 
 "We got somewhat acquainted to-day, and I already 
 like him," said Darrell. "By the way, he seems to 
 have a very good opinion of you, Mr. Young." 
 
 "Bob has a great deal of loyalty in his make-up," re 
 plied Young, "and that is about as fine a quality, and 
 about as rare, as any in human nature." 
 
 They spent the evening in the sitting room, where,
 
 36 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 before the cheerful fire, they looked over the news 
 papers and magazines, occasionally conversing on 
 some matter treated of in the periodicals. In relating 
 some personal experiences Darrell incidentally men 
 tioned that at the time of the occurrence he was 
 smoking. 
 
 "Do you want a smoke now?" asked Young. "I 
 can fit you out if you smoke a pipe." 
 
 Darrell intimating that a smoke would be especially 
 grateful to him just then, Young produced some plain 
 pipes with reed stems, and a box containing about a 
 pound of tobacco. 
 
 "I didn't know you used the weed," remarked Dar 
 rell. 
 
 "I used to smoke a good deal," replied Young. 
 
 "Did you swear off?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "Oh, no; it was rather a case of wear off. I don't 
 care much for it now. However, I'll fill a pipe and 
 smoke with you for company." 
 
 By bedtime Darrell felt that he was beginning to 
 get acquainted with Young. The latter was not at all 
 cold or reserved. He talked freely and at times 
 laughed heartily. His conversation was interesting, 
 but to DarrelPs disappointment he said nothing about 
 himself; and Darrell couldn't help feeling there was 
 much that he left unsaid. 
 
 At the end of ten days Darrell's ankle had so far 
 recovered that he could begin to use it a little. Dur-
 
 SOME WESTERN VIEWS 37 
 
 ing this time they spent every evening and sometimes 
 part of the day in the sitting room, and had many 
 talks on a variety of topics. Darrell noticed that 
 whenever Young had work to do he went about it as 
 if it were a pleasure to him, whether it were feeding 
 his stock, repairing a fence or washing dishes. One 
 evening about a week after DarrelPs arrival, Young 
 said to him, "You will be needing a change of un 
 derclothing by this time. I'm going to wash in the 
 morning, and if you'll put these on I'll wash yours," 
 at the same time laying out on a chair a set of his 
 own underclothes of coarse woolen material. 
 
 "I don't like to have you wash my clothes for me, 
 Mr. Young," said Darrell. 
 
 "Why?" said Young, rather abruptly and with a 
 searching look at Darrell. 
 
 "Well," said Darrell, somewhat disconcerted by 
 both the look and the sudden question, "I'd rather 
 get some one else to do it." 
 
 "Why?" repeated Young, gazing steadily at him. 
 
 "Well, the fact is it seems to me you are above 
 doing that kind of work, for somebody else, at any 
 rate." 
 
 "Nobody is above doing any work necessary to be 
 done," replied Young, "and nobody has any right to 
 ask another to do for him, for pay or otherwise, any 
 thing which he is unwilling to do for himself or for 
 another."
 
 38 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ''Isn't that a rather unconventional view to take 
 of it?" suggested Darrell. 
 
 "Perhaps. Did it ever occur to you that conven 
 tionality in one form and another lies at the root of 
 most of the troubles of mankind?" 
 
 "No, I had never thought of it in that light," said 
 Darrell. 
 
 The next day Young did his washing and ironing as 
 he did everything else, thoroughly and quickly and as 
 if he enjoyed that particular kind of work. As Dar 
 rell looked on, he \vas reminded of something he had 
 once read about the dignity of labor, and the thought 
 crossed his mind that it was being exemplified before 
 him. 
 
 One day, on looking at a magazine picture of a nunv 
 ber of men engaged at work of a very arduous kind, 
 Darrell remarked that it was a pity man was doomed 
 to get his living by the sweat of his brow. 
 
 "I do not think so," replied Young. "Labor is a 
 blessing, not a curse. It is necessary to man's develop% 
 ment, physical, intellectual and spiritual, that he 
 should work. The race would die out, cease to exist, 
 within a few generations, if it were not necessary foi 
 man to work in order to live." 
 
 "But ten hours a day of this kind of work is kill 
 ing," said Darrell. 
 
 "That is man's fault the fault of wrong condi 
 tions which men, organized as society, have allowed
 
 SOME WESTERN VIEWS 39 
 
 to obtain. Overwork, like any other excess, is hurtful. 
 If voluntary, it injures him who does it; if involun 
 tary, it injures both him who does the work and him 
 who causes it to be done; in either case it is an injury 
 to society at large. By the way, you use the popular 
 misquotation. The reading is: 'In the sweat of thy 
 face shalt thou eat bread.' ' ; 
 
 At another time the conversation turned on the 
 subject of environment as affecting the progress and 
 welfare of mankind. Darrell said he thought peo 
 ple's surroundings had a greater influence on their 
 lives than heredity, and proceeded to state some rea 
 sons in support of his view. 
 
 "Yes," assented Young, "environment is an im 
 portant factor, but every person, to a large extent, 
 creates his own environment." 
 
 "Of course," replied Darrell, "most people can do 
 much to better their surroundings, but a great many 
 are so situated that they can neither improve the con 
 ditions by which they are surrounded nor get away 
 from them. Take the poor in the large cities, for in 
 stance." 
 
 "Yes, but environment in its broad sense includes 
 the spiritual and mental conditions by which we are 
 surrounded, and they are of far more importance in 
 producing happiness or misery than physical condi 
 tions." 
 
 "I don't think so at all," said Darrell. "Why, men-
 
 40 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 tal and spiritual conditions (if there is any such thing 
 as a spiritual condition) are the result of physical sur 
 roundings and conditions." 
 
 "I look upon that as a profound error/' said Young. 
 "Are not most of the joys and sorrows of mankind 
 merely mental and not physical joys and sorrows in 
 other words, imaginary? A much greater number of 
 people have felt pleasure from anticipation, expecta 
 tion and hope than from realization; a vastly greater 
 number have suffered more from fear of occurrences 
 than from the occurrences themselves. It isn't what 
 we possess, but what we hope to get, that makes us feel 
 rich. In the great majority of cases it is not what we 
 have to bear to-day, but what we fear we shall have 
 to bear to-morrow, that makes us miserable. All ob 
 servation disproves your theory that mental and spir 
 itual conditions are the result of physical surround 
 ings. You may satisfy every desire of a man's body, 
 make every physical condition surrounding him just 
 as he would have it, and he may still be an unhappy 
 man. On the other hand, satisfy a man's spiritual 
 nature and you will have at once a happy and con 
 tented man." 
 
 "There's some truth in what you say as to mental 
 conditions," said Darrell, "but your views on the spir 
 itual condition of man, as affecting his physical wel 
 fare and happiness, seem to me, if you'll pardon my 
 saying it, to be what old Bill Allen of Ohio would
 
 SOME WESTERN VIEWS 41 
 
 call 'a damned barren ideality.' I can't see what spir 
 ituality has to do with existing physical conditions, or 
 with man's welfare in this life." 
 
 "That is the fundamental error of mankind," re 
 plied Young. "There is no life but this life, and 
 spirituality has everything to do with it, for the very 
 simple reason, to my mind, that the spirit or soul is the 
 real person of which the body is a mere incident. We 
 speak of the spiritual side of man's nature, as if the 
 spirit were an incident to the man. The spirit or soul 
 is the real man and controls the body and its sur 
 roundings. This, as it seems to me, is a natural fact 
 a fundamental law of man's nature. So long as we 
 overlook or ignore this truth and seek for happiness 
 in changes of physical conditions changes of what 
 we call environment just so long we shall fail to 
 find what we seek, for we are violating the law of our 
 nature." 
 
 "But spirituality, as you would call it, doesn't thrive, 
 in poverty, squalor and dirt," said Darrell. 
 
 "That is the appearance," replied Young, "which, 
 as in so many cases, we accept for the truth. The real 
 truth is that poverty, squalor and dirt do not thrive 
 with spirituality." 
 
 "Still, you will admit that these things exist as 
 facts. Now, if they are to be changed by spirituality, 
 how are men to be made spiritual ?" 
 
 "God or, if you please, nature has done that,"
 
 42 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 replied Young. "Every man is by nature a spiritual 
 being. When we recognize this we at once perceive 
 our true relationship to nature, to God. Light is all 
 that mankind need." 
 
 "I suppose you'd give them this needed light by 
 getting them to be religious," said Darrell. 
 
 "'All men are by nature religious," replied Young. 
 c The Spirit of God is in every human being. It is 
 the very life principle in each of us. Religion is sim 
 ply the intuitive knowledge of our true relationship 
 to God the letting this life act in the natural way." 
 
 "Do you expect to see changes brought about, then, 
 in political and economic conditions in the environ 
 ment of the race by the development of man's spir 
 itual nature?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "With perfect confidence," replied Young. "It is 
 the only hope for the human race, and I am an opti 
 mist. I believe there is a spiritual awakening among 
 mankind generally at this time which has not been 
 equaled since the Christian era. This is not confined 
 to any one part of the globe. All men seem to me 
 to be coming more and more rapidly into the light." 
 
 "And the result in your opinion will be ?" 
 
 "Universal happiness the millennium," answered 
 Young. "Not in a day, or a year, but ultimately. To 
 many, that time is now here, and the number is rap 
 idly increasing." 
 
 "I wish I could share your optimism," said Darrell.
 
 SOME WESTERN VIEWS 43 
 
 After a pause he continued: "You said one thing 
 which puzzles me. You speak of the Spirit of God 
 being our life principle, and yet you said there is no 
 life but this. Do you not believe in the immortality 
 of the soul?" 
 
 "Most assuredly/' replied Young. "My idea is that 
 this life goes on eternally that no person dies, but 
 simply continues to live." 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Darrell. "In that sense I un 
 derstand you." 
 
 This was the longest serious talk they had had on 
 any subject, and Darrell felt more than ever inter 
 ested to know who Young was and what he had been 
 before coming there. He was tempted to inquire, but 
 thought of what Bob Thompson had said, and, be 
 sides, he was not at all sure his curiosity would be sat 
 isfied if he did ask. 
 
 At the end of two weeks his ankle had so far re 
 covered that he was able to travel. On the morning 
 fixed for his departure, Young having left the house 
 after breakfast, Darrell walked into the sitting room 
 to take a last look at surroundings which he had come 
 to like. He felt that in some respects the two weeks 
 he had passed there had been an epoch in his life. 
 While many things Young said had set him to think 
 ing in new directions, he was still more impressed by 
 the man himself. Curious as he had been to know 
 Young's history, he felt a still greater interest in the
 
 44 THE LARGBK FAITH 
 
 questions: What is to be his future? Will he waste 
 his life here? 
 
 As he was wondering ahout the answers to these 
 questions Young entered the room, saying: "I sad 
 dled your horse and rode him a few miles yesterday, 
 thinking he might be too skittish and throw you 
 again." 
 
 "Thank you," said Darrell. 'Til try not to get 
 thrown again this trip, though I really don't feel that 
 my accident has been a misfortune to me. And now, 
 I want to reimburse you for the expense I've been to 
 you." 
 
 Young courteously declined compensation, saying 
 the obligation was on his part, that he had enjoyed 
 Darrell's visit and hoped he'd come again whenever 
 he could. 
 
 "I accept that invitation right now," said Darrell, 
 "conditioned only upon my being able to get here." 
 With some hesitation he added: "I don't want to be 
 too inquisitive, Mr. Young, but do you expect to re 
 main here permanently?" 
 
 "No, I think not permanently," replied Young. 
 
 "It seems to me," said Darrell, "that if I had your 
 views and your way of stating them, I should seek a 
 wider field." 
 
 "Possibly not, if you had all my views," replied 
 Young, smiling; then he added, reflectively, "Still, I 
 had thought of it. After all, the greatest success a
 
 SOME WESTERN YIE-WS 45 
 
 man can achieve is to learn to possess his own soul. 
 I am trying to learn the lesson." 
 
 Then, after a pause, his eyes fixed on the distant 
 mountains, he repeated, musingly: 
 
 'Serene, I fold my bands and wait, 
 Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea; 
 
 I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, 
 For lo! my own shall come to me. 
 
 'I stay my haste, I make delays, 
 For what avails this eager pace? 
 
 I stand amid the eternal ways, 
 And what is mine shall know my face. 
 
 'The stars come nightly to the sky; 
 
 The tidal wave unto the sea; 
 Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, 
 
 Can keep my own away from me.' " 
 
 As if by mutual understanding and without an 
 other word being said the two left the room and 
 passed out of the house to where DarrelPs horse was 
 tied. There, having secured from Young a promise 
 to correspond, or at least to answer his letters, Darrell 
 mounted and after a final handshake rode away, feel 
 ing that the time he had passed there was somehow 
 the beginning of a new era in his life that in some 
 way he had experienced an awakening which he could 
 not very clearly define, even to himself.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DARRELL. 
 
 The views concerning the effect of environment 
 which Darrell had expresssed in his conversation with 
 Young were, as most of our views are, the result of 
 personal experience, which includes not only the sen 
 sations which have been received through the medium 
 of the senses, but as well every mental or spiritual im 
 pression which the person has had. 
 
 We see things in perspective, and never singly. 
 What we call good judgment and bad judgment are 
 largely matters of vision, for judgment is the result 
 of the combinations in which things present them 
 selves and the viewpoint from which they are seen. 
 If all men's visions were equal and if they saw thing* 
 from the same viewpoint all men's opinions would 
 be identical. It is only man's limited vision and the 
 false point of view from which he sometimes sees 
 which prevent his arriving at absolute truth on any 
 subject. It is all a matter of vision and perspective. 
 
 John W. Darrell was the second child and only son 
 of Thomas and Martha Darrell, his sister Mary being
 
 DARRELL 47 
 
 three years his senior. The elder Darrell was a retail 
 
 merchant in the town of B , in Connecticut, where 
 
 the family resided in a comfortable frame cottage. 
 He was reasonably prosperous in business and had the 
 reputation of being upright and honest, a reputation 
 which he had fairly earned and tried to deserve. He 
 took pride in being a just man. He did not mean to 
 get a cent wrongfully from anybody, nor was it any 
 part of his intention that any one should get a cent 
 wrongfully from him. He was pious and somewhat 
 austere in his piety. In his family morning and even 
 ing prayers were held regularly in connection with the 
 reading of a chapter from the bible, and a meal was 
 never eaten over which a blessing had not been asked. 
 All the family were regular attendants at church and 
 at the midweek prayer meeting, while the children 
 were sent regularly to Sunday school or rather, Sab 
 bath school where for many years their father was 
 teacher of a bible class. 
 
 Mrs. Darrell was a woman of more than ordinary 
 intellect, as well as of refinement and sensibility. She 
 was a gentle, affectionate mother, whose whole life, 
 like that of the children, was dominated by the will of 
 her husband. Not that the elder Darrell was either 
 as husband or parent tyrannical or unkind as those 
 terms are commonly understood. He was known 
 to all the community to be "a good provider." He 
 would not for a moment have allowed any member of
 
 48 THE LARGEE FAITH 
 
 his family to lack any of the necessaries of life as he 
 understood them to be. As has been said, he sought 
 to be a just man. If a man of his character could be 
 said to have a hobby, his hobby was strict and exact 
 justice. 
 
 Still, he was a man in whose presence children are 
 wont to be quiet. Little John and his sister used to 
 engage in noisy romps sometimes when only their 
 mother was present; as soon as their father returned 
 Aiey were apt to think it was bedtime, and this with- 
 out any urging from either parent. 
 
 From their earliest infancy there had been instilled 
 into the minds of both children the strictest tenets of 
 orthodoxy. One of the first books of which John had 
 any recollection was a little paper-covered volume 
 which his father had presented to him when he was 
 five or six years old. On the cover was a picture of 
 John Rogers being burned at the stake, while near 
 him stood his wife surrounded by several children of 
 various sizes, and holding a baby in her arms. Most 
 of the literature of this volume was arranged in short 
 verses and rhymes which could be easily memorized. 
 Among the first of these in the book was a couplet 
 over which the youthful John spent many hours of 
 deep meditation: 
 
 "In Adam's fall 
 We sinned all."
 
 BARBELL 49 
 
 It seemed so very long ago he had heard them say 
 it was six thousand years since Adam ate that apple. 
 Of course it was very wicked of Adam, since God had 
 told him not to, but still the awful penalty attached! 
 That most of the human race should be cast into hell- 
 fire, there to suffer eternal torture on account of 
 Adam doing that little thing, shocked his sense of 
 justice and right. But with fear and trembling he 
 tried to cast out the thought that it was unjust. His 
 conscience upbraided him for daring to think that 
 God could be unjust. He was such a little boy. He 
 did not know about these things, and it was wicked 
 for him to be questioning the right and wrong of 
 what the bible said. Some day when he got older 
 he would understand it all. Of course his father un 
 derstood it, but he could not bring himself to ask 
 his father or even his mother about it, for fear his 
 father would think he was questioning God's jus 
 tice. He tried to quit thinking about it till he should 
 arrive at an age when he could understand it, but the 
 subject would not down. In his waking hours and in 
 his dreams he was confronted by that awful couplet 
 and the terrific implication it contained. Of course 
 his father and mother would be saved, but his sister 
 Mary Mary wasn't very religious, he was afraid, and 
 the heat would be awfully hard on her, too, for Mary 
 couldn't stand pain very well. For himself he had 
 no hope; if he should die now he was doomed. He felt
 
 50 THE LAKGEB FAITH 
 
 in his inmost soul that he had never properly ite- 
 pented of Adam's sin. His only hope was that hq 
 might live until some time when he could become re 
 generated. He wished he could do it now, but he 
 couldn't. 
 
 With all his doubts and fears, John strove man 
 fully to do what was right as he understood it. At 
 Sunday school he was taught to say: "Thou God 
 seest me" in times of temptation, and for a long time 
 he repeated this to himself many times each day, and 
 tried sincerely to bear it constantly in mind as a regu 
 lation of his conduct. 
 
 When he was seven years old his mother noticed 
 one evening that something was wrong with him. He 
 could not eat his supper; tears came to his eyes fre 
 quently, and he could hardly talk. His mother said 
 nothing to him until he had gone to bed, where she 
 soon followed him. John was kneeling at his bed in 
 an agony of grief. 
 
 "Why, John, what is the matter?" said his mother, 
 seating herself beside him and laying her hand on his 
 head. 
 
 "Oh, mother! I'm a thief!" wailed the boy. 
 
 "What have you stolen, my son?" asked his mother. 
 
 "An apple, 'nd I ate it," sobbed John. 
 
 "Try to quit crying," said his mother, "and tell me 
 about it, dear." 
 
 "Me 'nd Tommy Snider went to the creek 'nd
 
 DARRELL 51 
 
 comin' home we went into Deacon Hargrave's or 
 chard 'nd both stole an apple." 
 
 "Have you asked God to forgive you?" said his 
 mother. 
 
 "Oh, yes! but I know he never will. I'm as bad as 
 Adam. He never forgave Adam, 'nd He's never for 
 given the people since for what Adam did. God's es 
 pecially particular about apples," replied John. The 
 child was absolutely sincere. 
 
 The utter hopelessness of his case had quieted him 
 somewhat; he was in a state of stony despair. He 
 knew himself to be beyond redemption; he was con 
 vinced that but one fate awaited him, and it seemed 
 to him right and proper that the punishment should 
 follow close on the heels of the sin. 
 
 Mrs. Darrell had placed the child on the bed with 
 his head in her lap. Stroking the little head, she hesi 
 tated. Should she comfort the anguished spirit by 
 saying frankly what was in her mind to say? Would 
 she dare do or say anything which might tend to 
 weaken the beliefs with which the child's mind had 
 been imbued from infancy? Would not her husband 
 strongly disapprove and even denounce any such ac 
 tion on her part? The mother's heart bled for the 
 sufferings of her son, but she was in doubt how best to 
 comfort him. For a long time she sat there wonder 
 ing what was right for her to do. The question was 
 solved for her, at least for the time. Overtaxed na-
 
 52 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ture had asserted itself in the reasonably healthy body 
 of the child. John slept. 
 
 The sorrows of children are very real and very 
 acute, but nature has wisely provided that they shall 
 be short-lived. In the course of time John began to 
 wonder whether after all he had done such a terrible 
 tiling; then he had a feeling of sympathy, almost one 
 of comradeship, for Adam. In extenuation of Adam's 
 sin he reflected that, although Adam was a grown man, 
 still he was quite young at the time of the offense, and 
 perhaps didn't know any better about right and wrong 
 than a little boy of the present day. Finally a time 
 came when the recollection of the apple affair was not 
 painful to him, although he supposed it had left a 
 scar on his soul. He had been taught that every sin 
 leaves a scar on the soul. 
 
 As time progressed his general character was much 
 the same. He wanted to do right. There was nothing 
 vicious about him. Still there was a gradual weak 
 ening in some of the things he had believed so im 
 plicitly as a child, and a loss of interest in what he 
 had regarded as religion. He observed this change 
 in himself and attributed it to the general depravity 
 of man originating in Adam's fall. 
 
 In the meantime he was making fair progress in 
 physical growth and doing well in his studies at 
 school. At the age of fifteen years he was a well- 
 grown lad and had entered upon the second year of
 
 DABRELL 53 
 
 the local high-school course. In that year two events 
 occurred which, with the train of incidents that en 
 sued, were destined to prove momentous in his life. 
 
 His sister Mary was already a young woman, and 
 for a year or two had been going out in society, as it 
 was locally termed. Her father was quite strict with 
 her and had somewhat limited views as to the kind 
 of gatherings to which it was proper for a young 
 woman to go. Still, Mary managed to attend a dance 
 now and then, and numbers of socials and parties of 
 various kinds where young people meet. Indeed, 
 Mary, who resembled her father in features as well as 
 in character, was very much disposed to have her own 
 way in matters social, and when, as sometimes hap 
 pened, her opinion and her father's did not agree, it 
 usually resulted in the elder giving way to the 
 younger. It so happened that a few months previous 
 to the time of which we are speaking Mary had met 
 a young man from a neighboring town, named George 
 Motley. He was of good parentage, fairly well-to-do, 
 and unobjectionable to Mary's parents in all respects 
 save one, but that one was in the eyes of Thomas 
 Darrell a fatal objection. It was generally known and 
 talked about that Motley had at home "The Crisis," 
 ''The Rights of Man" and "The Age of Reason," works 
 written by Thomas Paine. It was further known that 
 Motley had not only said these were works which 
 young men ought to read, but that he had insisted in
 
 54 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 an argument with the minister that the author of 
 these works was a patriotic citizen and a much-ca* 
 lumniated man. 
 
 The mere thought of his daughter marrying a man 
 with such heretical views was gall and wormwood to 
 Thomas Darrell. Meeting Motley on the street one 
 day in company with his daughter, he publicly or 
 dered him never to speak to her again; then taking 
 his daughter's arm he hurried her home. The old re 
 sult followed. Within three weeks Mary and her 
 lover had eloped, and Mary Darrell became Mrs. 
 George Motley. 
 
 What Thomas Darrell underwent during that year 
 none but himself knew. A few days after Mary's de 
 parture Mrs. Darrell gently suggested that they call 
 the young folks home and forget all differences. Her 
 husband met her with a stern refusal, saying they 
 should never set foot in his house and he never 
 wanted to hear the name of his daughter mentioned 
 again. Mrs. Darrell wept and was silent. But Thomas 
 Darrell was stricken. From the time the knowledge 
 of what he looked upon as his great misfortune came 
 to him, he was a changed man. His austerity was 
 greater than before, but his confidence was gone. He 
 sincerely believed that the life he had lived entitled 
 him to better treatment at the hands of Providence. 
 He turned to his bible and tried to read Job, but it 
 was as dry chaff to him.
 
 DARRELL 65 
 
 All his life he had been grasping at shadows and 
 missing the substance; all his life he had been looking 
 upon a mere outward observance of form for the thing 
 itself which the form only represented. All his life 
 he had been observing the letter and wholly missing 
 the spirit of the law. 
 
 His physical health gave way rapidly and a few 
 weeks after his daughter's disappearance from home 
 he took to his bed. The doctors said his trouble was 
 general collapse and lack of vitality. These terms an^ 
 swered as well as any other, for it was before the time 
 when appendicitis became the name of every unknown 
 ill that flesh is heir to. 
 
 Ten days after taking to his bed his family were 
 gathered around him. It was never known whether he 
 recognized his daughter. He died as he had lived, and 
 for many years his example was cited to the little boys 
 in the Sunday school as one worthy their emulation. 
 
 The months following his father's death were to 
 John Darrell a time of peculiar peace and quiet, 
 though his life up to that time could not be said to 
 have been a turbulent one. Between him and his 
 mother there had always existed the warmest sym 
 pathy and affection. John was his mother's boy. As 
 those who knew the family said, Mary was her fath 
 er's child, while John had "taken after" his mother. 
 Mary and her husband were frequent visitors, Mrs. 
 Darrell never having felt any resentment toward
 
 56 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 either of them. John thought his sister better as a 
 woman than she had been as a girl at home especial 
 ly in the last few years. She was gentler, more kindly, 
 and John felt for her a greater affection than he had 
 known before. 
 
 Mrs. Darrell and her son attended church regularly, 
 and he kept up his attendance at Sunday school. At 
 home, however, family prayers and the asking of 
 blessings at meals were discontinued. Frequently in 
 the evenings, at his mother's request, John would read 
 aloud a chapter in the bible, usually one in the new 
 testament. He sometimes felt guilty at the conscious 
 ness that, for him at least, the home atmosphere was 
 improved by the absence of his father. He tried to 
 dismiss the feeling as being unworthy and even 
 wicked, and made no attempt to analyze or account 
 for it, which he probably could not have done then 
 had he tried, though the explanation was very simple. 
 Love had superseded fear in that household. 
 
 John was now nearly seventeen years old. His 
 father's estate was insufficient to keep him longer at 
 school. It was necessary that he should go to work. 
 He was casting about for something to do, when hit? 
 mother received a call from a Mr. Conway, a former 
 friend and business associate of Thomas Darrell, who, 
 a few years before, had removed to Ohio. Before leav^ 
 ing, Mr. Conway offered to take John home with him, 
 give him employment that would a little more than
 
 DARRELL 57 
 
 pay his expenses the first year, and also afford him an 
 opportunity to attend a good business college in the 
 evenings. After brief consideration by John and his 
 mother the offer was accepted, and a few days later, 
 having taken an affectionate farewell of his mother 
 and sister, John left home to accompany Mr. Con- 
 way to the city of C in Ohio. 
 
 The incidents of the journey need not be recorded, 
 though they were highly interesting to John. Neither 
 need we dwell upon the details of his business life. 
 Suffice it to say he succeeded in pleasing his em 
 ployers and at the time we first met him occupied the 
 position of confidential clerk in the banking and 
 brokerage establishment of Wirt, Conway & Co., in 
 whose employ he had begun as errand boy. 
 
 "When he first entered upon his new life after leav 
 ing home he attended the church to which his parents 
 had belonged. After awhile he began going to other 
 churches occasionally. He was listening to sermons 
 now. He had heard great numbers of them in his 
 younger days, but not many of them had caught his 
 attention. When at the end of three years he first 
 visited his mother he told her, in answer to her in 
 quiry, that he usually went to church on Sundays, but 
 did not attend any one church regularly. The tmth 
 is, for some time he had been getting restive. To him 
 there seemed to be a hollowness and an insincerity 
 .about the sermons he heard. The more he thought
 
 58 THE LARGER FATTH 
 
 about it and compared the teachings of the dift^rent 
 churches the more hollow and insincere it all seemed. 
 Finally he got to the point where he said to himself: 
 "I don't believe it!" 
 
 He conceived an aversion for churches and for 
 what he thought was religion. He distrusted those 
 who were reputed persons of great piety. When once 
 in awhile he listened to a sermon he criticised the 
 preachers as shams and hypocrites. And yet was it all 
 a lie? Was there no truth in it? He believed his 
 father to have been a sincere man; he was sure his 
 mother was entirely sincere. He knew many church 
 members whom he could not look upon as hypocrites. 
 But how much of it all was true? How much was 
 false? He decided to put aside the whole subject. 
 He would not think about it or worry over it. He 
 would dismiss all prejudice concerning it and content 
 himself by saying, "I don't know." 
 
 At the time of meeting William Young the little 
 boy who had so often and so devoutly repeated "Thou 
 God seest me" had come to believe himself an ag 
 nostic.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHITEFOOT. 
 
 After DarrelPs departure, Young resumed the even 
 tenor of his former solitary life. He was not lonely, 
 or if he was he showed no signs of it. He kept him 
 self employed either with his work or with his books 
 and periodical literature. His work was not arduous. 
 He had not a large amount of stock but what he had 
 received a degree of care and attention unusual in 
 that part of the country. He had put up shelters for 
 his cattle and sheep, which most stockmen in that 
 section deemed entirely unnecessary. He was what 
 eastern people call "forehanded" with his work. 
 Whatever needed doing he did well and did it at the 
 time it ought to be done. When he had no special 
 work on hand he was not an early riser. He often 
 read till twelve or even one o'clock at night, and got 
 up the next morning when he felt rested. In other 
 respects his life was as regular as that of a soldier in 
 barracks, and in the care of his person and of his 
 house he was as precise as if he were looking for an 
 inspector to drop in at any time.
 
 SO THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 He received a letter from Darrell six weeks after 
 the latter's departure from the ranch, saying he had 
 arrived safe at home without further accident and 
 that his ankle had fully recovered and was as good as 
 new. In closing he said : "I will write you at greater 
 length before long. The fact is, I want you to give me 
 your views on some matters touched upon in the 
 talks we had, if it will not he asking too much of 
 you." Young answered this letter, saying, among 
 other things: "You are welcome to any views I have 
 which you think may be of use to you. I shall be 
 glad to hear from you at any time, and you know I 
 have at my disposal ample time to write." 
 
 One evening in the latter part of October a visitor 
 appeared, the first since Darrell had left. He was a 
 boy who looked to be about seventeen years old, and 
 he presented a sorry appearance. His clothes were 
 old and dirty and looked as though they had not been 
 taken off for an indefinite time. On his head was 
 what had once been a black felt hat, now shapeless 
 and with several holes in the crown. The soles of his 
 shoes were almost entirely worn off, and around one 
 foot was wrapped a piece of gunny-sack, which was 
 held in place with baling-wire. Slung over his shoul 
 der he carried a dirty-looking gray blanket, rolled 
 up and tied with a piece of rope. His face was thin 
 and hungry looking, and his eyes had in them a fur 
 tive, hunted look. He asked for something to eat in
 
 WHITEFOOT 61 
 
 a manner which plainly indicated that the answer 
 would be a matter of immense importance to him. 
 Upon receiving Young's prompt affirmative reply and 
 an invitation to enter, his face took on an eager look, 
 and laying his blanket down by the door-step he fol 
 lowed Young into the house. 
 
 "You might wash there," said Young, indicating 
 the washstand, "while I set out something." 
 
 The boy hastily washed his hands and face, but 
 seemed in doubt as to whether he ought to take hold 
 of the clean towel. 
 
 "Use it," said Young, seeing his hesitation. 
 
 "Which way are you traveling?" asked Young, 
 when the boy had finished washing. 
 
 "To Texas," replied the boy, "where my folks live." 
 
 "A little out of the ordinary lines of travel, aren't 
 you?" suggested Young. 
 
 "I guess I am," said the boy with some confusion; 
 "I don't know the roads through here very well." 
 
 Nothing more was said till Young told the boy to 
 be seated at the table and help himself, which he did 
 in a way that was at once astonishing and pitiful to 
 Young. He attacked the victuals like a half-starved 
 animal, which indeed he was. There was an ample 
 amount of food on the table, and when the boy had 
 eaten what would have been a hearty meal for two 
 ordinary men, Young said: "My boy, I think you'd
 
 62 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 better not eat any more now. When did you last have 
 anything to eat?" 
 
 "Yesterday," said the boy, "and not much then." 
 
 "Well," said Young, "you'll have plenty before 
 you leave here; but for this time let that do." 
 
 The boy quit reluctantly, but appeared relieved as 
 he asked, "Will you feed me again in the morning, 
 and can I sleep in your corral ?" 
 
 "Yes, in the morning you may eat all you want; 
 and I'll find you a place to sleep," answered Young. 
 
 In answer to questions the boy said his name was 
 Joe Smith; that he had helped take a drove of cat 
 tle from Texas north through New Mexico to Colo 
 rado, and was on his way back home. 
 
 Young forbore questioning him closely, seeing 
 that he was made uncomfortable by being asked about 
 himself, and thinking it probable that the answers 
 he had given were untrue. Soon the boy said: "If 
 you'll let me, now, I'll take my blanket down to the 
 corral and find a place to bunk; I'm pretty tired." 
 
 "You can sleep here," said Young, "but I think 
 you'd better wash first. You've been sleeping in those 
 clothes, haven't you ?" 
 
 "Yes," said the boy; "I ain't had them off for a 
 good while." 
 
 "Well, a warm bath will not do you any harm," 
 said Young. Then placing on the floor a large tin 
 pan with warm water in it he went to the bed-room
 
 WHITEFOOT 63 
 
 and returned with towels and a woolen night-shirt. 
 'Tut this on," he said, "when you have got yourself 
 as clean as you can, and get into the bed that has the 
 covers turned down, in that room. Leave your clothes 
 on the floor here. They'll not be disturbed till you 
 get them in the morning." 
 
 The next morning, in answer to Young's inquiry. 
 the boy said he had never had a better night's sleep. 
 When he was about to put on the remnants of his 
 shoes, Young handed him a pair of his own old ones, 
 but which looked new beside those the boy had been 
 wearing, saying, "Try these on." 
 
 "May I have these?" asked the pleased boy. 
 
 "Yes, if you can wear them," answered Young. 
 
 "Oh, they fit like they had been made for me," re 
 plied the boy, putting on one shoe; "only they're a 
 little long; but that won't matter." 
 
 After breakfast, which was a hearty one, the boy 
 asked if there was any work he could do to pay for his 
 meals and lodging, and seemed disappointed on being 
 told there was none. Noticing that the boy limpet 
 as he walked, Young asked if he was lame. 
 
 "Yes," said the boy, "I'm a little stiff and my feet 
 are sore. It wasn't any fun walking in them old 
 shoes." 
 
 "You'd better rest over to-day and start i* the 
 morning, if you're not in a hurry," said Young.
 
 64 THE LAKQER FAITH 
 
 "I'm not in any hurry, but you've done about 
 enough for me," answered the boy, hesitatingly. 
 
 "That is all right," said Young; "we're here to help 
 each other. You just do a good turn to some one else 
 when you have a chance." 
 
 "You bet I'll do that on your account," answered 
 the boy with some fervor, looking gratefully at 
 Young. 
 
 That day was one of the happiest the boy had 
 known. Sauntering idly about the place he inspected 
 all its appointments with that natural interest in little 
 things which is common to boys, and which men do 
 well to retain. The fences, the buildings and sheds, 
 the way the doors and gates were hung and fastened 
 these and many other things about the place received 
 his admiring criticism. It was the domestic animals 
 about the place, though, that most astonished the boy. 
 Most of them showed but little shyness toward him, 
 and he observed that none of them, from the fowls to 
 the two milch-cows, showed the least fear of his host. 
 The latter, as he went about among .them, patting 
 one on the head, picking a burr from the hair of an 
 other and talking to them meanwhile, seemed to have 
 the entire confidence of them all. 
 
 "I never seen stock so tame," said the boy. "How'd 
 you get 'em that way?" 
 
 "Oh, it's because they like me," said Young, smil 
 ing.
 
 WHITEFOOT 65 
 
 Seeing a quantity of salt in a trough under an open 
 shed, and some of the animals helping themselves to 
 it, amazed the boy. 
 
 "I always thought they'd kill themselves drinking 
 water if they had all the salt they wanted/' he said. 
 
 "Not if they have it regularly," said Young. The 
 boy concluded that an abundance of salt must be 
 conducive to tameness in animals. 
 
 As he was about to start on his journey the next 
 morning, having expressed his thanks somewhat awk 
 wardly but with much heartiness, Young handed him 
 a paper package containing some bread and cold 
 meat, saying: "You may need this." Tears of grati 
 tude stood in the boy's eyes as he said: "I'd like to 
 know your name." 
 
 "William Young," was the reply. 
 
 "Well, good-by, Mr. Young. I'll not forget to do 
 a favor to somebody on your account, when I have 
 a chance," said the boy. 
 
 "Do it on your own account, as well as mine," said 
 Young. "Good-by, Joe." 
 
 As the boy wended his way southward he thought 
 of William Young. "I wish I hadn't told him what 
 I did," he said to himself. "My! what if I could' ve 
 got a job and stayed there! But then he said he had 
 no work for me. Well, I'll not forget that name nor 
 the man either." 
 
 Until nearly noon he traveled without incident.
 
 66 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 He judged he had walked about ten miles though in 
 reality he had not gone so far when he noticed seven 
 or eight horses approaching from the east, led by an 
 iron-gray with a peculiar gait. He stood still and 
 watched them,, in doubt whether they meant to run 
 him down. They seemed to have no other than 
 friendly intentions, however. They all came close to 
 where he stood, while the gray and a white-faced 
 sorrel came directly up to him and began nosing 
 about his clothes as if trying to get at the contents 
 of his pockets. 
 
 "Well, you're good ones," said the boy; then, a mo 
 ment later: "What's the matter with one of you 
 carrying me a piece?" There seemed to be nothing 
 the matter with it; or if there was neither of the 
 horses made it known. Untying the rope which was 
 wrapped about his blanket and making a loop at one 
 end of it, he cogitated. "If I take this gray, the whole 
 bunch will follow, and I may get them off their range; 
 if I take the sorrel he'll come back when I turn him 
 loose and there'll be no harm done. I'll try the 
 sorrel." 
 
 Slipping the loop into the horse's mouth, passing 
 the rope over his head and through the loop, he tied 
 a knot and had a very fair bridle, though it had but 
 one rein. The horse allowed the boy to place the 
 blanket on him and then to mount, and proved to be 
 easily guided with the single rein. When he had
 
 WHITEFOOT 67 
 
 walked the horse some distance, he struck him a light 
 blow with the end of the rope and the horse at once 
 broke into a free, swinging lope. "This beats walk 
 ing," thought the boy. He felt such pleasure and ex 
 hilaration in riding that he never thought of his 
 lunch till about two o'clock, when he came to a small 
 stream of water. "I'll turn the horse loose and eat 
 my grub here," he said to himself. Dismounting, he 
 noticed for the first time that the horse was much 
 heated by his fast riding. "It'll hurt him to drink 
 while he's so warm," said the boy to himself. "I'll 
 tie him while I eat and then turn him loose." 
 
 Alas! for the weakness of human nature. Like 
 many another who has left the path of rectitude with 
 out any evil design and with the full intention of 
 quickly returning, the temptation to keep on just a 
 little further was too much for the boy. When he 
 had eaten his lunch and watered the horse he in 
 tended to ride only to the top of a hill in sight and 
 about two miles away; then to another hill; and then 
 till the sun reached the top of the mountains, which 
 would be about five o'clock, when he would, for sure, 
 turn the horse loose. What he might finally have 
 done can be only a matter of conjecture. While the 
 sun was still half an hour above the mountain-tops 
 he rode over a ridge and found himself within a few 
 rods of two cow-boys, who were riding directly toward 
 him.
 
 68 THE LAEGEB FAITH 
 
 The boy's feelings at that moment could be ade 
 quately described only by a man who has been se 
 curely tied on a railroad track with the headlight of 
 an approaching train in sight, He knew enough 
 about the customs of that country to understand that 
 one caught horse-stealing was not indicted or tried 
 in any court of justice; his body was simply found 
 next morning hanging to a tree. He also realized 
 fully that the distance he had ridden the horse 
 precluded the idea of the truth being accepted as any 
 defense to the charge of theft. He was thoroughly 
 scared; and, to use a western phrase, "he had a right 
 to be scared." He felt it was useless to attempt to 
 pass them, yet he tried it. But one of the cow-boys 
 drew rein directly across the path and, stopping him, 
 said: "Hello, kid, where'd you get that horse?" The 
 boy faintly murmured something about having traded 
 for him. 
 
 "Not much!" said the man. "That's Bill Young's 
 Whitefoot, 'nd Bill Young hasn't been tradin' with 
 no kid like you." 
 
 "Bill Young's horse!" exclaimed the boy. In jus 
 tice it must be stated that for the moment he entirely 
 forgot his own danger in the horror of the knowledge 
 that he had robbed the man who had shown him 
 kindness. 
 
 Without a word the .cow-boy reached out his hand
 
 WHITEFOOT 69 
 
 and took from the boy the rope by which he had been 
 guiding the horse. 
 
 "No use tyin' him, is there, Bob?" said one of the 
 men. 
 
 "Naw!" replied the one addressed as Bob; then 
 turning to the boy: "You understand you'll get 
 bored through if you get off that horse or try to run?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes," answered the boy; and the men resumed 
 their journey, one of them leading the stolen horse. 
 
 "What'll we do .with him, Bob?" said one. 
 
 "Well, accordin' to Hoyle some of us'll have to 
 take him to Bill Young's. He's got a right to a 
 show," answered Bob. 
 
 "Well," replied the other, "you'd better take him 
 up to-morrow, then; 'nd you'd best take an extra 
 horse along to bring him back on; Young wouldn't 
 want anything to happen 'round there." 
 
 So it was all quickly arranged. That night one of 
 the men with a big revolver tying on the table beside 
 him stood guard, or rather sat guard, over the boy; 
 while the latter dreamed that a noose was around his 
 neck with the rope thrown over the limb of a tree and 
 in the hands of a lot of men who were about to pull 
 him up. 
 
 Which, indeed, was not far from the fact.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 NED LONG. 
 
 The next morning, when the boy awoke from a 
 heavy but troubled sleep, his guard had been 
 changed, and a man whom he had not yet seen, but 
 who from his dress and appearance was evidently a 
 cow-boy, was watching over him. 
 
 The boy had not taken off his clothes, and as he 
 got up the cow-boy said to him: "Want some break 
 fast?" 
 
 "No," said the boy, "I'm not very hungry." 
 
 "Better wash yourself 'nd eat something; you'll feel 
 better for it," said his guard. 
 
 The boy complied and ate a few mouthfuls, but 
 with no great relish for the food. 
 
 "Say, kid," said the guard to him when he had 
 done eating, "you ain't got no way of squarin' this 
 thing when you get up to Young's, have you?" 
 
 "I suppose not," answered the boy, dejectedly. 
 
 "That's about the way I sized it up," said his guard. 
 "Tell you what I'd do if I was in your place," he con 
 tinued, lowering his voice. "If I didn't get a chance
 
 NED LONG 71 
 
 to slip away up at Young's I'd make a show of tum- 
 blin' off the horse and startin' to run, on the way 
 back." 
 
 "What for?" said the boy. "He'd shoot me." 
 
 "Sure thing!" answered his adviser; "but Bob's a 
 good shot, 'nd the chances is there'd be no sufferin'. 
 If I had to pass in my checks I'd a whole lot sooner 
 do it that way than lookin' up a rope." With which 
 well-meant suggestions the cow-boy relapsed into si 
 lence, feeling that he had given the boy good, fatherly 
 advice. 
 
 In the preceding half year several valuable horses 
 had been stolen within a radius of fifty miles; and it 
 had for some time been understood among all the 
 ranchmen and stockmen of that section that when 
 they first succeeded in catching a horse-thief they 
 would "hang his hide on the fence." 
 
 "I kind o' hate to see the kid strung up," mused the 
 cow-boy to himself; "but it wouldn't do to let him go, 
 leastways not open. His chances of gettin' away from 
 Bob is just about the same as the chances of the ace 
 winnin' five times in one deal. The house has got a 
 big percentage in the game he's playin' right now." 
 
 His meditations were interrupted by the arrival at 
 the door of Bob Thompson, with two horses saddled 
 and bridled, and leading the white-faced sorrel which 
 the boy had ridden the day before. Having placed 
 the boy on one of the horses, Bob mounted the other,
 
 72 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 and leading the sorrel started for Young's ranch. 
 He declined to have the boy's feet tied in the stirrups, 
 remarking drily that it would be time enough to tie 
 him on in case anything should happen on the way 
 that he couldn't sit up. 
 
 During the journey but little conversation was had; 
 and Bob refrained from asking the boy any questions 
 or making any reference to his situation. "They ain't 
 no use rubbin' it in on him/' reasoned Bob to him 
 self. 
 
 They arrived at Young's place shortly before noon. 
 Young saw them coming,, and was standing in front 
 of his place when they arrived. Seeing his horse and 
 the boy brought there together, he guessed something 
 of the truth before anything was said. In a moment 
 he thought of Father Myriel and the stolen candle 
 sticks. 
 
 "Hello, Young! how you stackin' up?" said Bob. 
 
 "First-rate; how is it with you, Bob?" replied 
 Young, as the two shook hands. "Good morning, 
 Joe," he added, to the boy. 
 
 "Know the kid?" asked Bob. 
 
 "Yes, somewhat," replied Young, guardedly. 
 
 "We found him. ridin' Whitefoot down by the H. 0. 
 ranch yesterday 'nd gathered him in," said Bob. 
 
 With a grieved countenance Young looked at the 
 boy, but made no remark. 
 
 "I never knowed " began the boy, but some-
 
 NED LONG 73 
 
 thing choked his utterance, and he sat on the horse 
 the picture of misery, tears rolling down his cheeks. 
 
 "Well, let us put up the horses," said Young. 
 
 "You go to the house, kid, and stay there till we 
 come," commanded Bob. 
 
 But few words passed between Young and Thomp 
 son as they cared for the horses. Young was troubled 
 in spirit. He sincerely wished the boy had got clear 
 out of that section of country with the horse, though 
 he was much disappointed that the boy would steal. 
 In answer to Bob's question as to his acquaintance 
 with the boy, he said, evasively, that the latter had 
 passed his place a day or two before. The fact that 
 the horse had been stolen after the thief had been en 
 tertained by him would add, he knew, to the cer 
 tainty of a conviction if that were not already cer 
 tain. 
 
 Two or three times, as Young went about prepar 
 ing dinner, the boy seemed about to address him. 
 Each time, however, he merely gulped, looked at 
 Thompson and remained silent. 
 
 After dinner the three went into the sitting-room, 
 where Bob deftly rolled and smoked one cigarette 
 after another; Young, after walking up and down the 
 room awhile, got a pipe and also began smoking; 
 while the boy sat looking and feeling much like a 
 mouse which a cat has played with awhile and then 
 turned loose to see if it will run. Occasionally Bob
 
 74 THE LAKGER FAITH 
 
 made a remark on some local topic, but Young seemed 
 preoccupied and -answered in monosyllables. 
 
 At length Bob remarked: "Well, I 'xpect me 'nd 
 the kid had better be gettin' back to the H. 0." 
 
 "I'll go with you," said Young, knocking the ashes 
 from his pipe. 
 
 "Well, if you want to," said Bob. Then, with a 
 view of saving his friend from an unpleasant scene, 
 he added, in a low tone: "Of course, it ain't neces 
 sary for you to go. We all know who the horse be 
 longs to." 
 
 "Yes; but I'll go along," said Young. 
 
 "All right, then," replied Bob. 
 
 The ride back was almost as silent as the one Bob 
 and the boy had taken that morning. Young, notic 
 ing that the boy looked pale and tired, suggested that 
 they dismount and rest a little at a stream crossing. 
 It was the place where the boy had eaten his lunch 
 the day before; but it seemed to him a year had passed 
 since then. 
 
 Since the arrival of Bob and the boy, Joe, at his 
 ranch that morning, Young had been earnestly medi 
 tating on the best course to take. He knew he had 
 the good will and, to some extent, at least, the con 
 fidence of the cow-men. He also understood them 
 pretty thoroughly, and knew that there are limits 
 beyond which their most intimate friends cannot go 
 with them. And this was a case where interference
 
 NED LONG 75 
 
 seemed worse than useless. Young would readily 
 have given not only the stolen horse but his other 
 property as well to save the boy; but he felt it would 
 be as useless to try to buy the liberty of the defendant 
 as it was in the case of "Tennessee's Pardner." 
 
 The genus cow-boy, unmixed with and unmodified 
 by encroaching civilization, is an odd combination 
 of qualities. He has been best known or worst 
 known by write-ups detailing his sometimes erratic 
 conduct when off the range and off duty. It is prob 
 ably true of him that at times he has drunk large 
 quantities of very bad whisky, shot out lights at 
 dance-halls, ridden his broncho into buildings and bet 
 heavily at faro. 
 
 But these and similar doings of his are merely the 
 occasional outbreaks and overflow of a life singularly 
 exacting and devoted to duty. He is clannish; but his 
 clannishness grows out of his loyalty to his fellows. 
 He does many wild, boisterous, vicious things; but 
 there are some things he does not do, and one of them 
 is to betray a trust reposed in him by his fellows. He 
 looks upon theft of stock from the range as one of 
 the most serious of crimes; and he was never bribed 
 to cast a vote of not guilty where the evidence upon 
 a trial for that offense warranted a conviction. He will 
 fight, at times to the death, for he is not afraid to die; 
 and "in this readiness to die lies folded every loyalty of 
 life." None can be more generous in his transactions
 
 76 THE LAIIGER FAITH 
 
 with a friend; none more relentless in dealing with a 
 foe. He will quarrel over a ten-cent stake in a game, 
 and will throw away a year's hard earnings in a night. 
 Ready at all times to make any exertion or endure 
 any hardships for one of his fellows, he will extermi 
 nate a range thief with as little compunction as he 
 would a prairie wolf. Chivalrous to woman, regard 
 less of all the proprieties in his intercourse with men, 
 brave even to recklessness, with the most scrupulous 
 regard for property rights and no regard at all for 
 conventionalities, the right cow-boy, now almost ex 
 tinct, is a subject worthy the pen of a master. 
 
 It was men of this character who would form the 
 tribunal before which the boy was to be tried for the 
 theft of Whitefoot. 
 
 Night had come on and a full moon was just rising 
 above the horizon when Young and his companions 
 arrived at the H. 0. ranch. There supper was just 
 finished; and while two of the boys took care of the 
 horses the three late-comers sat down to eat. Save 
 for an unusual quietness there was no indication of 
 anything out of the daily routine taking place. 
 
 Shortly after the three had finished their meal the 
 cow-boys began to drop away from the house in twos 
 and threes, all taking the same direction. At the 
 end of half an hour all had left save Young, Bob 
 Thompson and the boy.
 
 NED LONG 77 
 
 "I 'xpect we'd better be movin' along," remarked 
 Bob. 
 
 Without any conversation the three started out and 
 followed the same easterly route taken by the others. 
 
 About half a mile from the house they came to 
 where the other men were assembled under a giant 
 cottonwood tree standing alone in a broad, flat creek 
 bottom. It was almost as light as day, and as the 
 three approached the place the long shadow of the 
 tree extended toward them as if to meet them on the 
 way. 
 
 At least two of those present always remembered 
 the events of that night, even to the smallest details. 
 Young noticed that there were just seventeen per 
 sons there in all. Bill Doolin was in charge of the 
 proceedings. 
 
 "Well, boys, you that's on the jury, take your seats," 
 he said; and twelve of the men seated themselves on 
 two logs which lay parallel to each other and three 
 or four feet apart. "We're here to try you for horse- 
 stealin'," he said to the boy. "You can set there" 
 indicating a chunk a few feet in front of where the 
 jury sat "and ask any questions or say anything for 
 yourself you're a mind to. Have you got any objec 
 tions to this here jury?" 
 
 The boy shook his head, but said nothing. 
 
 Bob Thompson and the man. who was with him 
 when the boy was caught were called, and in a few
 
 78 THE LAEGEK FAITH 
 
 words related the facts. They knew the horse to 
 belong to Bill Young. When asked if he wanted to 
 ask them any questions the boy again shook his head 
 and was silent. Then Doolin inquired of Young if 
 he wanted to testify; but he answered, "No." 
 
 "Is there anything you want to say?" said Doolin 
 to the boy. "You needn't tell anything you don't 
 want to," he added. 
 
 "No," said the boy, in a voice hardly audible, as he 
 shook his head. 
 
 At a nod from Doolin one of the men not sitting 
 on the jury then handed to each juror two beans, one 
 white, the other of a dark color. Then a hat was 
 passed, into which each man dropped one bean, and 
 the hat was handed to Doolin, who, after looking at 
 the contents, silently handed it around that all pres 
 ent might see the result of the vote. It was held for 
 the boy to look at last, but he hardly glanced at it. 
 
 "That's all," said Doolin, nodding toward the jury. 
 "Get the rope." 
 
 Then the boy's dream, in all its horror, came true, 
 lie was moved to a spot under an outstretched limb 
 of the tree, and while some hands adjusted about his 
 neck a noose which had been thrown over the limb, 
 others tied his hands behind him. 
 
 All the events since the boy's arrival at the place 
 of trial had occupied not more than twenty minutes;
 
 NED LONG 79 
 
 and yet there had been a degree of decorum, a sem 
 blance of order, in the proceedings. 
 
 "Boy," said Doolin, in a voice meant to be kindly, 
 "'don't you want to pray before you swing?" 
 
 "I don't know how," muttered the boy. 
 
 "Is there anything you want to say any word you 
 want to send to anybody?" asked Doolin. 
 
 For more than twenty-four hours, save the short 
 time he slept, the boy had been looking death in the 
 face. At first he was stupefied with fear. Later he 
 felt a terrible longing to escape. He had that day 
 performed an amount of physical labor sufficient to 
 tire the ordinary man. His overwrought nerves could 
 bear no further strain. He was no longer tortured 
 by fear. The worst had come. In the calmness of 
 utter despair he held up his head and spoke. 
 
 "Only to Mr. Young there," he said. "I never 
 meant to steal his horse." Then, to the others: "The 
 rest of you fellows needn't think you're gettin' any 
 the best of me. I ain't had no good time livin' any 
 how, 'nd I've had worse things happen to me than 
 dyin'. You can hang me, but you can't scare me any 
 more, damn you! If I go to hell I'll be sure to meet 
 up with you fellows before long! Good-by, Mr. 
 Young!" 
 
 The boy's voice had risen as he proceeded until his 
 last words to those about to hang him, just before he 
 bade farewell to Young, were almost shouted.
 
 80 THE LARGEB FAITH 
 
 The sudden transformation of the cowering, over 
 awed lad into this defiant young animal at bay, was 
 startling to those engaged in his execution. For a 
 few seconds they gazed at him in wonder. Then Doo- 
 lin said: "Is there any of you that would say some 
 thing, or maybe put up a prayer for him?" 
 
 At this all eyes turned toward Young, who was 
 standing a little apart from the others, the moon 
 shining full into his pale face. For a few moments 
 there was silence. With the boy the reaction had 
 come quickly after his sudden outbreak, and his knees 
 \\ ere visibly shaking. 
 
 Young gave a slight start, as if awaking from a 
 dream. Then, in a low voice, vibrant with intense 
 feeling, and at first more as if soliloquizing than ad 
 dressing those around him, he said: 
 
 "Life is eternal. Every act, every thought, lives 
 on and on. The present is but an echo of what was 
 done, what was thought, in the past. Each of us is 
 an expression of thought that existed long before we 
 appeared in our present forms. The life of each one 
 of us is to a large extent the result of causes with 
 which we had nothing to do. As our lives were 
 molded by those who lived before our time, so we 
 who now live are molding the future. What we do 
 will add to the welfare or to the misery will make 
 for the weal or woe of those yet unborn. 
 
 "Humanity is all one. A wrong done to any per-
 
 NED LONG 81 
 
 son is an injury to mankind. He who hates does 
 himself the greatest possible injury. He who loves 
 is doing for himself the highest possible good. 
 
 "Because some time in the past love was stifled, 
 this wandering boy is here to-night to pay the pen 
 alty of his crime. Is it his crime? I think not. It is 
 the fault or the crime of some one who in the past 
 ignored the great truth that love is the supreme law. 
 
 "The time will come, my brothers, when there will 
 be no outcasts, when the truth will bo known and 
 acted on that we are all members of one family and 
 the children of one loving parent. We can do much 
 to hasten the coming of that day. It is well for us 
 and for all if we do justly and love mercy. Now is 
 the only time when any man can do the thing that is 
 right. 
 
 "If we take from this boy the life that we cannot 
 give back, we shall be doing ourselves a wrong that 
 will cause us lifelong regret and shame, a wrong that 
 can never be righted. If we do what our better na 
 tures prompt us to do, we shall always look upon this 
 clay as a bright spot in our lives. 
 
 "Oh, men! are we fit to sit in judgment upon him, 
 or to take his life? He is little more than a child. 
 How many of us would be here to-night if our short 
 comings at his age had not been overlooked if our 
 wrongs committed in later life had not been con 
 doned? We do not know what trials he has had,
 
 82 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 what wrongs he has suffered, what temptations he 
 has overcome. 
 
 " 'What's done we partly may compute, 
 But know not what's resisted.' 
 
 "For his sake, for our own sakes, for the sake of the 
 loving God whose children we all are, let not this 
 wrong he done!" 
 
 Young's manner had changed. The man seemed 
 to expand, to grow "before the eyes of his hearers as he 
 proceeded. He spoke to them with impassioned ear 
 nestness, and at the close his voice, though it had not 
 been raised, had in it the ring of perfect confidence. 
 The men addressed listened, at first curiously, then 
 with bated breath. There was a short interval of si 
 lence, and then Young, turning upward a face as 
 calm as that of the moon itself, uttered this prayer: 
 
 "Our Father, Who art ever present with us, we 
 thank Thee day by day for all the good that is ours 
 for the life and health and strength which are of 
 Thee and of which Thou art a part; for the blessed 
 sunshine, the beautiful moonlight, the streams that 
 flow and the life-giving air we breathe. 
 
 "We thank Thee that we live in a land of freedom, 
 where the heavy hand of the oppressor is unknown. 
 
 "We thank Thee especially, our Father, for the in 
 telligence which enables us to know Thee as our
 
 NED LONG 83 
 
 common parent and to recognize each other as broth 
 ers that teaches us that an injury to the smallest 
 of Thy children is a wrong done to ourselves. 
 
 "For all these things, our Father, we shall thank 
 Thee while we live. Amen." 
 
 There was but one person present who kept his hat 
 on during this prayer. His hands were tied. 
 
 At the conclusion of his prayer Young turned and 
 walked slowly toward the house. For a little time 
 the others stood looking after him. But one man had 
 hold of the rope, and he was wholly unconscious that 
 he was holding it. Bill Doolin had been conducting 
 the affair up to within the last five minutes, but in 
 that five minutes Young had completely superseded 
 him in command, and when Young walked away the 
 men, including Doolin, all felt that their leader was 
 gone. 
 
 Presently Bob Thompson pulled Doolin's sleeve, 
 and, with a jerk of his head away from the group, 
 walked off a few rods, followed by Doolin, where the 
 two held a conversation in tones too low to be un 
 derstood by the others. After two or three minutes 
 one of the two, raising his voice enough to be heard, 
 said: 
 
 "Boys!" 
 
 The rest of the cow-boys moved over to where 
 Doolin and Thompson were talking, leaving the boy
 
 84 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 standing alone, his hands still tied, the noose about 
 his neck and the rope hanging over the limb. 
 
 The boy could hear only a murmur of voices until 
 some one said in a louder tone: 
 
 "It won't do for this to get out. Every mother's 
 son here must swear not to squeak, even to his 
 chums." 
 
 "How about Young?" asked another. 
 
 "Huh! he's not the kind that talks," said Doolin. 
 "Still, one of us might mention it to him." 
 
 The men returned in a body to where the boy was 
 standing, when one of them untied the boy's hands 
 while Doolin removed the noose from his neck, say 
 ing: 
 
 "Kid, you go and tell Bill Young you owe your 
 neck to him, 'nd then you'd better hit the trail." 
 
 The boy did not move at once, and Doolin, hand 
 ing him some money, added in a manner which had 
 recovered all its accustomed roughness: 
 
 "Take this so's you won't need to get into no more 
 trouble 'round here, 'nd don't you never tell nobody 
 that you stole a horse on this range 'nd got away!" 
 
 The boy showed signs of breaking down, but Bob 
 Thompson said to him kindly, "There, now, kid, 
 come on," and led him toward the house. 
 
 As they passed the stables Young came out lead 
 ing the horse, Whitefoot, bridled and with the boy's
 
 NED LONG 85 
 
 blanket strapped on him. The boy tried to say some 
 thing to him, but broke down sobbing. 
 
 "There, Joe," said Young, gently, "it's all right. 
 You've had a hard time of it to-day. Now, this horse 
 is yours. Here's a short bill of sale for him in case 
 anybody should stop you again. His name's White- 
 foot, but he answers to White for short. I want you 
 to take care of him, and of yourself. You'll find an 
 empty house with a haystack near it about five miles 
 down the road. You'd better camp there to-night 
 and give the horse plenty of hay. Here's some change 
 to help you along." 
 
 "I have money," said the boy. 
 
 "The boys give him some," said Bob. 
 
 "All right, then," said Young. "Now, good-by 
 and 'take, care of yourself. You'll come out all 
 right." 
 
 In strange contrast with the defiant young desper 
 ado who had dared them to hang him a short while 
 before was the utterly collapsed boy who rode slowly 
 away. 
 
 After watching him for a short distance Young 
 said to Thompson : 
 
 "If you have a fresh horse that you'll let me take, 
 I believe I'll ride home to-night." 
 
 "You can have a dozen horses if you want them/' 
 said Thompson, "but we'd like to have you stay over 
 with us."
 
 86 THE LABGEB FAITH 
 
 "Thank you, but my family will miss me," said 
 Young, smiling. 
 
 Before he started, all the men shook hands with 
 Young, most of them silently. Thompson said: 
 "Xever mind about bringin' that horse back; we 
 don't need him, 'nd some of us'll be up your way be 
 fore long 'nd get him." 
 
 Doolin walked a little distance by the side of 
 Young's horse, and as the two shook hands before 
 separating, said: "By God, Young, you done the 
 right thing again; it won't do to get out, though, 
 that we let the kid go." 
 
 "You all did the right thing," said Young. "My 
 word for it, you'll not be sorry." 
 
 As for himself, Young always looked upon his 
 lonely ride home in the moonlight that night as one 
 of the happiest experiences of his life. He spent the 
 next day in his usual routine, and a little after dark 
 v. as in his sitting room reading when there was a 
 timid knock at his door. On opening the door he 
 saw standing there the boy Joe with rolled-up 
 blanket in his hand, just as he had when he first ap 
 peared at the cabin. 
 
 "Why, Joe, I thought you were on your way to 
 Texas," said Young. "Come in." 
 
 The boy entered with a hesitating step and an ap 
 pealing look in his eyes. 
 
 "Your horse is in the stable," he said. "I couldn't
 
 NED LONG 87 
 
 take him from you that way after what I'd 
 done." 
 
 He paused and tried to swallow a lump in his 
 throat. 
 
 "I wanted to tell you I never meant to take your 
 horse I couldn't 've done it after what you'd done 
 for ine. I didn't mean to steal the horse from any 
 body but I had no right to ride him so far, but if 
 I'd knowed he was your horse I wouldn't 've touched 
 him only to pet him, when he come up to me." 
 
 Young listened in silence, looking intently at the 
 boy. 
 
 "I wish you could believe me, Mr. Young," said 
 the boy, after a pause. "I'd rather have you believe 
 me than anything." 
 
 "I do believe you, Joe," said Young. 
 
 "Thank you!" said the boy, with a sigh of relief. 
 
 After a little pause Young said: "And now, if you 
 will, I wish you'd tell me one or two things you 
 needn't unless you want to do so. Are your folks ex 
 pecting you in Texas?" 
 
 "I meant to tell you the truth about that, too," 
 said the boy. "I haven't got no folks in Texas. I 
 live up in Colorado and run away from home. My 
 real name's Ned Long Edward's my first name, but 
 they always call me Ned." 
 
 "Why did you run away?" asked Young. 
 
 "My stepfather whipped me and abused me every
 
 88 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 way," answered the boy. "I run away once before 
 and he took me back home and licked me with a 
 quirt worse than any horse." 
 
 Seeing Young's intent gaze fixed on him, the boy 
 thought his statements were doubted. 
 
 "I want you to know I'm telling the truth," he 
 said. "Look at my back." 
 
 Hastily unbuttoning his woolen shirt, he grasped 
 the collar and pulled it down, exposing the upper 
 part of his back. Young took one look and turned 
 pale. 
 
 "Did your mother know this?" he asked. 
 
 "My mother's been dead two years," said the boy. 
 
 "How long has your father been dead?" asked 
 Young. 
 
 "Since I was five years old," answered the boy. 
 
 After a few minutes Young asked: "How would 
 you like to stay here?" 
 
 "Right along? Oh, I'd like it if you only had 
 work for me so you could let me stay! I'd do any 
 thing to get to stay here!" exclaimed the boy. 
 
 "Then it is settled; you will stay," said Young. 
 The boy showing signs of being troubled again with 
 the lump in his throat, Young added in a cheerful 
 tone: "This will begin a new life for you, and you'd 
 better start out by taking a hot-water bath. When 
 you take off your clothes put them in the stove 
 everything you've been wearing but the shoes. I'll
 
 NED LONG 89 
 
 give you some of mine to put on in the morning. 
 They'll do till I get to town." 
 
 As Young was passing into the sitting room to 
 give the boy an opportunity to wash himself he 
 paused at the door and turning to the boy asked: 
 
 "Do you feel safe here, Ned?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I do," answered Ned. 
 
 "Then I want you to dismiss all fear of everybody 
 and everything to-night now. Let your fear go 
 into the stove with your old clothes. Will you do 
 this for me and for yourself?" 
 
 "I'll do anything for you," answered Ned. "I will 
 not be afraid."
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 DAVID WINTER. 
 
 There was a vacancy in the pastorate of the First 
 
 Presbyterian church in the city of C , the former 
 
 pastor, Dr. Leighton, having resigned to accept a 
 similar position in a larger and wealthier church of 
 the same denomination, and which, incidentally, paid 
 a considerably larger salary than he had been get 
 ting. 
 
 For several years Dr. Leighton had been regarded 
 as a rising man in the Presbyterian ministry. He 
 was an eloquent preacher and his congregation took 
 pride in him. True, some hypercritical persons 
 thought his pulpit manner too studied, his gestures 
 and elocution somewhat stagy and affected, but his 
 ability was generally conceded. One of the denom> 
 iriational colleges had conferred upon him the title of 
 D. D. while he was yet a young man, which made 
 his congregation still more proud of him. During 
 his pastorate he had by his eloquence and zeal per 
 suaded the congregation to erect a splendid church 
 edifice, which, when completed, was covered by a
 
 DAVID WIN TEE 91 
 
 mortgage representing something more than half the 
 cost of the building and the ground on which it 
 stood a favorite modern method of keeping church 
 members constantly reminded that they owe some 
 thing to the cause and that the Lord loveth a cheerful 
 giver. 
 
 The church was duly dedicated to the service of 
 God, the cushioned pews in the large auditorium be 
 ing completely filled with well-dressed people. The 
 services on this occasion were impressive and the 
 sermon preached by the pastor was generally com 
 mented upon by the members of the congregation as 
 one of great power. 
 
 What endeared Dr. Leighton to his people above 
 all things else was the fact that he was strictly or 
 thodox. What the articles of faith of his church set 
 out, he preached; what the creed specified, he upheld 
 and defended with all the force and skill of a trained 
 advocate. He abhorred heterodoxy. 
 
 But he had resigned and was gone, leaving as a 
 monument of his labors the finest church edifice in 
 the city; also the mortgage resting upon it. Most of 
 the members of the congregation looked upon his 
 going as a serious loss to the church, and felt sure 
 his place could not be entirely filled. 
 
 For some time the pulpit was filled by "supplies" 
 ministers who could be secured for one Sunday at 
 a time, and a few gentlemen had been asked to come
 
 92 THE LABQER FAITH 
 
 and preach trial sermons, but as yet no call had been 
 extended to any of them. 
 
 Finally the Rev. David Winter was invited to preach 
 a trial sermon. It is a wonder that these trial ser 
 mons are ever followed by the employment of the 
 man who preaches one of them. For not only is the 
 sermon itself closely followed and dissected, but the 
 preacher's every movement, his voice, his gestures, 
 how he handles his .handkerchief, the way his hair 
 is combed, his manner of closing the bible all these 
 things and many others are closely watched, criticised 
 and discussed. 
 
 However, the trial sermon of Rev. Mr. Winter 
 proved acceptable to those who heard it. At any 
 rate, the church extended to him a call to become 
 its regular pastor, and he removed his family to the 
 
 city of C and entered upon his pastorate a few 
 
 months after his predecessor had left. 
 
 The family consisted of a wife and three children. 
 Mrs. Winter was a woman of refinement and of tact, 
 well fitted both by nature and education to aid her 
 husband in the varied and often perplexing duties 
 which a minister is called upon to perform. The 
 eldest child, a boy sixteen years of age, in his char 
 acter contradicted the prevailing opinion that all 
 preachers' sons are bad boys. John Winter was, like 
 his father, a gentleman. The two younger children 
 were girls aged respectively ten and twelve years, and
 
 DAVID WINTEH 93 
 
 they were healthy, hearty, average children. The 
 family was well received in church and society cir 
 cles, and it is only necessary to add that during their 
 
 residence in the city of C no personal objection 
 
 was ever made against any of them from the head of 
 the family to the youngest child. 
 
 Eev. Mr. Winter was fifty years old, of medium 
 height, slender build, and with a head and face in 
 dicating intellectuality and strength of character. 
 While not presenting the appearance of a robust man 
 or one of great physical strength, his kindly, bright 
 blue eyes were indicative of health and an active 
 spirit. He was a college-bred man, and had been 
 preaching since he was twenty-five years of age. He 
 was thoroughly a Christian, exemplifying in his 
 every-day life what he preached. 
 
 Shortly after his removal to the city of C he 
 
 became connected with the local charity organiza 
 tions and continued to be an officer in them during 
 his stay in that city. 
 
 When, as a young man, David Winter first entered 
 the ministry he was something of a stickler for the 
 creed of his church. He prepared and delivered 
 many able sermons expounding the doctrines of his 
 denomination. He took both pride and pleasure in 
 discussing close points of dogma and in making fine 
 distinctions. But in his twenty-five years of preach 
 ing he had learned a good deal. His belief in the es*
 
 94 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 sential truths of Christianity had in nowise become 
 weakened, but he no longer took either pride or 
 pleasure in discussing or expounding hair-splitting 
 points of mere doctrine. He had developed spirit 
 ually. He liked to dwell on God as the Eternal Father 
 and as a kind and loving parent. He liked to preach 
 the teachings of Jesus Christ. There was in his ser 
 mons more of love and less condemnation than be 
 fore. He had seen many people, and especially young 
 people, kept out of the church, and even professing a 
 disbelief in religion itself, because they refused to ac 
 cept doctrines some of which had now become ob 
 solete even with the ultra orthodox. He conceived it 
 to be his duty to draw rather than attempt to drive 
 people to Christ. This was his state of mind when 
 he entered upon the pastorate of the First Presby 
 terian church at C . 
 
 The attendants at the church were moderately ap 
 preciative of his sermons. As has been said, a con 
 siderable portion of the congregation had a settled 
 conviction that no preacher who might come would 
 or could altogether fill Dr. Leighton's place. Still, 
 most of them liked Mr. Winter's preaching, and 
 many of them learned to love the man. There was 
 nothing theatrical about his pulpit manner or his 
 utterances. Both in and out of the pulpit he was 
 modest and unassuming, and his manner and words 
 were simple and direct. Withal he was full of energy
 
 DAVID WINTER 95 
 
 and ever ready to go anywhere to lend a helping hand 
 or say a needed word. 
 
 The church debt began to make itself felt. Not 
 only had no part of the original debt been paid, but 
 interest had been allowed to accumulate", and one un 
 godly creditor had threatened to foreclose his mort 
 gage unless the interest were kept paid up. The 
 finance committee had a few words to say on several 
 Sundays before the congregation was dismissed. They 
 said them, but their words failed to bring the de 
 sired result. In the church were several persons con 
 sidered wealthy, who, at the time of building the 
 church, had subscribed and paid liberal sums and all 
 they felt able to give, with the distinct and express 
 understanding that they should not be called upon 
 for any more money for that purpose. Some of the 
 officers of the church suggested to Mr. Winter that as 
 a stranger to the contract he go to these members and 
 ask them for money on the church debt, at the same 
 time explaining why they could not go themselves. 
 Mr. Winter flatly refused. Then the church authori 
 ties asked him to preach a special sermon calculated 
 to raise the needed money. This was not just the 
 kind of sermon he liked best to preach or in which 
 he appeared at his best. As a debt-raiser, one of the 
 professional hustlers who go about raising church 
 debts, it must be acknowledged the Eev. David Win 
 ter would probably not have proved an eminent sue-
 
 96 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 cess. Still, he preached the asked-for sermon, and 
 still the debt remained unpaid. 
 
 Now, it is a fact in natural history that all persons 
 do not enjoy being continually dunned for money, 
 even at church. Some of the attendants at this 
 church, wearied by the importunities for money 
 which seemed to them to form a principal feature of 
 every service, began to remain away, which made the 
 burden all the greater on those who stayed or, prop 
 erly speaking, on those who remained faithful. The 
 membership of the church had not materially in 
 creased since the advent of Mr. Winter. The at 
 tendance was undoubtedly diminishing. Among the 
 members of the church there began to spread a spirit 
 of unrest. Like the boy who ate too much mince 
 pie, they were out of sorts with themselves and didn't 
 know why. A sort of dyspeptic feeling was pervading 
 the church. The truth is, that being called upon to 
 pay interest on a hopeless debt is not necessarily an 
 aid to spirituality. Debt is not always conducive to 
 spiritual growth and development. 
 
 David Winter was a close and experienced observer 
 of human nature, especially as it manifests itself 
 among church members. He saw with anxiety and 
 with many misgivings the indications we have out 
 lined. He was the spiritual leader and guide of that 
 people and he fully realized the responsibility of his 
 position. Was he doing his full duty to them? Might
 
 DAVID WINTEK 97 
 
 it be that in some respect he was falling short? For 
 weeks the problem was constantly with him. He 
 prayed fervently for spiritual light, for greater power 
 to do for his flock all that the Master would have 
 him do. In his sermons he made every effort to 
 arouse in his hearers the spirit of love and thus dispel 
 the discontent and lassitude which he felt were steal 
 ing over the members of his church. In his experi 
 ence as a minister never had he been so perplexed and 
 so vexed in spirit; never had he labored so hard and 
 so earnestly. For months he devoted every energy of 
 every waking hour in the endeavor to stem the tide 
 which he felt was rising against the welfare of his 
 church. His difficulty was increased by the fact that 
 his physical strength, which heretofore had been al 
 ways equal to any call made upon it, began to give 
 way under the strain. In his great anxiety to do his 
 full duty his energetic nature had prompted him to 
 overwork himself. 
 
 This was the state of affairs when one Thursday 
 evening the church officers held a regular meeting at 
 which the minister was expected to be present and 
 preside. Mr. Winter noted with pleasure that there 
 was an unusually full attendance, all the officers of 
 the church being present save one whom he knew to 
 be confined at home by illness. At last, thought he, 
 the proper spirit was taking hold of the church. At 
 last the discouraging and depressing conditions un-
 
 98 THE LAEGEB FAITH 
 
 der which he had been laboring were beginning to 
 change. 
 
 After about an hour spent in routine business, and 
 when Bev. Mr. Winter, thinking the meeting was 
 about to break up, had asked those present to join 
 him in prayer and had offered up a fervent prayer 
 with more heartfelt thankfulness than he had been 
 able to feel for a long time, one of the elders, after 
 some hesitation, cleared his throat and said: 
 
 "Brother Winter, there are some things we want 
 to talk to you about." 
 
 Mr. Winter looked interrogatively at the speaker 
 and was silent. 
 
 "The fact is," said the elder, "\ve haven't felt sat 
 isfied with your preaching. Since you've been here 
 you have only made a passing reference once or twice 
 to our articles of faith. Now, we look on our creed 
 as the basis of the church, and it seems to us it ought 
 to be expounded and explained more." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Winter, mildly and with a rising 
 inflection. "Was there anything else?" 
 
 "Yes, there is," replied the elder, his face becom 
 ing slightly flushed. "We think the sermons you 
 preach are not orthodox." 
 
 "The one you preached last Sabbath," spoke up an^ 
 other, "on the text 'And God so loved the world' 
 seemed to imply that all persons may be saved. Now,
 
 DAVID WIXTEK 99 
 
 that's not according to the doctrine of the Presby 
 terian church." 
 
 "And listening to your other sermons, Mr. Win 
 ter," said another, "one couldn't have told that they 
 were preached by a Presbyterian minister at all/' 
 
 "Listening to some of them," said a man back in a 
 corner of the room, Td hare thought they were 
 preached by a Universalist or a Unitarian." 
 
 "It may be. brothers." said Mr. Winter/'that I have 
 not devoted as much attention to doctrinal points in 
 my sermons as you think I ought to have done. I 
 know I don't devote so much time to them as when 
 I was younger in the ministry. Still. I don't think I 
 have become unorthodox.'' 
 
 "Didn't you say," said one who had not yet spoken. 
 "that the lesson to be learned from the story of Jonah 
 and the whale is that when a man has a duty to per 
 form or is sent to do a thing, he should not turn 
 aside, leaving the plain implication that the story it 
 self is not a statement of fact?" 
 
 "Yes. I said that was the lesson I learned from the 
 story of Jonah." replied Mr. TVinter. ''The implica 
 tion is your own, but let it stand." 
 
 "Do you believe in infant baptism P* asked one of 
 those present 
 
 ""Yes, and I have practiced it during all my min 
 istry," replied Mr. Winter. 
 
 "Some of your sermons," said one, "'seem to leave
 
 100 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 the impression that the heathen can be saved. Do 
 you believe that?" 
 
 "I have tried," said Mr. Winter, "to preach the 
 gospel of Jesus Christ " 
 
 "It isn't a question of the gospel of Jesus Christ," 
 spoke up a deacon who on weekdays was engaged 
 in the loan business. "This is a Presbyterian church, 
 and the question is whether you are orthodox 
 whether what you preach is Presbyterian doctrine." 
 
 "I understand," said another, "that in the sermon 
 you preached four weeks ago last Sabbath you ex 
 pressed a doubt as to the miraculous conception of 
 Christ. I didn't hear the sermon myself I was out 
 of the city but one of the brothers said he so un 
 derstood you." 
 
 "My brothers," replied Mr. Winter, with more feel 
 ing than he had before shown, "that is totally a mis 
 take. I do believe in the miraculous conception 
 of Jesus Christ. I have always believed it, and I 
 have never uttered a word, here or elsewhere, from 
 \vhich any person could fairly get any such idea as 
 you suggest." 
 
 They interrogated him as to his belief in the bible 
 from Genesis to Revelations; they wanted to know 
 if he believed the story of the creation, and if the 
 days mentioned in that recital were of the same 
 length as the present days; they asked about Adam 
 and Eve, and whether he believed in the responsi-
 
 DAVID WINTEB 101 
 
 bility of the entire human race for Adam's sin. They 
 asked him if it was true that he had expressed a doubt 
 of the correctness of the bible chronology showing 
 the age of the earth to be six thousand years, and 
 upon his replying that he had every reason to be 
 lieve the earth's age to be more than twice six thou 
 sand years, they shook their heads, sighed deeply, 
 and gazed at each other with countenances full of 
 sorrow. 
 
 They asked him if he believed Joshua stopped the 
 sun; if he believed the story of Shadrach, Meshach 
 and Abednego; whether the book of Job was to be 
 taken as a literal statement of historic fact. 
 
 But it would perhaps be the shorter way to specify 
 what they did not ask him. For full five hours, with 
 out having given him any intimation of their inten 
 tion to question him or that there was any sort of 
 charge against him, they kept him in the pillory. 
 Suffice it to say many other things they did and said, 
 the which, if they were written in a book, would 
 disgrace the name of the church, discredit the cause 
 of Christ, drive into infidelity every young person 
 who should read it, keep away from the church all 
 who think or who have any sense of fairness, and 
 bring into contempt the very name of religion it 
 self if such proceedings could be imagined to have 
 any relation to or connection with religion. 
 
 Throughout the ordeal the Rev. Mr. Winter by a
 
 102 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 strong effort, it must be confessed retained com 
 mand of himself, was good-tempered and answered 
 his carping critics gently and in a kindly spirit. But 
 the effect of it all upon him in his then state of mind 
 and of physical health, coming upon him as it did 
 like a clap of thunder from a clear sky, can be im 
 agined. He slept none that night, and but little on 
 either of the two following nights. On Sunday he 
 looked haggard and careworn. It could be easily 
 seen that he ought to be at home and in bed. But he 
 preached at least he tried to preach. 
 
 The next day Darrell met him on the street and 
 was shocked at his appearance. They had met short 
 ly after Mr. Winter's arrival at C and had con 
 ceived a liking for each other. He was the one 
 preacher with whom Darrell had ever had more than 
 a passing or casual acquaintance. There was some 
 thing about Mr. Winter that drew the young man 
 toward him. For the past year Darrell had been call 
 ing and spending a half-hour or an hour with the 
 Winter family almost every week. The subject of re 
 ligion was not talked of between them. 
 
 Darrell had noticed for some time that his friend 
 was not looking as well as formerly, but he had never 
 seen him looking so ill as to-day. Wishing not to be 
 tray too much of what was in his mind, he said as 
 they shook hands: "You're not looking quite up to
 
 DAVID WINTES 103 
 
 the mark in health, Mr. Winter. Are you feeling 
 ill?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the minister, "I've just been calling 
 on the doctor." 
 
 "What is the trouble, if I may ask?" said Darrell. 
 
 "My greatest trouble is insomnia," said the min 
 ister. "The doctor calls it exhaustion, and says I am 
 on the verge of nervous prostration. He also says my 
 lungs are affected. You know," he added with a 
 smile and Darrell thought it was a ghastly smile 
 "the doctors are liable to make things appear worse 
 than they are sometimes." 
 
 "Yes," assented Darrell, "that is true sometimes. 
 What does the doctor prescribe ?" 
 
 "Absolute rest and quiet, in an arid climate, if pos 
 sible. He advises me to go to Colorado and live in a 
 tent for a few months," replied the minister. 
 
 Darrell at once thought of Young's ranch. "I 
 know a good place," he said, "but it isn't in Colorado, 
 nor exactly a tent. I don't know whether arrange 
 ments can be made for you to stay there, but if you'll 
 let me I'll find out within a few days." He told his 
 fiiend of the ranch, its situation and surroundings, 
 but said little about Young, only that he was a bach 
 elor, living alone, and he thought Mr. Winter would 
 find it a good place for his purpose, if Young would 
 receive him. Mr. Winter replied that he would be
 
 104 THE LABGEB FAITH 
 
 obliged if Darrell would write to Young and if pos 
 sible engage board for him for a few months. 
 
 Mr. Winter's congregation did not at all indorse 
 what the officers of the church had done. On the 
 contrary, as soon as the facts became known, the con 
 gregation got together, repudiated the action of the 
 officers of the church, demanded their resignations 
 and passed a strongly worded resolution expressing 
 their confidence in and sympathy with the minister. 
 But it was too late. Mr. Winter's health was broken, 
 and besides, he knew that if he stayed and probably 
 whether he stayed or went there would be a fac 
 tional fight in the church. He was compelled to 
 make his resignation peremptory, which he did. Then 
 he prepared to get away to the west as soon as pos 
 sible.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE BISHOP. 
 
 The feeling that Ned Long had toward Young was 
 one of hero worship. Not only had Young shown 
 him kindness when he was in distress, but he felt 
 sure that but for Young's unexpected interference he 
 would have died an ignominious death. Then since 
 he began living at the ranch he had learned to love 
 Young, whose character was so simple, so unconven 
 tional and unassuming, and withal so full of good 
 will toward others that he seemed without any effort 
 on his part to inspire the hearts of all who came near 
 him with a love for himself. 
 
 Ned Long's affection for him was dog-like in its 
 simplicity and entire unselfishness. There was noth 
 ing Ned would not have done or tried to do for him. 
 One with a wide and accurate knowledge of human 
 nature has said: "Greater love hath no man than 
 this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." 
 Judged by this standard, the love of Ned Long could 
 not have been greater, for at any time he would will-
 
 106 THE LARGEK FAITH 
 
 ingly nay, cheerfully have laid down his life for 
 William Young. 
 
 Their only point of difference arose from Ned's 
 persistence in wanting to do all the work. Young, 
 however, quietly but firmly insisted on a fair division 
 of what needed doing, and that each of them should 
 do only his share. 
 
 For the first time in his life Ned began to have a 
 feeling of self-respect and to acquire self-confidence. 
 When he had been at the ranch a few days, Young, 
 having learned what advancement the boy had made 
 in the way of acquiring an education, suggested to 
 him the advantage of spending some time each day 
 in study. Ned adopted the suggestion, and under 
 Young's tuition entered upon his studies with such 
 zeal that he made surprising progress. 
 
 Nor was the advantage all on the boy's side. Young 
 had never before attempted to teach a young person, 
 and after keeping it up a few weeks he could not help 
 feeling that he was deriving from it as much benefit 
 as he was giving Ned. 
 
 Young had insisted that his gift of Whitefoot to 
 Ned stand as made, and had added to it a saddle and 
 bridle. After learning by correspondence with the 
 County court of the county in Colorado from which 
 Ned had come that no guardian for him had ever 
 been appointed, Young, after consultation with Ned, 
 took him to the county seat and at Ned's request,
 
 THE BISHOP 107 
 
 made in person to the County court, was duly ap 
 pointed guardian of the person and property of Ed 
 ward Long, minor. This was merely a matter of pre 
 caution, but it served to give Ned a feeling of perfect 
 security. 
 
 Bob Thompson called at the ranch in December. 
 He stared at Ned, hardly able to recognize in him the 
 boy he had brought there two months before. How 
 ever, they shook hands, and no reference was made 
 by any of them to the occasion of their becoming ac 
 quainted; but when Young and Thompson had re 
 tired to the sitting room and the boy was out of hear 
 ing, Bob remarked: "A man that can pick up a 
 broncho out of the herd 'nd make a thoroughbred of 
 him inside of two months is a tol'able fair handler of 
 live stock." 
 
 When they had talked for a time the conversation 
 drifted to some of their mutual acquaintances, and 
 Bob said: "Sometimes I sort of feel like a steer that's 
 found a piece of good pasture that all the herd ain't 
 onto." 
 
 Not catching his drift, Young waited for him to 
 proceed. 
 
 "And sometimes," continued Bob, "it seems to me 
 
 maybe I ought to ," and he paused, uncertain 
 
 just how to express himself. 
 
 "You feel like doing what you can to help others?" 
 said Young.
 
 108 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 "Yes, that's about the size of it, only I don't seem 
 to have much of a cinch on just how to go at it," re 
 plied Bob. 
 
 "You have been at it for some time," said Young. 
 "There's no doubt that your influence for good has 
 gone out and has accomplished work that you haven't 
 dreamed of." 
 
 "Well, I hope none of the boys has been any worse 
 on account of me, lately," said Bob. 
 
 "The right plan for all of us," replied Young, "is, 
 I think, to do our nearest duty day by day, and to do 
 it as well as we know how. Be patient. When the 
 time is ripe opportunities will come to each of us to 
 do his appointed work." 
 
 Bob's opportunity came to him sooner than he ex 
 pected, and in an unlooked-for way. It happened 
 that on the second Sunday after his talk with Young 
 ho met with eighteen or twenty cowboys and two or 
 three ranchmen at a cattle ranch where cowmen were 
 wont to meet occasionally for the sake of sociability 
 and the exchange of views on matters of interest. 
 After they had eaten dinner, the day being warm and 
 pleasant, they had gathered in a circle outside the 
 cabin, and were seated, some on the ground and others 
 on benches, boxes and a few chairs, having a general 
 talk on nothing in particular and occasionally passing 
 a joke around. Bob was sitting on the end of an 
 empty soap box. During a lull in the conversation
 
 THE BISHOP 109 
 
 some one on the opposite side of the circle said: "Why 
 don't you carry no gun any more, Bob?" Nearly all 
 of those present had noticed the fact that "Bob had 
 not been carrying a gun of late, and they listened for 
 his answer. 
 
 "Well," he replied, "the fact is I ain't got no use 
 for a gun. I don't want to shoot nobody 'nd nobody 
 wants to shoot me." 
 
 "Must 've got that from Bill Young, didn't you?" 
 asked one. 
 
 "Yes," said Bob, "I don't mind sayin' I got that 
 from Bill Young. I've got a good deal from him 
 that's done me good." 
 
 "Bob's been havin' some long powwows with 
 Young," said one of the cowboys. 
 
 "It's a ten-to-one bet Young didn't do him no 
 harm," said Sam McChesney; "he's about as straight- 
 haired as they make 'em." 
 
 This Sam McChesney was a big, burly, warm 
 hearted cowboy, always ready for a frolic or a fight. 
 Ordinarily he chose the frolic, but at times a fight 
 seemed decidedly preferable to him. One peculiarity 
 of his was that only those well acquainted with him 
 could tell which he had in mind, for the thought of 
 either frolic or fight so pleased him that his face 
 broadened into a bland smile. Still, his intimate ac 
 quaintances could detect a slight difference in the
 
 110 THE LABGER FAITH 
 
 smiles, and they regulated their conduct accord 
 ingly. 
 
 "Tell us what Young's been givin' you, Bob, that 
 makes you lay away your gun," said one. 
 
 "If it's any religious guff, don't give it to us," said 
 a ranchman who took pride in being known as an 
 atheist. 
 
 "Hold on there, pardner!" said Sam McChesney, 
 addressing the ranchman. "You'd better not get to 
 ridin' too fast till you're sure which way the herd's 
 headin'. Me 'nd Bob here 've punched cows together 
 for five years. I never had no kick comin' at him, 
 but in the last year I've seen a change in him. He's 
 been a better cowpuncher; he's been a better fellow 
 to be with. We used to could bet on him most of 
 the time, but there was times when he was like the 
 rest of us a little uncertain. You can bank on him 
 now every minute of the time. I suspicioned he was 
 gettin' it from Young, because he was gettin' more 
 like Young all the time and that ain't no bad way 
 to be. I made up my mind I wanted to learn the 
 game. I wanted to set in the first chance I got, for I 
 believe it's a winner." 
 
 "There's where you chucked five aces the first dash 
 out of the box, son Sam," said Bob. "The game is a 
 winner, a sure winner, 'nd I'd like to put you all on, 
 I've win $500 out of it, besides feelin' better than I 
 ever did in my life before. I don't claim to know all
 
 THE BISHOP 111 
 
 about it, but I've got a cinch on some of it, and 
 more's comin' to me all the time. Ever since I 
 started in at it things has been comin' my way. It 
 makes a fellow feel as if he had lots of relations 'nd 
 they was all friendly to him 'nd he liked all of them. 
 He don't feel no grudge against nobody, for he feels 
 dead sure every one of the other fellows is doin' the 
 best he knows how. He feels like treatin' his horse 
 as well as he can. You know how Bill Young is that 
 way. He won't see even a burro get the worst of it. 
 He can go out on the range 'nd walk up to any horse 
 or colt he owns he don't need to walk to 'em; they'll 
 come to him. Then how is he with men? How many 
 nights has he stayed with us just to look after us like 
 we was his own children when we was boozin' 'nd 
 buckin' faro 'nd him not drinkin' a drop nor playin' 
 a chip? Now, what makes a man act that way with 
 men 'nd with horses 'nd with everything? I tell you 
 what it is it's love. It sounds pretty queer to some 
 of you, maybe, a cowpuncher bein' in love with men, 
 but it's a God's fact just the same. 
 
 "We've all been thinkin' that we was awful wicked 
 'nd bound to go to hell unless we put on a long face 
 'nd joined some church. We've been thinkin' we 
 was all born bad, 'nd it was as natural for us to be bad 
 as it is for a lot of Texas steeers to stick up their tails 
 'nd stampede in a thunderstorm. It ain't so. We was 
 born good, 'nd it's easier to be good than not to.
 
 "I don't mean the kind of good that white-neck- 
 tied shorthorn from Indiana was talkin' about at the 
 revival meetin' last winter. He meant all right, but 
 he was on the wrong trail. The medicine he was 
 peddlin' was bad to take 'nd wouldn't do what was 
 claimed for it. 
 
 "Tom over there says he don't want to hear nothin' 
 about religion. But there ain't no long-faced, win 
 ter-steer business about this kind of religion. It's 
 love. It's the same feelin' your mother had for you 
 'nd you had for your mother. There ain't nothin' 
 about it to make a man feel like a coyote after a four- 
 foot fall of snow. 
 
 "There ain't none of us but what believes in God, 
 but we've always thought God was too far off for us 
 to understand or know anything about. It ain't so. 
 God is right here, in us 'nd all about us 'nd a part of 
 us. We can't any more get away from God than we 
 can from the air we breathe. 
 
 "It's the same with religion. It's born in us. It's 
 part of us 'nd we can't get away from it, 'nd we 
 wouldn't want to if we could. There ain't no mourn 
 er's bench business about it. All you've got to do 
 is to let the light shine into you 'nd you'll get there 
 all right enough. You can try it for yourself 'nd you 
 can tell every time whether it's the right brand. If it 
 makes you feel good toward everybody 'nd want to do 
 everybody a good turn 'nd help everybody, then you
 
 THE BISHOP 113 
 
 can bet your saddle against a white chip it's the 
 straight goods. 
 
 "Just look into yourselves 'nd you'll find that 
 what's inside, the thinkin' part, cuts a lot more ice 
 than the part that wears clothes. That's the only 
 sure-enough man. If you just let that part of you 
 boss the job for awhile, you'll find the sunshine '11 
 seem brighter, the air '11 seem better to breathe, the 
 whole world '11 seem a better place to live in 'nd life 
 '11 seem a whole lot more worth livin'. The whole 
 thing about it all is love." 
 
 Such a talk as this, coming from the source it did, 
 was a matter of surprise and wonder to those who 
 heard it. Perhaps none of them all was more sur 
 prised at it than Bob himself. He had never before 
 attempted anything of this kind, and, although he 
 had remained seated on the soap box throughout, he 
 had as he proceeded shown fervor and become al 
 most eloquent. When he had ceased speaking most 
 of his auditors remained silent and more or less 
 thoughtful. A few expressed approval, while some 
 others, including the ranchman, Tom, were disposed 
 to sneer. But Bob Thompson was not exactly a fit 
 subject of ridicule in that crowd. His personal cour 
 age was well known, while his loyalty to his friends 
 was recognized by all who knew him. With most of 
 those who heard him what Bob said "went" at
 
 114 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 least, they knew he was sincere and would "staj 
 with it." 
 
 Finally Sam McChesney spoke up: "I tell you, fel 
 lows, what let's do. I b'lieve Bob's guessed it about 
 right, for I've seen how this thing has worked on 
 him. When I see apples on a tree I conclude that's 
 an apple tree. Let's make Bob bishop of this round 
 up district 'nd get him to talk to us once in awhile 
 when we can get together." 
 
 Most of those present evinced their approbation of 
 the proposal with "That's the stuff!" "Let 'er go!" 
 "What's the matter with Bishop Bob?" "He's all 
 right!" and similar exclamations. 
 
 "Is there any objections to this here proposition?" 
 asked Sam, looking around. 
 
 "Then it goes," he said, as no one responded. 
 
 In some places and with some assemblies the ac 
 tion just recorded would have evinced a want of re 
 spect for the person on whom the title was conferred, 
 but it was not so here. Beneath the jocularity of the 
 proceedings was a desire to distinguish Bob and show 
 him a mark of their consideration. 
 
 Thus it was that Bob Thompson found his op 
 portunity and began his career of work for others 
 among a class of men popularly supposed to be quite 
 indifferent concerning the matters about which he 
 talked to them.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JOHN DOE. 
 
 A new mining town presents some phases of lite 
 not met with in any other place. The population of 
 such a town is necessarily composed of people who are 
 anxious to make money quickly, some of them in 
 tending to do so by honest means, and a good many 
 others who are not particular ahout the means so 
 they get it. It is a heterogeneous population made up 
 of contributions from many countries, states, cities 
 and towns. The great body of the people are stran 
 gers to each other. Lots which one or two years be 
 fore could not have been sold for a dollar apiece now 
 bring thousands, and are often bought and sold again 
 the same day with a profit of hundreds and even 
 thousands of dollars. The sounds of the hammer and 
 saw are heard on all sides. Wooden buildings spring 
 up with almost magical rapidity and become occu 
 pied at once by tenants who pay fabulous rentals. A 
 bank is opened and men stand in line and wait half an 
 hour to get a chance to deposit their money. The 
 postoffice, which, owing to what is termed red tape,
 
 116 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 cannot be suddenly enlarged to meet exigencies, is 
 simply overwhelmed with business. Everything goes 
 with a whirl. At all hours of the day and night the 
 streets seem full of men rushing hither and thither. 
 The chase after the dollar seems to have superseded 
 every other thought in the minds of all the people. 
 
 Among the first to rush to these new towns are 
 liquor sellers and gamblers. Every other door along 
 the business streets is a saloon. In about half of 
 these saloons are to be found games of one kind and 
 another calculated to gather in the dollars of the un 
 wary. Professional gamblers and crooks of all kinds 
 are to be found in great numbers, and they have or 
 succeed in quickly establishing a sort of freemasonry 
 among themselves. It thus occurs that these people, 
 acting in concert, always succeed in "running" a new 
 mining camp, at least for a time. There is usually 
 some recognized boss or "king" among them, who, by 
 whatsoever means he may have attained to the throne, 
 exercises for the time being a kingly power over the 
 destinies of the place where he is located. 
 
 In the latter eighties the mining town of G , in 
 
 Colorado, was having a boom. Valuable ore had been 
 struck and within six months there was a town of six 
 to eight thousand inhabitants, situated on ground 
 wholly uninhabited before. The fraternity of gam 
 blers and crooks at the time of which we are speak 
 ing was headed by a man known as Buck Brady, and
 
 JOHN DOE 117 
 
 it was well understood that the town was "run" by 
 the Buck Brady gang. Persons accustomed to live in 
 a community with ample police protection and where 
 there is reasonable security for person and property 
 oan hardly realize the extent of the power exercised 
 by the head of a gang under these circumstances. If 
 a merchant or business man incurs the enmity of the 
 gang he is in danger. It may be that he will be 
 openly told to vamose the diggings an order which 
 he will be wise if he obeys; or it may be that without 
 warning an accident will happen to him it is likely 
 
 to be a fatal accident. In the town of G at this 
 
 time was a bartender named Phil Ditson, who was 
 understood to be a member of or at least to "stand in" 
 with the Buck Brady gang. At this particular time he 
 was filling the position of nightwatch in the Red- 
 light saloon. One morning between four and five 
 o'clock some men walking on the street, among whom 
 was a deputy sheriff, heard a revolver shot. The 
 sound seemed to proceed from the Redlight saloon. 
 They arrived at the saloon, as they afterward testi 
 fied, about half a minute, or, at the most, a minute 
 after the shot was fired. At a round table about 
 fifteen feet from the end of the bar nearest the back 
 door of the saloon stood a man holding in his hand 
 a revolver, the smoke from which still filled the air 
 about him. He was the only person to be seen in the 
 room. The deputy sheriff took the gun from him
 
 118 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 without any resistance being offered, and said: 
 "Who'd you shoot at?" The man muttered as if to 
 himself, "My chance to get even." Just then there 
 was an exclamation from a man who had walked 
 around the end of the bar. There lay the body of 
 Phil Ditson, the bartender, a pool of blood about his 
 head. An examination showed a bullet wound just 
 above the left eye. His death had evidently been in 
 stantaneous. On a shelf above and just back of where 
 the body lay was a large revolver. The man who held 
 the smoking revolver and who evidently had done the 
 shooting presented the appearance of a tramp. His 
 hair and beard were unkempt and his face bloated 
 with whisky. Aside from the words muttered when 
 the deputy sheriff first approached him he could not 
 be induced to speak of the affair. He was put under 
 arrest and locked up in the log cabin which served as 
 a jail. 
 
 That night a number of the Buck Brady gang got 
 together to discuss the advisability of lynching the 
 tramp who had shot Phil Ditson. The consensus of 
 opinion among them was that they'd better go to the 
 jail, take him out and string him up; but Brady him. 
 self turned the tide by telling them he had been at the 
 jail to look at the fellow; that the prisoner seemed 
 rational on other subjects, but didn't seem to realize 
 that he had killed a man, and simply looked blank 
 and wouldn't talk when spoken to about it. Brady
 
 JOHN DOE 119 
 
 concluded that the fellow was off in the upper story 
 and advised his followers, for business reasons, to let 
 the law take its course. The fact was that of late 
 Brady had observed indications of a growing disposi 
 tion among the decent element of the citizens to re 
 volt against a continuance of his rule. He knew the 
 time would come, sooner or later, when he must move 
 on, and he was anxious not to have his people do any 
 thing to hasten the coming of that time. 
 
 Thus it occurred that the prisoner, by reason of 
 circumstances beyond his control, escaped lynching, 
 and after a preliminary examination was sent to the 
 county jail in another town to await trial on the 
 charge of murder. 
 
 The body of Ditson was buried the day he was shot, 
 in the new cemetery, most of the occupants of which 
 had died, as Ditson did, with their boots on. After 
 the removal of the body from the saloon the floor 
 where he had fallen was scrubbed and business was 
 not interrupted for more than an hour. At the end 
 of a week the very name of the deceased would have 
 been forgotten but for the fact that it appeared in 
 the proceedings against the man who had shot him. 
 
 The strictest inquiry that could be made- under the 
 circumstances failed to throw any light on the iden 
 tity of the prisoner. That of itself was not a very re 
 markable circumstance at that time and in that 
 place. There were a good many people in the camp
 
 120 THE LABGER FAITH 
 
 who could not have been identified had they chosen 
 to be silent concerning themselves. Occasionally a 
 man died who, for all that could be learned of him, 
 had been a stranger and absolutely without an ac 
 quaintance in the camp. Perhaps a few persons had 
 known him for a brief time, but all they could tell 
 about him was that he had been known by the name 
 "Shorty" or "Bed." In such cases the body was 
 buried, or at least put in the ground, and a month 
 later the best detective agency could not have learned 
 anything of the circumstances, for everybody would 
 have forgotten all about them. 
 
 From the time of his arrest the prisoner pursued a 
 policy of absolute silence concerning himself and the 
 offense with which he stood charged. He would talk 
 about other things, but it was impossible to entrap 
 him into any statement whatever on either of these 
 two subjects. He was bound over as John Doe. Dur 
 ing the first few days of his incarceration he seemed 
 to be suffering from extreme nervousness. He could 
 not eat or sleep. He was easily startled. He walked 
 about the narrow limits of his cell like a caged wild 
 animal. 
 
 When he had been in the jail three of four days in 
 this condition a thought struck the sheriff. The man 
 was off his whisky; perhaps he'd let down for a drink. 
 Of course it wasn't strictly according to law, but the
 
 JOHN DOE 121 
 
 authorities wanted to locate the prisoner. He would 
 try it. He said to the prisoner: 
 
 "How would you like a good square drink?" 
 
 The look on the prisoner's face convinced the sher 
 iff that he had guessed right. 
 
 "I'll get you a pint, or a quart if you want it, of the 
 best whisky to be had if you'll give up your name and 
 tell where you're from," he said. 
 
 For a moment he was sure he had won. John Doe 
 began to answer. Then, with what seemed to be an 
 effort, he turned away and preserved his silence. He 
 couldn't be tempted after that. 
 
 At the end of a week his condition had improved. 
 He had some appetite for food; he could sleep, and 
 he was less nervous than he had been. From that 
 time till his trial, which occurred two months after 
 the homicide, he improved in both appearance and 
 health. 
 
 He was indicted as "John Doe, whose real name is 
 unknown," for murder in the first degree. When 
 taken into court he was asked by the judge: "Have 
 you engaged counsel to defend you?" 
 
 "I have not," answered the prisoner. 
 
 "Have you any money or means with which to em 
 ploy counsel?" asked the judge. 
 
 "I have not," answered the prisoner. 
 
 After glancing about the courtroom and then over
 
 122 THE LABGER FAITH 
 
 his docket the judge said: "I will appoint Mr. James 
 Crow as your counsel." 
 
 The prisoner bowed. 
 
 "Will you be ready to plead by to-morrow morn 
 ing, Mr. Crow?" asked the court. 
 
 "I have not yet examined the indictment, but I 
 think we shall be able to plead by that time," an 
 swered the young lawyer. 
 
 "He will be arraigned in the morning, then," said 
 the court. "You can examine the indictment and 
 consult with him in the meantime." 
 
 The prisoner was returned to the jail and soon 
 thereafter his attorney called, having with him a copy 
 of the indictment. The sheriff conducted them to a 
 room in the corner of the jail, where they could talk 
 in privacy. 
 
 "Now," said Mr. Crow, "I wish you'd tell me the 
 facts so that I can prepare a defense." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," replied the prisoner, "but I 
 have nothing to say, even to you." 
 
 "But, my God, man, they're liable to send you up 
 for life," exclaimed Crow. "I don't think from what 
 I've heard that they can hang you, but they may do 
 even that." 
 
 "Still, I have nothing to say," said the prisoner. 
 
 "How do you expect me to defend you unless you 
 tell me the facts?" asked Crow. 
 
 "I don't expect it. If you wish to talk with me,
 
 JOHN DOE 123 
 
 Mr. Crow, let us change the subject/' said the pris 
 oner. 
 
 In order to learn something of the man he had to 
 deal with, Crow assented, and for some time they 
 conversed on other subjects. Every attempt, how 
 ever, to get the prisoner to talk about himself or the 
 homicide resulted in his quiet but polite refusal to say 
 a word. 
 
 Mr. James Crow was, as has been said, a young 
 lawyer. This was his first murder case, and his ap 
 pointment had raised within his breast high hopes of 
 being able to benefit himself, perhaps distinguish 
 himself, and incidentally help the prisoner, by his 
 conduct of the case. But here was an unheard-of 
 state of affairs. However, he must find some way 
 out or there wouldn't be much chance for that elo 
 quent speech which he had already begun to formu 
 late. 
 
 The next morning when John Doe was about to be 
 arraigned his attorney said: "If your honor please, 
 I am at a loss just how to proceed. The prisoner has 
 refused to say a word to me about his case or himself. 
 I will ask to have him examined as to his sanity." 
 
 "You can plead now if you are ready," said the 
 court, "and an examination can be made between now 
 and the time set for trial." So the indictment was 
 read, the attorney entered a plea of not guilty, the
 
 124 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 trial was set for the following Monday, and John Doe 
 was returned to jail. 
 
 The physicians sent by Mr. Crow to examine into 
 the sanity of the defendant reported him perfectly 
 sane, and the next Monday morning the case of The 
 People of the State of Colorado vs. John Doe was 
 called for trial. 
 
 Mr. Crow's idea had been that the case would re 
 quire at least a week for trial. He expected to take 
 up two or three days in getting a jury, for it was a 
 murder case; then the putting in of evidence would 
 take at least two days, for his cross-examination of 
 witnesses would be made notable, and necessarily be 
 long, and when it came to the argument he expected 
 to occupy a full half-day, and perhaps a day. But 
 things do not always turn out as expected, or even 
 as they are planned. The jurors were provokingly 
 ignorant of the case they were called to try. Not one 
 of them knew the defendant or had ever heard of the 
 deceased. Most of them had never heard of the homi 
 cide. They were not related to counsel on either 
 side, and they had no scruples of any kind against 
 capital punishment a point on which Mr. Crow was 
 very insistent in his examination. 
 
 After examining each juror as fully as he knew 
 how, exhausting all his peremptory challenges, and 
 showing much zeal, a jury was completed, accepted 
 and sworn in a little before noon.
 
 JOHN DOE 125 
 
 Evidence substantiating the facts already stated 
 was put in very briefly on behalf of the people. Mr. 
 Crow tried to cross-examine each witness very ex 
 haustively, but in spite of all he could do the district 
 attorney rested his case at the end of three hours. 
 There being no evidence to offer on behalf of the de 
 fendant, the court delivered a charge to the jury and 
 the district attorney had finished his opening ad 
 dress to the jury when court adjourned that evening. 
 
 Throughout the trial the defendant remained im 
 perturbable. There was nothing defiant about his de 
 meanor; he was simply calm, undemonstrative and 
 apparently indifferent. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Crow began an address 
 which was to last till noon at the very least. The 
 first half-dozen sentences of his speech which he 
 had memorized and carefully rehearsed clearly dem 
 onstrated his superiority over the district attorney 83 
 an orator. When he had talked an hour he began 
 to repeat himself; fifteen minutes later the jurors 
 were getting uneasy in their seats. By the time he 
 had consumed an hour and a half he had repeated 
 himself many times and could not think of another 
 thing to say, so he delivered himself of his carefully 
 prepared peroration, thanked the jury for their close 
 attention which he hadn't had for some time and 
 sat down without any of the murmurs of applause 
 throughout the courtroom which he had imagined
 
 126 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 would require the stern rebuke of the court to sup 
 press. The district attorney spent fifteen minutes in 
 reply and asked the jury to return a verdict of murder 
 in the second degree. The jury retired and hung for 
 about seven minutes, when they returned with a ver 
 dict rinding John Doe guilty of murder in the sec 
 ond degree. In justice to the defendant's attorney it 
 should be said that it is difficult to make a cake with 
 out dough; and it may be added that it is sometimes 
 just as well not to go through the motions of making 
 the cake unless one has some dough to work on. 
 
 Mr. Crow's motion for a new trial was overruled 
 and his client was sentenced to hard labor during the 
 term of his natural life in the penitentiary at Canon 
 City, to which place the sheriff shortly thereafter con 
 veyed him, where he became No. 3708. 
 
 Before closing this account of the case of The Peo 
 ple of the State of Colorado vs. John Doe it may be 
 remarked that Mr. James Crow is still practicing 
 law, and to such eminence has he risen that his name, 
 Sn an abbreviated form, is used to designate a class of 
 practitioners and their kind of practice.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TWO LETTERS. 
 
 In the December following Darrell's departure 
 from the ranch Young received from him a letter, of 
 which the following is a copy, omitting some minor 
 points: 
 
 "Mr DEAR SIR: 
 
 "Two reasons have prevented my writing sooner 
 after the receipt of your favor of nearly two months 
 ago. The first is that I have been very busy and absent 
 from the city most of the time; the second is that I do 
 not know just how to put in words and on paper what 
 I want to say. 
 
 "I shall have to beg your pardon in advance for 
 making this so personal and so selfish a letter. It is 
 about myself and for myself that I want your views. 
 
 "To give you a full understanding of the situation 
 it will be necessary for me to begin a good way back. 
 My parents were both strict members of the Presby 
 terian church, and I was brought up in accordance 
 with the doctrines of that church. As a child I had 
 not a doubt that every word in the bible was the word 
 of God, and, of course, literally true. 
 
 "I continued in this state of mind and in a full and
 
 128 THE LARGEK FAITH 
 
 entire belief in the bible till I was 16 or 17 years old. 
 Then I began to have doubts, at first of the truth of 
 parts of the old testament, then of the new; and after 
 awhile I did not believe any part of the bible. Then 
 there was a kind of reaction. I thought perhaps it 
 was true, or, at least, that part of it was true. After 
 being in this state of mind for awhile I concluded I 
 did not know, and could not find out anything about 
 it. I quit thinking about the matter altogether and 
 became an agnostic. All matters relating to religion 
 were settled for me, I thought, by my settled agnos 
 ticism. This was my state of mind when I met you. 
 Somehow, at your ranch, I began to doubt my doubts, 
 if you can understand that. I began to question 
 whether my state of universal doubt was the real an 
 swer the right solution to the question. The more 
 I thought of it, and of some things you said, the more 
 I wanted to hear what you would say in answer to my 
 questions, for it seemed to me you were satisfied in 
 your own mind as to what is true. There was some 
 thing about you that convinced me you knew, or 
 thought you knew, the real truth that I want to get, 
 
 "When a very small child I tried to reconcile the 
 statement that God is just with his act in condemn 
 ing the whole race on account of Adam's eating an 
 apple. I didn't and couldn't understand it, but sup 
 posed it would all be clear to me when I should grow 
 older. The old doubts are upon me again. 
 
 "What is true? Is the bible true? Is religion I 
 mean, of course, the Christian religion true? If so, 
 which denomination among the Christians is right? 
 All these questions and a good many others growing
 
 TWO LETTERS 129 
 
 out of them are with me, and I am not able to settle 
 them for myself. 
 
 "Can you give me any light? 
 
 * " * * * * * * 
 
 "I should like to look in on you and spend an even 
 ing with you at the ranch. 
 
 "With the compliments of the approaching holiday 
 season, I am yours respectfully, 
 
 "JOHN W. DARRELL." 
 
 A few days after receiving the letter, Young an 
 swered it as follows: 
 
 "MY DEAR MR. DARRELL: 
 
 "From some remarks you dropped while here, I 
 guessed the state of your mind. Your late letter would 
 have been no surprise to me, even had you not stated 
 in a former communication that you wished at a 
 future time to get my views. 
 
 "Permit me to suggest at the outset that the search 
 for truth always necessarily involves a total self-sur 
 render, an absolute giving up of all selfish ideas, no 
 tions and plans, and a willingness to accept the truth 
 when found, regardless of preconceived theories. 
 
 "Every advance in knowledge, whether in the line 
 of what we call the natural sciences or in spiritual 
 truth, is at first looked upon as an innovation and an 
 intrusion. The man who first declared the earth to 
 be spherical was regarded as a crank; so was the in 
 ventor of the electric telegraph, of the steamship, and 
 of nearly every other .innovation on established no 
 tions. As with these persons and their work in
 
 130 THE LARGEE FAITH 
 
 physical science, so it has been with those who first 
 advocated any advance in thought, and especially in 
 religious thought. Jesus Christ was killed because His 
 teachings conflicted with the existing opinions and es 
 tablished customs of the time in which He lived. 
 
 "Your letter shows me that you have fallen into the 
 most common of all errors in the consideration of 
 questions relating to religion. You have confused re 
 ligion with orthodoxy. Religion and orthodoxy are 
 not only different things they are opposite things 
 and antagonistic the one to the other. They act from 
 entirely different motives, so to speak. They spring 
 from entirely different sources. Orthodoxy is my doxy. 
 It is the faith which I and those who agree with me hold 
 on religious questions. Orthodoxy recognizes no truth 
 outside its own teachings, no road to heaven but the 
 one fenced in by its creed a fence which can be 
 neither crawled under, climbed over nor broken 
 through, in which there are no gates, save those 
 swinging outward and having no handles on the out 
 side. To be orthodox one must start in at the begin 
 ning of the road, continue to the end, and be more 
 careful than a Colorado miner to keep within the side 
 lines. 
 
 "Religion never incited a war, conducted a crusade, 
 fought a battle or held an inquisition on the faith of 
 any person. Orthodoxy has done all these things in 
 the name of religion. Religion never put a human 
 being to death. Orthodoxy has killed untold thou 
 sands. 
 
 "Orthodoxy murdered Jesus Christ because he was 
 unorthodox. It killed a few hundred people in this
 
 TWO LETTERS .131 
 
 country and a great many thousands across the ocean 
 on the charge of witchcraft. It conducted the Span, 
 ish Inquisition. 
 
 "All these crimes and nameless others orthodoxy 
 has committed in the name of religion. It has at dif 
 ferent times and in different places assumed to be 
 every known form of religion, not excepting that 
 founded by the great Nazarene, one of whose precepts 
 was 'Judge not that ye be not judged.' 
 
 "Orthodoxy still masquerades under the name of re 
 ligion. It is the spirit of intolerance, the child of 
 bigotry and hate. Its refuge is hypocrisy; its chief 
 weapon is cant. It is of the nature of the brute seek 
 ing to obtain dominance and mastery by force. 
 
 "Religion is the conscious knowledge of man's re 
 lationship to God. It is, indeed, the very spirit of God 
 universal all-pervading love made manifest in 
 man. Religion attracts, but never seeks to drive. 
 
 "I have said thus much, not for the purpose of con 
 demning the orthodox, but to point out as clearly as 
 I can the distinction between religion and orthodoxy 
 and the line of demarcation which separates them. 
 
 "Fifty years ago it was very generally preached that 
 there was a literal hell of fire and brimstone, into 
 which a large part of the human race would be cast, 
 there to suffer eternal torture; and any one who de 
 clared a disbelief in that doctrine was denounced as an 
 infidel. To-day there cannot be found an enlightened 
 preacher who believes in or preaches that doctrine. 
 To an extent which can hardly be comprehended now, 
 especially by the younger people, that sort of teach 
 ing was then supposed by many good people to be re-
 
 132 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ligion. Why? Because orthodoxy was posing in the 
 name of religion then as it is now, and that was what 
 orthodoxy then taught. 
 
 "Is it strange that the counterfeit, the miserable 
 caricature which at various times and even within 
 forty or fifty years has passed for the Christian re 
 ligion should drive so many people into what has been 
 termed infidelity? Is it not surprising, rather, that 
 those man-made creeds, dogmas and articles of faith, 
 embodying as they do the most absurd interpretations 
 of the bible, should have had any believers or pre 
 tended believers? 
 
 "But there is no caricature without an original. 
 There is no counterfeit until there has been some 
 thing genuine to counterfeit. The bible, taken as a 
 whole, is, in my opinion, the greatest of all books, and 
 the one which the world could least afford to lose. It 
 is a marvelously complete representation of humanity 
 of the human heart and the human soul not the 
 heart and soul of some ancient and distant people, but 
 your own and mine of the people of to-day. Every 
 human passion is portrayed; every longing, every de 
 sire, every aspiration, is analyzed and set forth; every 
 phase of human character is described. Starting with 
 Adam, the earth man, the lowest type, and culmi 
 nating in Jesus Christ, the highest type the world has 
 known, the bible, in its comprehensive delineation of 
 human character, its unequaled representations of the 
 working of the human soul, its vast compilation of 
 the highest spiritual truth, and the majestic grandeur 
 of its language, is unequaled and unapproached by 
 any other book.
 
 TWO LETTEKS 133 
 
 "But you ask if it is true. Is it inspired? Truth is 
 of God, is eternal, and is so wherever you find it, 
 whether in the bible or the writings and sayings of 
 Plato, Thomas Carlyle or Emerson. The bible is true 
 to each person to just the extent that he can discover 
 truth in it; so is any other book. A study of the bible 
 will enable any thoughtful person to discover more 
 and more truth in it all the time. Nothing is true to 
 you which you cannot comprehend or understand in 
 some measure, at least. For instance, a book printed 
 in a language wholly unknown to you could have in 
 it no truth for you, though to one who understands 
 and could read the language it might be full of truth. 
 
 "Viewed merely as statements of historical fact, the 
 account of creation in Genesis is absurd and meaning 
 less; so is the story of Adam and Eve and their fall; so 
 are the accounts of the ark, of Jonah, of Joshua and 
 of the sun standing still; and yet it is but a short time 
 since the orthodox world was up in arms against any 
 man who refused to accept these stories as literally 
 true who took the same view of them, in short, 
 which is now taken by a majority of orthodox preach 
 ers. I suppose there never was such a man as Job, or, 
 at all events, one who went through just the experi 
 ences accredited to him; but the Book of Job has been 
 a help to thousands, and, as a man grows older, he is 
 able more and more to appreciate it and be benefited 
 by it. The Book of Job is by no means to be regarded 
 as a lie simply because it is not a literal statement of 
 historical fact. 
 
 " 'As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he,' is a 
 truth which always existed and always will exist. It
 
 134 THE LAKGER FAITH 
 
 is true, not because it is in the bible; for it was true 
 before it was put in the bible, and would have been 
 equally true if it had not been in the bible. 'Except 
 ye become as little children ye cannot enter into the 
 kingdom of heaven' simply expresses an eternal fact 
 which always existed, and would always have been 
 true independently of its being given utterance by 
 Jesus Christ. 
 
 "If in the story of Jonah you can see nothing but 
 the incredible literal statement that a great fish swal 
 lowed a man and after three days threw him out on 
 dry land alive and well, there is no valuable truth for 
 you in the whole story; if in the majestic statement 
 'And God said, Let there be light, and there was 
 light/ you can see nothing but the sudden manu 
 facture and putting into operation of an immense 
 light plant, there is nothing in that which is of any 
 use to you. 
 
 "Let me suggest to you not to trouble yourself 
 about your salvation. It is simply a question of letting 
 yourself be saved; and salvation comes in this life 
 notinthe next. Heaven is a condition not a location. 
 All may achieve that condition at once. It exists for 
 us all now. Salvation is not a matter of groanings and 
 regrets, but only of recognizing our true relationship 
 to all life, to all nature, to God. 
 
 "God's great love surrounds us and is part of every 
 human being. We can no more escape from it than 
 we can escape from the atmosphere. It is a living, 
 existing, omnipresent fact. It is the element in which 
 we live; the very essence of all life. As man recog-
 
 TWO LETTERS 135 
 
 nizes this he comes into a knowledge of his true rela 
 tion to the Infinite. 
 
 "Dismiss all fear; get rid of the notion that you 
 were born sinful and have a tendency to be sinful; 
 keep in mind the one fundamental truth of God's ever- 
 present love, and all questions which now trouble you 
 will vanish away, and be as if they had never existed. 
 Yours very truly, WM. YOUNG/'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 DICK BRIGGS. 
 
 On one of the principal streets of the little city of 
 
 E , situate on the Ohio shore of Lake Erie, there 
 
 was a ripple of excitement one August afternoon. A 
 young man of eignteen or nineteen had suddenly and 
 violently struck in the face a man considerably older 
 and larger than himself, and his act resulted in what 
 was, while it lasted, a very lively pugilistic battle be 
 tween the two. A crowd quickly gathered, but for a 
 time no one interfered. The younger man seemed to 
 have overrated his own ability as a pugilist, or to 
 have misjudged that of his antagonist. Although he 
 had drawn first blood at the outset, the older one 
 was rapidly demonstrating his superiority as a fist 
 fighter when a policeman appeared, stopped the fight, 
 put both men under arrest and started with them for 
 the police station. 
 
 The older man, aged somewhere in the forties, was 
 dressed in well-fitting clothes of a flashy, loud pat 
 tern, and wore a silk hat pulled low over the eyes. 
 His close-shaven face had a hard, set expression, and
 
 DICK BK1QGS 137 
 
 in connection with his dress proclaimed a man who 
 had probably seen many horse races, prize fights, and 
 other games of a quieter but equally exciting char 
 acter. He was still furious at the assault made on 
 him and anxious to continue the task of demolishing 
 his assailant, which he had well under way when in 
 terrupted by the policeman. The younger of the 
 combatants, though bleeding from various face blows 
 and showing other marks of the encounter, was far 
 from being subdued, and hotly expressed the wish that 
 the bluecoat would turn the two of them loose to 
 gether in some back lot for a short time and take 
 them to the station house afterward. 
 
 Arrived at the police station, whither they had been 
 followed by three or four men, they were allowed first 
 to wash their faces, both of which were bleeding, and 
 then were conducted to the desk of the sergeant in 
 charge, where their names were taken and the charge 
 of disturbance and fighting put opposite each. When 
 asked if they could furnish bail for their appearance 
 next morning, both answered that they could by send 
 ing word to their friends. At this moment a man, 
 who, with the others, had followed the officer and his 
 prisoners to the station, stepped forward and said 
 quietly: "I will become surety for this young man." 
 
 "All right, Mr. Hortou," said the sergeant, looking 
 up at the speaker, and filling out a recognizance he 
 pushed it over the desk to be signed. While the bond
 
 138 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 was being filled out the young man had looked curi 
 ously at the man the sergeant had addressed as Mr. 
 Horton. He was a tall man, thirty or thirty-two years 
 of age, with rather a pale face and something of re 
 serve in his manner. When the young man had 
 signed the bond Mr. Horton, before attaching his sig 
 nature, noted that the name of the accused was Rich 
 ard T. Briggs. 
 
 As they left the police station together, the young 
 man said: "I'm obliged for the favor you've done 
 me in standing good for my appearance in the morn 
 ing, but if you know me you have the advantage 
 of me." 
 
 "I don't think we ever met each other before, Mr. 
 Briggs, but I was passing and heard what that fellow 
 said when you hit him, and while I might not have 
 done just what you did, it needed doing," said the 
 older man, at the same time handing the other his 
 card. 
 
 "Oh, you're Frank Horton, editor of the Gazette/' 
 said Briggs, looking at the card. "I've known of 
 you, but had never met you." 
 
 As they separated Horton said: "I'll be at the po 
 lice court in the morning and see how you come out." 
 
 When Eichard T. Briggs stood up in court the next 
 morning his face was adorned with sundry strips of 
 court-plaster.
 
 DICK BRIGGS 139 
 
 "You've been fighting again?" said the police 
 judge, gazing sternly at the young man. 
 
 "Yes," answered Briggs. 
 
 "Did you begin it?" asked the judge. 
 
 "Yes," said Briggs, glancing at the man with 
 whom he had the trouble, "I hit him first." 
 
 "What for?" asked the magistrate. 
 
 "For making an insulting remark about a woman 
 that was crossing the street," answered Briggs. 
 
 "Did you know the woman?" said the judge. 
 
 "No, I didn't," answered Briggs, "but anybody 
 could see she was a lady." 
 
 "If your honor will permit me," said Frank Hor- 
 ton, stepping forward and addressing the judge, "I 
 want to say that I was passing just at the time of the 
 trouble, and heard the remark that fellow made. It 
 was most vile and indecent, and I felt like doing just 
 what Mr. Briggs did. I happen also to know the lady 
 against whom the remark was directed." 
 
 "That's all right, Mr. Horton," said the magistrate, 
 "but Briggs here has got to get rid of the notion that 
 he's the general guardian of society and that the way 
 to regulate things is with his fists." Then looking at 
 Briggs he said: "This is the second time you've been 
 here inside of a year, and the other charge was about 
 the same as this." 
 
 "Yes, judge," assented Briggs. 
 
 "I suspended sentence before," continued the
 
 140 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 judge; "now I think you need a lesson that'll make 
 you quit this." 
 
 "Can't help it, judge," said Briggs. "I'd have hit 
 the loafer if I had to go to the penitentiary for it the 
 next minute." 
 
 "I'll make this $10 and costs," said the magistrate. 
 
 "I want to pay that as my contribution toward 
 what the fellow got," said Horton, stepping forward 
 and taking out his pocketbook. 
 
 "Not too fast, Mr. Horton," said the judge, and, 
 looking at Briggs, he continued, "This sentence stands 
 suspended during good behavior. Now, get out of 
 here, and see that you don't come back." 
 
 "Thanks, judge," said Briggs. 
 
 "Go!" replied the magistrate. 
 
 When Briggs had left the courtroom in company 
 with Horton, the case of the other of the two fight 
 ers was taken up. 
 
 "What've you got to say for yourself?" asked the 
 police judge. 
 
 "Why, judge, I didn't do a thing but defend my 
 self," said the man. "That kid hit me in the eye 
 without any warning." 
 
 "You had made an insulting remark about a 
 woman?" asked the magistrate. 
 
 "Well, I s'pose there's no law against a man mak 
 ing a remark," said the man. "It wasn't loud enough 
 for her to hear."
 
 DICK BRIGQS 141 
 
 "Twenty-five dollars and costs," said the judge. 
 
 "But, judge " began the man. 
 
 "Pay up or go below," interrupted the judge. "I'll 
 send you to the rock pile if you ever come back." 
 
 "With a feeling that his rights as an American citi 
 zen had been invaded, the man drew from his pocket 
 a roll of bills, stripped from the outside the necessary 
 amount to pay his fine and costs, and left the court 
 room with his hat pulled lower than ever over his 
 eyes. 
 
 "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Horton," said 
 Briggs when he and his companion left the court 
 room. "It was what you said that made the old man 
 suspend sentence on me again." 
 
 "That's all right," replied Horton. "I'd have paid 
 your fine willingly if the judge hadn't suspended it." 
 
 As they parted from each other at a street corner 
 Horton said : "Drop in and see me, any time. You'll 
 find me at the Gazette office in the afternoons." 
 
 "Thank you, I'll do it," replied Briggs. 
 
 Though the two men were dissimilar in their dis 
 positions and habits as they were in age, the acquaint 
 ance thus begun ripened into a friendship between 
 them. Richard Briggs known to all his acquaint 
 ances as Dick was athletic, full-blooded and some 
 what impulsive and impetuous in disposition. He was 
 warm-hearted and generous, and especially chivalrous 
 toward all womankind. He idolized his mother and
 
 142 THE LABGER FAITH 
 
 had never gotten over the notion that his sister 
 Maude, who was five or six years his junior, was still 
 a baby and to be watched over and petted accordingly. 
 
 His brother Tom was four years older than Dick, 
 and so different in every way that, while the two had 
 always been on good terms, they were never very com 
 panionable. Tom was engaged with their father in a 
 drug store, and cared for nothing but chemistry and 
 the drug business. The only recreation he ever took 
 was an occasional half-day's fishing on the lake. 
 
 Frank Horton was studious and somewhat retired 
 in his disposition, but not at all a recluse. He and 
 Dick were not lacking in points of common interest, 
 and each liked the other for qualities which he him 
 self did not possess, on the principle that 
 
 "We like not best what most to self is twin, 
 But that which best supplies the void within." 
 
 Dick, who kept a horse, often invited Horton to 
 take a ride with him, and not infrequently he called 
 and spent an hour or two at Horton's rooms in the 
 evenings. 
 
 One afternoon Dick called at the Gazette office 
 and found his friend alone. After salutations Hor 
 ton said: "I have to be out a little while. Do you 
 want to keep shop for me? Or have you something 
 else to do?"
 
 DICK BEIGGS 143 
 
 "Just as soon as not," replied Dick; "I'm not 
 busy." 
 
 "All right, then," said Horton. "I'll be back in 
 side of half an hour." 
 
 For awhile Dick looked over the exchanges in the 
 office; then it occurred to him to write a letter while 
 he waited. Seating himself on a round-topped stool 
 at the desk he was engaged in his writing when a man 
 entered., and, with more force than seemed to be neces 
 sary, inquired: 
 
 "Where's the man that runs this paper?" 
 
 Before answering, Dick took a look at the man. 
 He was a rough, burly-looking fellow, carried a black- 
 snake whip in one hand and looked belligerent all 
 over. 
 
 "I'm running it just now," said Dick. 
 
 "You ain't the editor, be you?" said the man, ad 
 vancing threateningly. 
 
 "Well, you may just take it for granted that I am 
 if you have any business with him," answered Dick. 
 
 "Durned if I don't give you a dressin' down just for 
 your impudence," said the fellow, bringing down the 
 blacksnake across Dick's shoulders with a cut that 
 would have raised a welt on a mule. A lighted match 
 put to powder would not have brought action more 
 promptly. With an oath Dick sprang at the fellow, 
 striking him squarely in the mouth and knocking 
 him back against the wall. The man, though badly
 
 144 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 staggered, did not fall; and with bleeding mouth, sur 
 prised and enraged at being attacked by such a strip 
 ling, he made a rush for Dick, roaring out threats of 
 vengeance. Dick, though much smaller than his an 
 tagonist, was much more active, and from long prac 
 tice had acquired a more or less deft use of his hands 
 in such emergencies. For a short time he was able 
 to avoid the clutches of his burly adversary and to 
 place several blows in his face and neck. Seeing thai 
 he could not avoid being caught, Dick made a rush 
 at his opponent and grasped him about the body, at 
 the same time tripping him and throwing him back 
 ward. In the fall the man's head struck the corner 
 of a desk, cutting a gash in the back of the head and 
 for a moment stunning him. 
 
 As Dick got to his feet Horton entered the office. 
 "What's all this about?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "This fellow wanted to lick somebody 'nd I let 
 him begin on me/' answered Dick, panting. 
 
 As the would-be dresser-down of youthful impu 
 dence got to his feet he was a sorry sight. He no 
 longer looked belligerent, nor did he appear to have 
 any hostile intentions. 
 
 "Who are you and what do you want?" demanded 
 Horton. 
 
 "I come to see the editor," replied the man, as he 
 wiped his face, "but they ain't no hurry about it." 
 
 "Did you come here for a fuss?" asked Horton.
 
 DICK BRIGGS 145 
 
 "Well, something of that kind," replied the mail; 
 "but I didn't s'pose you kept any young cattymounts 
 like that 'round the place," looking ruefully at Dick. 
 
 "What is your name, and what's your grievance?" 
 asked Horton. 
 
 "I don't live here, and it ain't no difference about 
 it to-day," answered the man, starting out of the 
 office and leaving his whip lying on the floor. 
 
 "It's a good thing for you that the editor wasn't 
 in; I'm only his boy," was Dick's parting shot as the 
 man went out of the door. 
 
 "I suspect that's a teamster named Botts from 
 Smithfield, ten miles below here," said Horton. "The 
 correspondent there gave him a roast in last week's 
 paper for abusing his family. I was told he threat 
 ened to come and clean out the office, but I didn't 
 think of it again." 
 
 "Well," said Dick, "I'll just hang this whip up as 
 a souvenir. He'll not come back for it not til\ the 
 bones of his nose grow together, anyhow." 
 
 "Did you break his nose?" asked Horton. 
 
 "I'm pretty sure I felt the bridge go down when I 
 hit him the last time," replied Dick. Then after a 
 pause he added: "There won't be any police-court 
 racket about this mix-up. That's one satisfaction."
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 FBANK HORTON. 
 
 Is man the creature of circumstances, or are cir 
 cumstances the creations of man? Fatalists are able 
 to adduce many facts in support of the theory that the 
 fate of every human being is mapped out for him, and 
 that he is little more than a conscious automaton ful 
 filling a destiny which he can neither alter nor escape. 
 In the life of every man occur incidents, often slight 
 in themselves, which seem to have a controlling in 
 fluence on his future. Nothing, it is argued, stands 
 alone or is dissociated from everything else. Every 
 fact is related to every other fact. The incidents great 
 and small that occur are simply like a row of bricks 
 set on end so that in falling each brick will strike and 
 knock over the one next to it. All that is necessary 
 in order to move the whole row is to push the first 
 brick over. 
 
 On the other hand are those who regard this as 
 a merely superficial view; who insist that, while cir 
 cumstances seem to control man's life, it is within the 
 power of every person to change the circumstances;
 
 FRANK HORTON 147 
 
 or, using the same figure as before, to remove or alter 
 the position of a brick at a point along the line, and 
 thus at once to stop the effect of causing the first brick 
 to fall. 
 
 Frank Horton had never fully decided the question 
 for himself, if indeed he had ever seriously considered 
 it. The circumstances of his life thus far would seem 
 to furnish about an equal amount of argument for 
 either side. His father was a farmer in moderate cir 
 cumstances. He was an only child, and his mother 
 had died when he was seven years old. His father's 
 sister, Amelia, a maiden lady of middle age, took 
 charge of affairs in the Horton household after Mrs. 
 Horton's death, and for the next few years Frank was 
 under her immediate care and supervision. To her he 
 was obedient, but not affectionate. He could never 
 be got to talk of his mother. To him the memory of 
 his mother was sacred, and not to be shared with oth 
 ers. His aunt, seeing how he felt toward his mother, 
 would on occasions say to him that his mother would 
 want him to do something or to act in a certain way. 
 When the boy was nine years old, in answer to one of 
 these statements, he said: "I know better than you 
 or any one else what my mother would want me to 
 do and not to do." And he was right. He did know. 
 It was a subject of daily and hourly thought with him. 
 He had never heard of spiritualism. He knew nothing 
 about the theory of the spirits of the departed hover-
 
 148 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ing near those they loved in this life; but he felt that 
 his mother was with him when he was most alone, and 
 that he knew her thoughts. 
 
 He was not a lazy boy; but neither his father nor 
 his Aunt Amelia was pleased at the way he did the 
 work assigned to him. He appeared somewhat list 
 less at his tasks. As his aunt remarked, he didn't 
 "seem to take a-holt right." There was one kind of 
 work to which this statement did not apply. That 
 was the care of live-stock. He could always be de 
 pended upon to care for any animals committed to his 
 charge. 
 
 In the winters he attended the country school, 
 where he made fair progress in his studies. He was 
 fond of reading, and had become familiar with the 
 few bo'oks to which he had access. At sixteen he was 
 a well-grown and fairly healthy boy of his age. For 
 some time he had been intending some day to become 
 a printer, but had not mentioned his intentions to any 
 one until one day his father intimated to him an in 
 tention of taking a second wife. The boy had feared 
 this of late. To him there was something sacrilegious 
 in the thought of some other woman being installed 
 in his mother's place. He felt that if a step-mother 
 must come he could not live under the same roof with 
 her. He did not want even to meet her. Not then, 
 at all events. Some time he might feel differently 
 about it. Something of this feeling he told his father.
 
 PRANK HORTON 149 
 
 Not all, for he and his father had never been confi 
 dants, and he had no wish to wound his father's feel 
 ings or his pride. Still he insisted that he must go 
 and learn the printer's trade, promising if allowed to 
 go not to be a burden to his father. After some hesi 
 tation his father consented, and a few days later Frank 
 began his new life in the office of a weekly news 
 paper published at the county seat of an adjoining 
 county. 
 
 He had not mistaken his vocation. The work inter 
 ested him and he was diligent and painstaking as a 
 learner. By the time he was twenty-one years old 
 he had become a thorough, all-around journeyman 
 printer. In the time intervening since he had left 
 home, he had seen his father two or three times a year. 
 Sometimes his father visited him where he was at 
 work; at other times he and his father met at their, 
 old home town; but Frank had never gone to his 
 home. 
 
 He now decided to start out and secure work in 
 some other place, partly to see something of the world 
 and partly to get the advantage of working at his 
 trade in different offices. He had saved a little money 
 and his employer furnished him with a strong letter 
 of recommendation. Before going away he went to 
 the town nearest his birth-place and there met and 
 talked with his father. This proved to be the last 
 time the two met. A few weeks later the father died,
 
 150 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 and was buried before news of his death reached his 
 son. 
 
 During the next few years Frank drifted from place 
 to place, working at his trade. He never changed 
 much. There was about him an amount of self-poise 
 rather unusual in a young man. Perhaps the key to 
 an understanding of his character lies in the fact that 
 his mother was always with him. He had felt her 
 presence and her influence so constantly that the 
 memory of her soft hands, her loving eyes and tender 
 voice was as fresh as ever with him. He was not 
 given to seeking crowds or indulging to any extent 
 in the amusements of his associates. Occasionally he 
 would go with them for the sake of comradeship, and 
 sometimes take a drink or smoke a cigar; but he pre 
 ferred the quiet of his room with one chum when not 
 at work. He was rather too solitary. He had been 
 too much alone as a boy. Solitude has some advan 
 tages to a young person; but one who has lived much 
 alone is likely to be more of a thinker or a dreamer 
 than a pushing man of the world. 
 
 When Frank Horton had been working three or 
 four years at his trade he began to write short articles 
 which he handed to the editor of the paper on which 
 he happened to be employed. After keeping up this 
 kind of experimental writing for some time he was 
 offered and accepted a subordinate place on the edito 
 rial staff of a city daily. Though he held this posi-
 
 FEANK HOKTON 151 
 
 tion for more than a year the work did not suit him. 
 He felt cramped. Everything he wrote had to fit the 
 policy of the paper. There was no chance for origi 
 nality or independence in the treatment of subjects. 
 He had about determined to go back to the mechan 
 ical department of the printing business when an op 
 portunity occurred for him to acquire the control and 
 become the editor of the Weekly Gazette at the city 
 
 of E , in northern Ohio. He accepted the offer, 
 
 and at the time of meeting with Dick Briggs he had 
 been an independent editor for two years. 
 
 Under his editorial management the Gazette had 
 acquired the reputation of a paper which always re 
 flected the real sentiments of its editor on all sub 
 jects on which it spoke. Attempts were made from 
 time to time to have Horton lend the support of the 
 paper to this or that project, or to treat of some mat 
 ter of public interest in a particular way. All such 
 attempts failed. The editor did not appear to be try 
 ing to get rich, though the paper was fairly profitable. 
 Once when some heavy advertisers wanted the paper 
 to follow a certain line of policy, Horton told them 
 the editorial page had no connection with the adver 
 tising columns. The paper aimed always to be fair, 
 and generally its tone was kindly. It rarely went be 
 yond gentle irony or good-natured raillery in oppos 
 ing men or measures. But once in a while when Hor 
 ton got an idea that weakness was being oppressed by
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 strength, that helplessness was being imposed upon 
 by power, he would blaze out with a wealth of invect 
 ive which was like an electric shock to his readers. It 
 was the Gazette's known readiness to champion the 
 cause of the weak and denounce oppression in any 
 form that led to the incident of Dick Briggs with the 
 man who carried a wagon whip. 
 
 Horton was not a society man. He knew many 
 men in a business way, but had few intimates, and 
 rarely visited the homes of his acquaintances. At 
 Dick's urgent invitation he had once spent an evening 
 at the Briggs household. 
 
 A few weeks after Dick's encounter at the Gazette 
 office occurred an event which seemed to draw in its 
 train circumstances important in the lives of several 
 people. 
 
 One morning in the latter part of April, Horton 
 drove a few miles into the country with a single horse 
 and top-buggy from a livery stable. The day being 
 pleasant he had laid back the buggy top and was fully 
 enjoying his drive homeward when, in descending a 
 hill about a mile from town, the holdback gave way. 
 Horton had been driving carelessly, and before he 
 could gather up the lines the horse was entirely be 
 yond his control. Once or twice Horton tried pulling 
 on the lines, but found this only drew the buggy 
 against the horse and added to the fright of the al 
 ready frantic animal. He dared not try to pull the
 
 FRANK HORTOISr 153 
 
 horse into a fence for fear of upsetting in a ditch at 
 the side of the road. The best he could do was to try 
 to keep the animal in the road and let him run. The 
 horse dashed into the town with somewhat slackened 
 speed, but still wholly unmanageable. 'Several men 
 rushed into the street and almost caused an upset by 
 waving their arms and causing the horse to swerve. 
 They got out of the way, however, before the horse 
 reached them. But there was one who acted differ 
 ently. It was Dick Briggs. He saw the runaway com 
 ing, caught sight of the occupant of the buggy, and 
 forgot everything else in the desire to save his friend. 
 With a rush he grabbed the reins at the horse's head. 
 He was jerked from his feet in a moment, but he held 
 on. The horse dashed into a board fence, the buggy 
 caught against a post, the horse was thrown by the 
 shock and Horton was pitched forward some twenty 
 feet out on the ground, but suffered no other injury 
 than a few bruises and a severe shaking up. But Dick 
 did not escape so well. Men rushed to the spot and 
 found him lying at the head of the fallen horse, still 
 grasping the reins; but he was bleeding at mouth and 
 nose and unable to rise. When helped up one of his 
 legs hung limp. "Did you get hurt, old man?" he in 
 quired of Horton; then, without waiting for an an 
 swer, he fainted. He was at once conveyed to his 
 home and a physician summoned, who found that 
 Dick had suffered a broken leg, three broken ribs, and
 
 154 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 internal injuries, the extent of which could not then 
 be determined. Horton had followed him home and 
 remained throughout the examination and until the 
 physician had finished his work, and left, promising 
 to call again an hour or two later. 
 
 Horton followed the physician into the hall and in 
 quired as to Dick's condition. 
 
 "We can't tell for a day or two," answered the doc 
 tor. "If his internal injuries are not too serious, he'll 
 get over the broken bones and bruises all right." 
 
 Dick had asserted, but somewhat weakly, that he 
 wasn't hurt much and would soon be around all right. 
 The doctor left directions to have him kept as quiet 
 as possible. During the next two days Horton re 
 mained almost constantly at Dick's bedside. On the 
 third day Dr. Roberts pronounced Dick out of dan 
 ger, and for the first time after the accident Horton 
 went home and to bed. Thereafter while Dick was 
 convalescing Horton spent a part of almost every day 
 with him. Dick was fond of hearing Horton read 
 aloud, and his wishes were fully gratified. His sound 
 constitution and naturally buoyant disposition aided 
 greatly in his speedy recovery. From the first he had 
 refused to listen to any thanks from Horton for his 
 act, and seemed to feel annoyed when the subject was 
 referred to. 
 
 About three weeks after the accident Dick was sit 
 ting propped up in bed one afternoon and Horton was
 
 FBANK HORTON 155 
 
 reading to him, when a young womam of about Dick's 
 age entered the room and going to the bed exclaimed, 
 "You poor old Dick! Were you going to commit sui 
 cide?" and kissed him. 
 
 "Why, Corinne, I'm glad to see you!" said Dick; 
 then he added: "This is Mr. Horton, Corinne my 
 cousin, Miss Roberts." 
 
 The girl blushed, then frankly extended her hand, 
 saying: "I understand you have been quite a faith 
 ful nurse to Dick, Mr. Horton." 
 
 "I was the unfortunate cause of his getting hurt," 
 said Horton, as they shook hands. 
 
 "No, drop that, Horton!" said Dick. "I was going 
 to stop that horse, and I'd have stopped him if the 
 buggy'd been empty!" 
 
 When Miss Roberts had gone, after promising to 
 come and stay part of the following day with Dick, 
 Horton learned that she was the daughter of the at 
 tending physician, Dr. Roberts, and had been away 
 at school, having returned that day for the first time 
 since Dick's injury. Horton met her several times 
 after that at Dick's house; and once when they were 
 both there in the evening he walked home with her, 
 and before leaving her at the gate he asked and was 
 given permission to call at some later date. 
 
 In the course of time Dick fully recovered from his 
 injuries and was as well as ever, though slightly so 
 bered by his experience. Horton felt that he ov/ed his
 
 156 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 life to Dick, and the two were the warmest friends. 
 Dick one day confided to Horton that he expected 
 before long to get married and settle down. Horton 
 congratulated his friend and expressed approval of 
 his intentions. 
 
 "It's too soon for congratulations," said Dick. "I'll 
 tell you more about it before long." 
 
 A week or two later Dick called at Horton's room 
 between ten and eleven o'clock one night. 
 
 "Horton, I'm going away and called to say good- 
 by," he said. He was disordered and distressed in 
 appearance. Horton had never seen him in this mood 
 before. 
 
 "Why, Dick, what's the matter?" exclaimed Hor 
 ton. 
 
 "I've been refused, and I'm going away to-night," 
 answered Dick. 
 
 "But you don't want to take it that way, old man," 
 said Horton. "You'll look at it differently later." 
 
 "How would you take it yourself if you were in my 
 place?" asked Dick, impetuously. 
 
 Horton paled slightly as he answered, in a low 
 voice: "I don't know, Dick, how I would take it. 
 Still, I think it's better for you not to go this way." 
 
 Arguments were useless, however. Dick left that 
 night for the far west, and after the first month or 
 two neither Horton nor his family could get any word 
 from him.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MAKING PROGRESS. 
 
 On the same day on which Darrell met Mr. Winter 
 on the street he wrote to Young, briefly stating the 
 circumstances and his anxiety for the welfare of his 
 friend Winter, and asking whether Young would re 
 ceive him for a few months. He received a prompt 
 reply from Young saying with reference to the in 
 quiry: "Mr. Winter will be welcome to come here 
 and try our way of living. If there is any dissatisfac 
 tion on either side he can at least stay until he is able 
 to make other arrangements. Tell him to bring only 
 coarse, old clothes and heavy underwear. Let him 
 wire me a day or two ahead stating the time of his ar 
 rival at Tres Piedras." 
 
 A day or two after Darrell's receipt of this letter 
 Mr. Winter, having completed his preparations, 
 started for New Mexico. The state of his health was 
 causing not only his friends, but himself as well, much 
 anxiety. Though he did not say so, and tried to con 
 ceal his feelings on the subject from his family and 
 friends, he felt as he bade them farewell that it was
 
 158 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 probably their final separation in this life. His fam 
 ily and friends had the same feeling, which they also 
 tried to conceal. 
 
 At the end of a three days' trip he stepped from the 
 train to the platform at the station of Tres Piedras, 
 feeling a little jaded but otherwise none the worse for 
 the trip. In fact, for the last day he had begun to 
 feel the effect of the bracing air of the arid region. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Winter?" said Ned Long, approach 
 ing him as the train pulled out. 
 
 "Yes, sir," answered the minister. 
 
 "Mr. Young sent me to take you out to the ranch," 
 said Ned. "If you'll show me your luggage I'll put it 
 in the cart." 
 
 "I have no luggage but this gripsack," replied Mr. 
 Winter. 
 
 They were soon on the way to the ranch in a cart 
 drawn by Ned's horse, Whitefoot. Mr. Winter had 
 never before been west of the Mississippi river, and as 
 he now filled his lungs with the fresh air and looked 
 around at the novel scenery he felt more hopeful than 
 he had done in months. The day was bright and clear, 
 and after a pleasant three hours' drive they arrived at 
 the ranch at about one o'clock. Young met his vis 
 itor with quiet courtesy, inquiring as to his trip and 
 about Darrell, but made no reference to the minister's 
 health. After introducing him to the bedroom and 
 showing him where to wash, Young put on the table
 
 MAKING PROGRESS 159 
 
 the dinner which was already prepared, and they all 
 sat down to eat. 
 
 Noticing a slight hesitation on the part of his vis 
 itor, Young said: "Do you wish to ask a blessing, Mr. 
 Winter?" 
 
 The minister bowed his head and proceeded to say 
 grace. Young's manner at table, as elsewhere, was 
 polite but not effusive, and gave the impression that 
 he wanted his visitor to be comfortable. There was 
 no apology offered for anything, and no urging to eat 
 more. After dinner he conducted Mr. Winter into 
 the sitting room. Taking a hasty look at the shelves 
 of books and then at the table covered with news 
 papers and magazines, Mr. Winter said, with a smile: 
 "I see our friend Barrel! wanted to surprise me. He 
 said nothing to me of this, and almost nothing of 
 you." 
 
 "You have seen the extent of the house now," re 
 plied Young. "While you remain, be at home." 
 
 Mr. Winter fell readily into his changed mode of 
 life. Young went about his work just as before; but 
 when the minister offered to help in the household 
 duties his offer was accepted as if it were a matter of 
 course that he should work. The reverend gentle 
 man's former parishioners would have been somewhat 
 astonished had they beheld him, within a few days of 
 his arrival at the ranch, in his shirt-sleeves, wearing 
 old clothes and slouch hat, engaged in washing dishes
 
 160 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 or rinsing out, wringing and hanging up a washing. 
 From the time of his arrival his health improved rap 
 idly. Both the natural atmosphere and the social 
 atmosphere about the place seemed to agree with him 
 perfectly. He liked Young, and still was puzzled at 
 first in trying to make an estimate of him and to un 
 derstand his character. In looking over the library he 
 noticed that among the books showing most usage 
 were a bible and a bible concordance; but beside 
 these, and also showing evidence of having been read 
 much, were other books which seemed to him to be of 
 an opposite character, such as Kenan's Life of Jesus, 
 and works of other authors whom he had always re 
 garded as dangerous infidels. He resolved to try to 
 draw his host out and learn, if he could, the state of 
 mind of a man who took an interest in works of such 
 a diverse character. In all their conversations of any 
 length during the first two weeks of Mr. Winter's stay 
 at the ranch, Young, while in all other respects treat 
 ing him as a member of the family, had so far re 
 garded him as a guest as to allow him to choose the 
 subjects and take the leading part in their talks. The 
 minister had told Young of his family and more than 
 once in the course of his talk had referred to his son 
 John. One day Young remarked to him: "I judge 
 from what you have said that John is quite a satis- 
 factorv son?"
 
 MAKING PROGRESS 161 
 
 "Yes," replied the minister, "John is a good boy. 
 He has never given us any worry or trouble." 
 
 "Is he disposed to be grateful for what you do for 
 him?" asked Young. 
 
 "Yes, very much so," answered the minister. 
 
 "Does he tell you so, daily?" inquired Young. 
 
 "Why, no, not daily," said the minister, looking 
 inquiringly at Young. "Of course I don't expect 
 that. He shows by his actions that he appreciates 
 what is done for him." 
 
 "Do you know, Mr. Winter," said Young, smiling 
 at the minister, "that I believe my Father feels just 
 as you do about that? I am thankful every moment 
 for my physical health and welfare, for all the mental 
 and spiritual good that is mine, for all the joys of 
 life and life to me is full of joy; but my Father 
 knows this; my actions show it, and I have too much 
 respect for his intelligence to suppose that he wishes 
 me to express my thankfulness daily or at every meal 
 time in a set form of words, or even that it would 
 please him to have me do so." 
 
 "Do you not believe in prayer at all?" asked the 
 minister. 
 
 "Yes, in prayers of thankfulness," answered Young. 
 "And every aspiration, every right thought, every 
 attempt or desire to know God, is a prayer." 
 
 "Still, don't you think it well that we should form 
 ulate and express our thanks?" said the minister.
 
 162 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 "Only by our actions/' replied Young. "Any other 
 method seems to me a reflection on the divine intelli 
 gence." 
 
 "I cannot assent to that view," said Mr. Winter, 
 mildly; and conversation on the topic was dropped 
 for that time. 
 
 One evening in the sitting room as they were talk 
 ing Mr. Winter used the term, "the Man of Sorrows." 
 
 "Why do you speak of Jesus Christ as the 'Man of 
 Sorrows'?" asked Young. 
 
 "It is a very common designation," replied the min 
 ister; "and it accords with the facts, does it not? I 
 "believe the phrase is from Isaiah '& Man of Sorrows, 
 and acquainted with grief.' " 
 
 "It is a common designation and is found in 
 Isaiah," said Young; "but it seems to me a mere cant 
 phrase, all the same; and in my opinion it expresses 
 the very opposite of the truth as to Jesus Christ." 
 
 "How is that?" said the minister. "Do you not 
 look on him as a Man of Sorrows?" 
 
 "No, I don't," said Young. "I am satisfied that 
 J2sus Christ was one of the most cheerful as he cer 
 tainly was one of the happiest men of whom we have 
 any knowledge." 
 
 "Does that view accord with the scriptural account 
 of his life?" questioned the minister. 
 
 "I think it does," answered Young. "It is the 
 scriptural account on which I base my views. He ob-
 
 MAKING PBOGRESS 163 
 
 tained complete mastery over what we call gelf; in 
 other words, in him the spiritual completely con 
 trolled the physical. He was able to assert from per 
 sonal experience that 'the flesh profiteth nothing.' 
 He saw and understood, perhaps more clearly than 
 any other, the true relationship of man to all life, to 
 nature, to God. Now, to one who has attained that 
 degree of spirituality, unhappiness is an impossibility. 
 He has attained heaven, and lives constantly in 
 heaven. He may feel for others, sympathize with 
 others; but there could be nothing despondent or de 
 pressing or mournful in that sympathy. What we call 
 the misfortunes of life could have no depressing ef 
 fect on such a person. The loss of property, the death 
 of friends, even his own death, could in no wise cast 
 him down. The spiritual height attained by Jesus 
 Christ, his entire self-abnegation, his utter unselfish 
 ness, must of necessity have made his life a happy 
 one. It could not be otherwise. I have no doubt he 
 was a cheerful man. I doubt not that he was a pleas 
 ant companion with whom to go fishing and with 
 whom to live day by day; for the presence and in 
 fluence of such a character, such a spirit as his, must 
 have been an inspiration, a benediction and a joy to 
 all those around him. I think, by the way, that paint 
 ers who have undertaken to depict the features of 
 Jesus Christ all have had a misconception of the man 
 at all events, I have never seen a picture of him
 
 164 THE LARGEB FAITH 
 
 that represented him otherwise than mournful and 
 sad." 
 
 "I perfectly agree with you," said the minister, 
 "that spiritually Christ was above and superior to all 
 the ills of this world." 
 
 "That implies that there are two kinds of happi 
 ness," replied Young, "which I regard as one of the 
 radical errors of mankind an error, if you'll pardon 
 my saying it, that I think the preachers have done 
 much to create. I believe all happiness is spiritual, 
 and that when one has become spiritually superior to 
 the ills of life he is perforce happy." 
 
 "Do you recognize no distinction, then, between 
 spiritual and secular welfare?" asked the minister. 
 
 "No, I think there is no difference," said Young. 
 "Spiritual welfare of necessity includes secular wel 
 fare and happiness." 
 
 "As to Christ being a happy man," said the min 
 ister, "you will admit that he underwent great suffer 
 ing in his life, and especially in his death on the 
 cross?" 
 
 "No, I cannot admit even that," said Young; "I do 
 not believe Jesus Christ suffered on the cross. I be 
 lieve he had acquired such complete mastery over 
 himself that in him the spirit so entirely controlled 
 the body that the mutilation of his body did not 
 necessarily cause him suffering." 
 
 "It seems to me your conception of Christ is not
 
 MAKING PROGKESS 165 
 
 that generally entertained by Christians, or, so far as 
 I know, by skeptics/' said the minister. "Still, your 
 views involve a recognition of the divinity of Christ." 
 
 "Assuredly so," replied Young. "I believe every 
 human being is of divine origin." 
 
 "But," said the minister, disturbed at this state 
 ment, "if you do away with the miraculous concep 
 tion of Christ, what is left of the Christian religion?" 
 
 "Everything is left of it that is at all helpful or of 
 any value to mankind," replied Young. "Everything 
 is left of it that was taught by Jesus Christ himself. 
 The Christian religion in no wise depends upon a be 
 lief in the miraculous conception of its Founder. The 
 true Christian religion is the universal, eternal reli 
 gion, toward a recognition of which all mankind are 
 tending. In its essence it is the religion of all time 
 and of all mankind. The conception which I have of 
 its great Founder and of his relation to the human 
 race does not degrade him, but elevates humanity." 
 
 "But is it not degrading Christ to hold that each 
 of us is or can be equal to him?" asked the minister. 
 
 "It is Jesus Christ's own teaching," answered 
 Young. "When he said, 'Be ye therefore perfect even 
 as your father which is in heaven is perfect,' was he 
 giving a command or an injunction incapable of being 
 followed? When he said, 'He that believeth on me, 
 the works that I do shall he do also; and greater 
 works than these shall he do,' was he insincere?
 
 166 THE LARGEB FAITH 
 
 When he said, 'Blessed are the pure in heart/ are we 
 to suppose he was speaking of a condition impossible 
 to attain? It seems clear to me that the effect of the 
 teachings of Jesus Christ is that men not only can be, 
 but ought to be, in every way his equals." 
 
 The minister sat silent and thoughtful for some 
 time; then, rising, he said, with apparent irrelevancy: 
 "I'm glad I came out here. I feel that I am making 
 progress. Good night."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 COEINNE ROBERTS. 
 
 All his life it had been the disposition of Frank 
 Horton to conceal his deeper emotions. The only un 
 reserved confidante he had ever had was his mother. 
 After her death, partly owing to his nature and partly 
 to the circumstances surrounding him, he had grown 
 more and more reticent concerning himself and his 
 feelings. This disposition, or the habit growing out 
 of it, grew on him as he got older. 
 
 Up to the time of the runaway in which Dick 
 Briggs took such a prominent part, he had never felt 
 more than a passing admiration for or interest in any 
 woman. He admired women and was deferential 
 toward all the sex; but he had never loved any woman 
 but his mother. He had never given any serious 
 thought to the subject of marriage. While he was 
 far from being a selfish man in the ordinary accepta 
 tion of that term, he was engrossed in his work and 
 his literary studies and recreations. 
 
 Soon after meeting Corinne Roberts he began to 
 be conscious that a new sensation was stealing over
 
 168 THE LABQER FAITH 
 
 him. There was something about her that was at 
 tractive and fascinating to him. She was not what 
 society calls a beauty; but she was full of that inde 
 finable charm of person and manner which attracts 
 both men and women. From an early age she had 
 been a leader among her associates, without any effort 
 on her part to lead. Modest and unassuming in her 
 manner, she was nevertheless a pattern to her asso 
 ciates. What Corinne Roberts wore was ipso facto 
 stylish and the proper thing to wear. Any place she 
 went was a proper place for girls to go, and was so 
 regarded by her associates and their mothers. It 
 would be a very wrong conclusion to draw from these 
 statements that Corinne was a goody-goody girl. 
 There was nothing about her suggestive of partly de 
 veloped wings. There was nothing at all doll-like. 
 She was very human from head to foot. In person 
 she was of medium height, with well-rounded form. 
 Her sloping shoulders gave her the appearance of 
 being smaller than she really was. Her complexion, 
 eyes and hair were dark. Her features were regular, 
 but not at all classic. It was not so much to be won 
 dered at that her associates followed her in matters 
 of dress. She was one of the somewhat rare women 
 who set off their clothes and to whom their apparel 
 always seems becoming. A girl who lived at a dis 
 tance and who was visiting a friend in E once re 
 marked, with some asperity: "I believe if Corinne
 
 COEINNE EGBERTS 169 
 
 Roberts wore a dress of red flannel the rest of you 
 girls would all say that was just the proper thing for 
 a dress, and wear it, too." 
 
 And there was some basis of truth in the statement. 
 There was that about her which inspired good-will 
 and confidence, not only among young persons but 
 among her elders as well. Perhaps some explanation 
 of her relation to her associates and to people gener 
 ally might have been found in a remark of one of her 
 schoolmates, who, when told that Corinne Roberts 
 liked a particular person who was not generally popu 
 lar, replied: "Oh, Corinne Roberts likes everybody." 
 This was largely true. Corinne did like people gener 
 ally. Her liking extended to little children and dogs 
 and cats and flowers. She had been known to pick up 
 a crying three-year-old boy who had his mother wor 
 ried nearly out of her wits, give him a little shake 
 and say to him with a smile, "Here, young man, 
 you're missing lots of fun!" and in two minutes have 
 the child wanting to desert his mother and go with 
 her. 
 
 But it is impossible to transfer such a personality 
 to paper. The always hopeful disposition, the bright 
 smile, the quiet, sympathetic manner, the low, cheery 
 voice in short, the person herself must have been 
 met and seen and heard to be understood and appre 
 ciated. 
 
 For the first time in his life Frank Horton, when
 
 170 
 
 in the presence of Corinne, began to feel the shyness 
 of a boy. He had never experienced this feeling as a 
 boy, for he had never felt any other than a passing 
 friendliness toward any of his girl acquaintances. But 
 he felt a degree of trepidation in approaching Co- 
 rinne. He trembled when he asked if he might call 
 on her. He was ashamed of himself for the care he 
 gave to his dress and personal appearance when the 
 evening came for him to make the first call. Corinne 
 was frank, open and friendly in her demeanor, and 
 this very fact annoyed Horton. If she had shown 
 some coyness, if she had been a little shy or blushed 
 occasionally, he would have felt bolder and more in 
 command of himself. But she was exasperatingly sis 
 ter-like in her manner. 
 
 Horton had met Dr. Roberts a number of times at 
 the bedside of Dick Briggs. The doctor was a man 
 of few words in his profession. His keen eyes, over 
 hung by bushy eyebrows, gave one the impression of 
 looking clear through and seeing what was on the in. 
 side. Mrs. Eoberts was a gentle, motherly woman, 
 chiefly anxious that everybody around her should be 
 comfortable. Both she and the doctor shared the gen- 
 eral belief that whatever Corinne did was the right 
 thing to do. In fact, they both treated Corinne more 
 like a sister than a daughter. She called her parents 
 Father and Mother and was always deferential and
 
 CORINNE EGBERTS 171 
 
 obedient so obedient that her parents seldom gave 
 her a command, and rather deferred to her judgment. 
 
 The very openness and friendly frankness with 
 which Horton was received by this family irritated 
 him. He noticed that when other people called they 
 were treated just the same way by Corinne and her 
 parents, and he felt aggrieved at that. He determined 
 to stay away, and held to his determination for two 
 whole weeks. Then he called again and was met with 
 the same cheerful friendliness as before. He tried by 
 self-examination to account for his feelings, and 
 failed. It was a long time before he acknowledged 
 to himself that he was in love. Then he tried to shake 
 it off. The disparity in their ages was too great. It 
 would not do for him to marry a girl like that. He 
 tried to reason the matter out in all possible ways; but 
 one evening, when he had been with her for two 
 hours and was about to leave he clasped her to his 
 breast, kissed her and said, "I want you for my wife!" 
 and Corinne, unashamed, returned the kiss, and said, 
 in a low voice: "I want you for my husband!" 
 
 This was all very improper and unconventional, but 
 it was the way these two people became engaged. 
 Horton was in the seventh heaven of happiness. He 
 felt sure that the parents would consent; still he had a 
 courteous interview with Dr. Roberts. As Corinne's 
 happiness was the uppermost idea in the mind of 
 both, they had no trouble in agreeing. Thereafter,
 
 172 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 Horton was looked upon and treated as a member of 
 the family. He was simply mad with joy. The idea 
 that he was to have for his wife and possess as his 
 very own such a creature as Corinne made him de-* 
 lirious. He trod on air. He was jealous when Corinne 
 kissed her mother on leaving home with him when 
 starting to the theater. He felt offended when her 
 father commanded her to loosen her belt and gruffly 
 remarked that he would have no tight lacing in his 
 family a command and a remark which Corinne an 
 swered with a kiss and a little pull at her father's 
 whiskers. 
 
 It was arranged that the wedding should be in 
 May, just about a year after Horton and Corinne had 
 first met. Dr. and Mrs. Roberts joined in asking Hoiv 
 ton to live with them, as they had ample house room 
 and much preferred to have their daughter stay with 
 them. Besides, the parents both liked Horton^ 
 Corinne one day laughingly told him she was jealous 
 on account of the affection her mother showed for 
 him. 
 
 About a week before the time set for their mar 
 riage, Horton was called to Cincinnati on a business 
 errand. The evening before his departure was passed 
 at the Eoberts household, where he expected soon to 
 make his home. Corinne mentioned that her cousin, 
 Tom Briggs, had asked her to go out fishing with him 
 a day or two later on the lake. As they separated
 
 CORINNE ROBERTS 1?3 
 
 Horton said, "A week from to-night, darling, we 
 will be living together," and Corinne answered sim 
 ply: "Yes." With a passionate kiss they parted. 
 
 Horton returned from his trip two days later, ar 
 riving at about nine o'clock in the evening, and went 
 direct from the depot to the Roberts home. He found 
 no one there but Mrs. Eoberts, and she was in distress. 
 Corinne had gone out on the lake with Tom Briggs 
 that afternoon, and they had not returned. The doc 
 tor was out looking for them. Horton at once started 
 to the lake. He was uneasy, but not greatly alarmed. 
 Tom was a skillful boatman, but it was very unusual 
 for them to remain out to that time of night. Hor 
 ton found Dr. Roberts walking along the lake shore 
 and looking very grave. Boats had been sent out to 
 look for the missing ones, but as yet none had re 
 turned. For awhile the father and the lover walked 
 the beach with but little conversation. At about two 
 o'clock in the morning one of the boats that had been 
 sent out returned bringing the boat in which Tom 
 Briggs and Corinne had gone out. It had been found 
 upside down about three miles from shore. An icy 
 chill came upon Horton. White, silent, he paced up 
 and down the beach, hardly recognizing the people 
 he met. All that night and all the next day was one 
 long nightmare 'to him. Toward evening one of his 
 friends took him almost by force to a restaurant and 
 ordered a meal. Horton began eating voraciously, but
 
 174 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 in the middle of the meal got up and started for the 
 lake shore, where he resumed his watch. Soon after 
 dark that night the body of Tom Briggs was washed 
 ashore. A little while after some one came with the 
 hat which Corinne had worn, which had been found 
 on the shore some miles away. All that night Horton 
 walked and watched and waited. He had seen the 
 body of Tom Briggs and shuddered. With the gray 
 of the morning he began to have an impression of 
 some shapeless, bloated thing coming ashore with the 
 clothes on which Corinne had worn. He found it im 
 possible to shake off this sensation. It kept growing 
 on him and becoming more vivid until he could no 
 longer bear to stay at the lake. The very sight of the 
 water was agony to him. He went to Mrs. Roberts, 
 who embraced him, crying: "Oh, Frank, my son!" 
 Horton was as cold as ice. He had not shed a tear. 
 He kissed Mrs. Roberts and said: "Good-by, I can't 
 stay." 
 
 "Where are you going, Frank?" asked Mrs. Roberts. 
 
 "I don't know!" said Horton.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE TKAMP. 
 
 When Horton left Mrs. Roberts he walked to the 
 depot and stepped on a train. He did not know or 
 care where he was going. The conductor had to call 
 on him the second time for his fare. Horton mechan 
 ically handed out his pass. He arrived at Cincinnati 
 some time in the night. Instead of going toward the 
 city he started out along the railroad track. Pres 
 ently he came to the river and saw a boat. He went 
 aboard. After the boat started some one came around 
 and asked for fare. Horton handed out a bill. "Mays- 
 ville?" asked the man. Horton npdded. When the 
 boat arrived at Maysville, Kentucky, Horton was 
 asleep. "Here's your place," said the man, shaking 
 him. He got up and went ashore. Walking through 
 the town, he saw the sign of a drug store. He walked 
 in and said: "Give me a quart of whisky." Then he 
 walked straight through the town and out into the 
 country. He drank the whisky in great draughts. He 
 walked. He was fleeing trying to get away from 
 himself. He slept by the side of a haystack how
 
 176 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 long he never knew. He felt hungry and asked foi 
 and got something to eat. He came to a country tav 
 ern and asked if they kept whisky. 
 
 "That's what we've got," said the proprietor. 
 
 Horton got a quart and walked on. He remem* 
 bered dimly that a long, long time before, in some 
 other life, he had known an editor named Horton 
 who was going to marry a Corinne. In some way 
 this Horton and Corinne were making him trouble. 
 He couldn't recall how or why, but he wanted to for 
 get them. Somehow the very memory of them was 
 painful to him. Why did they persist in intruding on 
 him in this way? He couldn't recall that he was re 
 lated to either of them. And then Corinne was 
 drowned. He remembered seeing the blackened, 
 bloated corpse. "What had become of it? Why must 
 he be constantly annoyed in this way? 
 
 A long nightmare followed. How long Horton 
 never knew. He ate, he slept, he walked on and on, 
 he even conversed with people sometimes. There was 
 that overhanging something always oppressing him. 
 Just what it was he could not clearly remember. 
 Once or twice he pinched himself in a dazed way, and 
 felt a dull surprise that one in a dream would do that 
 and feel and remember it. It occurred to him that 
 the appearance of the sunshine, the trees, the grass 
 and flowers, to one asleep, was somewhat like pictures 
 seen through a stereoscope. He could not recall ever
 
 THE TRAMP 177 
 
 before having dreamed of going asleep and of wak 
 ing, and it seemed to him a curious thing that he 
 should do so. The people seemed natural to him, 
 though he thought some of the things they said to 
 him and of him in his hearing would be funny if he 
 could remember them when he awoke. It seemed 
 queer to him, too, that all the people were strangers. 
 In former dreams he had always seen and talked with 
 people he knew. When at times glimpses of the past 
 obtruded themselves, recourse to his bottle drove 
 away the ugly visions. The days ran into weeks, and 
 still he kept on. 
 
 Walking through a country town one day, he saw 
 the sign of a newspaper and job printing office. He 
 stopped and gazed at it as a man might look if sud 
 denly confronted with his own name on a tombstone. 
 Then he walked into the office and said: "I want 
 work." 
 
 "How long have you been on the bum?" asked the 
 proprietor, looking him over. 
 
 Horton seemed to try to recall something, but 
 finally shook his head, saying: "Let me work." 
 
 "Well, you better wash up and brush your clothes 
 first," said the proprietor, "and then we'll see what 
 you can do." 
 
 He soon showed what he could do when he got hold 
 of printing material. There was nothing about the 
 office but what he could do better and more quickly
 
 178 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 than any one else there. He was a glutton for work. 
 No hours were too long for him. Extra work seemed 
 to please him. Day after day he worked, doing every 
 thing he was set at as if it were a rush order. Some 
 times he would suddenly stop, seem to be trying to 
 think of something, then go to his room, which was 
 near the office, and return with a strong odor of liquor 
 about him. He made no effort to hide this, seeming 
 not to look upon it as a vice. When he had been 
 working about three weeks the proprietor said to 
 him: 
 
 "See here, Work! Can't you let up on this 
 whisky? You can have as good a job as there is 
 about this office, and better pay than I've been giv 
 ing you." 
 
 "I was just going to tell you I'll have to quit," said 
 Horton. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't do it," said the editor. "Stay 
 here and let me help you!" 
 
 "I have to move on," said Horton. 
 
 "Can't I offer you any inducement to stay?" asked 
 the editor. 
 
 "It isn't that," said Horton. "I'm obliged to you." 
 
 Again he was on the tramp. Again he suffered all 
 the pangs of memory such memory as was left him. 
 The curse of the wandering foot was on him. Wher 
 ever he stopped and worked he was recognized as a 
 first-class printer, and in some respects a phenomenon.
 
 THE TBAMP 179 
 
 He was willing and anxious to do the work of other 
 people. He even relieved the office devil, and gave 
 him half a dollar with which to go to the show, while 
 he did the work of that functionary. 
 
 Six weeks was the longest he ever stayed in one 
 place. The proprietor was congratulating himself on 
 having found a jewel when Horton said: "I have to 
 go. Good-by!" 
 
 Through Kentucky, Tennessee, Mississippi, Arkan 
 sas, Texas, he drifted, always avoiding cities and al 
 ways hunting hard work. Was he sane? Different 
 persons might have given opposite answers. Some 
 persons thought there was something uncanny about 
 him. He took long, lonely walks at night. He rarely 
 talked at any length. And he drank. 
 
 He was the best printer that had .ever been known 
 wherever he got a job. All the offices where he 
 worked wanted to keep him and all failed. When the 
 time came he had to go on. Nothing would stay 
 him. No offer of wages had any effect on him. What 
 was his name? He could hardly have told. Some 
 body had called him "Work" soon after his starting 
 out, and that seemed his proper name. He did not 
 know whether he gave it out or people just knew it 
 he was called Work, and he answered to the name. 
 What did it matter to him, so long as he had whisky? 
 
 When he had been following this life a few months 
 his former habit of writing began to assert itself, or
 
 180 THE LAEGEE FAITH 
 
 rather the habit of authorship, for without having 
 written a word he would proceed to put in type ar 
 ticles, generally short, proofs of which he would hand 
 to the editor, asking if he wanted to use that. These 
 articles were generally quite unconventional, but were 
 put in choicest English and had a literary charm 
 which made them noticeable. But their author could 
 never be got to write anything at request. He even 
 evaded stating that he was the responsible author 
 of what he handed in, giving it as something he had 
 set up from recollection of what he had once read or 
 heard. 
 
 Once when he had gone from Texas up into New 
 Mexico it occurred to him to quit drinking. He had 
 never acquired a taste for whisky. On the contrary, 
 he disliked it, but it brought forgetfulness. During 
 all his wanderings, save the first few weeks, he held to 
 his old habits of personal cleanliness. After every 
 tramp he cleaned himself up and was neat in his per 
 son and clothes. He quit the use of liquor for two 
 days. On the third, the memory of the history of 
 Frank Horton rushed upon him and overwhelmed 
 him. He hesitated whether to seek forgetfulness in 
 whisky or a bullet. He reasoned that the life he had 
 been living was worse than wasted. It might as well 
 end now as any other time. Then it occurred to him 
 to quit living for himself and his own grief, and begin 
 living for others. But how? What was there he
 
 THE TBAMP 181 
 
 could do for anybody? As a matter of fact he was 
 daily doing acts of kindness to his fellow-workmen 
 and all others when he had a chance, but he took no 
 account of these little things and did not think of 
 them. Still the thought clung to him: Live for 
 others. 
 
 He decided to do it, and that he might continue 
 to live at all, he got another supply of whisky. 
 
 With all his drinking he had never become con 
 vivial. He was not stingy. He would give a fellow- 
 workman a drink, and sometimes invite one he liked 
 to his room and share his bottle with him. But he 
 had no taste for hanging about saloons or being with 
 crowds. 
 
 After the one time mentioned, he didn't quit drink 
 ing. Northward through New Mexico and into Colo 
 rado he tramped his way, working a few days here, a 
 few weeks there. For more than a year and a half he 
 had been without an object or a hope, utterly careless 
 as to what the future had in store for him provided 
 only he could forget the past. 
 
 Now, the idea of doing something for somebody, 
 of devoting his worthless life to some purpose, had 
 taken possession of him. He thought vaguely of 
 Dick Briggs's rescue of himself, and wished he could 
 in like manner save the life of some one anybody. 
 
 In this mood he started one day for the mining 
 town of G . It was long after night when he ar-
 
 182 THE LAEGEK FAITH 
 
 rived there. He knew it would be useless to go to any 
 printing office before the next day. He dropped into 
 a rough building used for a railroad depot and took a 
 seat. He was asleep when a watchman shook him by 
 the shoulder and told him the company didn't keep 
 that for a lodging house, and there was no train for 
 hours yet. He went on the street and saw an open 
 saloon. Going in, he got a drink at the bar and then 
 took a chair in the back part of the room. Again he 
 dropped asleep and again he was wakened and told to 
 move on. As he passed out he saw by the clock be 
 hind the bar that it was after four o'clock. He went 
 out and to another saloon. It was the Redlight. Into 
 this he went with the idea of getting another drink 
 and staying as long as he should be permitted. 
 
 There were but three persons in the place. Behind 
 the bar was the bartender, and at a table toward the 
 back of the room were two men, with one of whom 
 the bartender was having loud words. As he passed 
 back toward where the two men sat he recognized in 
 the voice of the man quarreling with the bartender 
 his old friend Dick Briggs. It was the first time since 
 starting out on his tramp that he had seen one he had 
 known before. A new sensation came upon him 
 shame at being recognized. He dropped into a chair 
 and gazed for a moment at Dick. He had been so 
 startled that the subject of the quarrel had not 
 reached him. As he dropped into his seat epithets
 
 THE TKAMP 183 
 
 were hurled back and forth between Dick and the 
 bartender, and the latter reached for a big revolver 
 which lay on the shelf behind the bar. Just then a 
 shot rang out and the bartender dropped to the floor. 
 It was Dick who had fired the shot. The moment he 
 saw what he had done he dropped his revolver and he 
 and the man sitting at the table with him rushed out 
 the back door. Horton walked over to the table they 
 had left, picked up the smoking gun and was gazing 
 at it mechanically when some one grabbed him, took 
 the gun away from him and said: "Who'd you 
 shoot at?" 
 
 And Horton muttered to himself: "My chance to 
 get even."
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 NO. 3708. 
 
 When John Doe began his life sentence in the 
 Colorado penitentiary he was a different man from 
 the one who had been arrested charged with the mur 
 der of Phil Ditson. In the time since his arrest he 
 had become thoroughly sobered from the effects of 
 whisky, for the first time in nearly two years. This 
 was true to such an extent that the mere idea of tak 
 ing a drink was distasteful to him. He did not feel 
 that he had done anything so very creditable in tak 
 ing the course he had with reference to the killing of 
 the bartender. What he had offered up was a life 
 worse than useless, and one he felt would not have 
 lasted long as he was living it. It seemed to him 
 fortunate that something had occurred to break up 
 suddenly and forcibly the life he had been living. If 
 no one else had been benefited by his act, the advan 
 tage to himself was sufficient compensation. 
 
 Did Dick Bri<rgs know of his incarceration, or that 
 anybody had been convicted for what he had done? 
 He hoped not, for it wasn't at all like the old Dick he
 
 NO. 3708 185 
 
 had known to stand back and shirk responsibility. 
 Still, if Dick did know, it was all right. There was 
 no complaint, no grudge against Dick or anybody 
 else. He had fully made up his mind to spend the 
 rest of his life in prison. Perhaps he could do some 
 good there, though he had no definite notion then of 
 the way. 
 
 At first he was a puzzle both to the officers and to 
 his fellow-prisoners. The officers, who knew the 
 crime for which he was sent there and the circum 
 stances of his trial and conviction, were inclined to 
 be suspicious at the cheerful docility and apparent 
 content of the new prisoner. " They thought he might 
 be trying to win their confidence in furtherance of 
 some deep-laid scheme of his own. They soon became 
 convinced of his entire sincerity, however, and then 
 they were more puzzled than before. He was evi 
 dently a man of more than ordinary education and re 
 finement, as they learned by noticing his penmanship 
 and the books he chose from the prison library. Yet 
 he seemed to be perfectly contented, did whatever 
 work he was set at cheerfully and in the most thor 
 ough manner, and lived up to the prison regulations 
 like a man who had been accustomed to obeying them 
 all his life. When, after he had been there some time, 
 he was given clerical work to do in connection with 
 acting for the time being as librarian, he filled froth 
 places so well that he was kept there.
 
 186 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 To the prisoners he was a novelty. The prison had 
 a few men who were as well educated as he, but none 
 others just like him. 
 
 Even among prisoners a man's real character soon 
 becomes known. No. 3708 was rated among them as 
 being, in their language, "all right." He treated 
 each of them with as much kindness as if they were 
 all outside the prison and he were a business man 
 seeking their custom. 
 
 When he had been there some time another pris 
 oner was sent up from the same county where he had 
 been convicted. Immediately word spread among 
 the prisoners (for news does spread among them some 
 how) of how No. 3708 had acted at his trial. Soon 
 the impression Avent around that he "never killed 
 nobody." It could not be said who first voiced this 
 notion, but it prevailed among the convicts. One 
 day when he and another prisoner were privileged to 
 talk, the man made this belief among the prisoners 
 known to him. He listened quietly, made no reply 
 and at once changed the conversation to another sub 
 ject. 
 
 The warden of the penitentiary had been closely 
 observing him, and whether from sympathy with the 
 prevailing sentiment among the convicts or from his 
 own observations, or both, he began to have the same 
 opinion as to the prisoner's guilt. 
 
 But there was one man connected with the institu
 
 NO. 3708 187 
 
 tion who conceived a deep dislike for No. 3708. 
 Strange to say, it was the chaplain. It came about in 
 this way: During the first three or four months of 
 his imprisonment the prisoner had at various times 
 talked with a number of his fellow-convicts. At such 
 times he did not exhort them or even talk religion to 
 them, but he always aimed to draw their attention 
 away from their surroundings and to drop a word 
 that, without his appearing to teach, would cause 
 them to think of other and better things. 
 
 On Sunday afternoons the prisoners were privi 
 leged to hold a meeting at which any who wished 
 might speak. Sometimes they called on each other 
 to take part. The chaplain had one day preached a 
 sermon on the universal degeneracy of man, showing 
 that all mankind are by nature depraved and prone to 
 sin, and that the only means of escaping this natural 
 depravity and the only hope of salvation after death 
 is the acceptance of the means of grace through the 
 blood of the Lamb. 
 
 At their next Sunday afternoon meeting some of 
 the prisoners who had talked with No. 3708 wanted 
 to hear from him, and called on him to say some 
 thing. He talked modestly, but with entire confi 
 dence. 
 
 Among other things he said: "We prisoners, shut 
 off as we are from association with the people of the 
 world at large, are apt to feel that we are also shut
 
 188 THE LABGER FAITH 
 
 off from God. Nothing could be a greater mistake. 
 Human agencies, forces outside of ourselves, may 
 confine our bodies here. But no human agency out 
 side ourselves can keep its away from God or keep us 
 out of a conscious relationship with God. 
 
 "We are here presumably because some law of the 
 state has been violated. The divine law needs no 
 penitentiaries or jails to enforce obedience. Every 
 violation of this law carries with it its own penalty 
 and each person metes out to himself his own punish 
 ment. Moreover, the divine law is not broken. We 
 may break ourselves upon it, but the law remains in 
 tact eternal. 
 
 "The notion that we are born into the world de 
 graded, sinful and predisposed to go contrary to God's 
 law seems to me an error. 
 
 "I believe, on the contrary, that it is natural for 
 each of us to be in harmony with nature that is to 
 say, with God; to be good, not bad; to do righteous 
 ness and not evil. 
 
 "The practical thing for each of us to do is .not 
 to waste time in anguish of spirit over the past, but 
 to realize the ever-present, all-pervading love of our 
 common Father. God's presence within us and about 
 us is a reality as much as is the existence of the at 
 mosphere. 
 
 "If we can accept this truth and live in apprecia 
 tion of it, we shall at once, prisoners though we be,
 
 NO. 3708 189 
 
 come into a freedom of the soul beside which the lib 
 erty of our bodies to go where we will is a small 
 matter." 
 
 He had been given the closest attention, and when 
 lie sat down some of his listeners took a long breath. 
 
 The chaplain was annoyed. It was not customary 
 to rebuke any one there, but he said: "I trust the 
 brother who has just spoken will yet see the error of 
 his views, repent and come to Christ, 'for there is 
 none other name under heaven given among men 
 whereby we must be saved/ '' 
 
 The convicts seemed not to be impressed just as the 
 chaplain was. They took an evident interest in what 
 had been said, and showed their interest by insisting 
 at every subsequent meeting on hearing from No. 
 3708, until it became customary for him to give them 
 a weekly lecture of ten or fifteen minutes in length. 
 His talks were full of love and spirituality, but thor 
 oughly unorthodox. In the hearts of nearly all his 
 hearers he had superseded the chaplain. The latter 
 saw this, and was bitter in his heart toward the man 
 who, himself a convict, was leading away from the 
 right path the few who had professed religion. 
 
 An incident soon occurred, however, which greatly 
 relieved the chaplain. When No. 3708 had served a 
 little more than six months of his life sentence, he 
 was one day summoned to the warden's office, and 
 there introduced to the governor of the state. It
 
 190 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 seemed to him the governor shook hands with more 
 heartiness than he would have expected to be shown 
 toward a convict. The governor looked at him search- 
 ingly as they shook hands, and then, after asking him 
 to be seated, said: 
 
 "Let me ask you one or two questions: Did you 
 shoot the man for whose killing you were sent here?" 
 
 As the prisoner hesitated the governor added: "I've 
 learned that you were silent at your trial, but some 
 doubt has been raised as to your guilt, and if you're an 
 innocent man you ought not to be here." 
 
 For a moment a passionate longing for liberty took 
 possession of the prisoner. The next instant the 
 thought came that if he were released as innocent the 
 real culprit would be hunted and likely found. Would 
 he now undo all he had done for Dick, and thus re 
 gain his lost freedom? In five seconds he had de 
 cided. He answered quietly and firmly: "Pardon me, 
 governor, but I don't care to make any statement on 
 that subject." 
 
 "Pardon you? That's what I had thought of doing, 
 possibly, but I want your statement." 
 
 "I meant 'excuse me from answering,' " said the 
 prisoner, with a smile. 
 
 After looking at him a few moments the governor 
 said: "Another question: Do you know a man 
 named Richard T. Briggs, or one named John Mc 
 Coy?"
 
 NO. 3708 191 
 
 For the first time during the interview the prisoner 
 exhibited some emotion as he replied: "I must again 
 ask to be excused from answering." 
 
 The governor got up impatiently, walked across 
 the room and held a conversation in a low tone with 
 the warden. Then he returned, and, drawing a paper 
 from his coat pocket, handed it to the prisoner, say 
 ing: "I'd have taken greater pleasure in doing this 
 Mr. Doe, if you had shown a little more interest in 
 yourself. That is an unconditional pardon." 
 
 The prisoner turned pale and said in a low voice: 
 "Thank you, governor." Then, as he mechanically 
 looked over the document, he said: "I will answer 
 your first question now. I did not shoot that man." 
 
 "I'm satisfied of that," said the governor, "or I 
 wouldn't have issued the pardon, but I can't imagine 
 why an innocent man should act as you've done." 
 The prisoner remaining silent, the governor added: 
 "I may as well tell you that the man Briggs says he 
 did the shooting, a^d McCoy corroborates the story. 
 They both claim it was done in self-defense. Briggs 
 says he was afraid of being lynched by the Buck 
 Brady gang and skipped out, and as soon as he heard 
 that you had been convicted and sent up he came to 
 me, told his story and surrendered himself. But he 
 has no idea who you are." 
 
 "Their story is exactly true," said the prisoner.
 
 192 THE LABGEH PAITBL 
 
 "The bartender was reaching for his gun when he 
 was shot." 
 
 "But why didn't you tell this before?" asked the 
 governor. 
 
 "You wouldn't understand," said the prisoner, 
 "without a long explanation. My life was worthless 
 at that time, and Briggs had once done me a great 
 kindness." 
 
 The governor gave a whistle ending in a falling 
 scale. "Well," he said, "I've seen some strange phases 
 of life here in the west, but that beats my time." 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon. The prisoner having 
 expressed a wish to take leave of some of the other 
 convicts, the warden said: 
 
 "A good many of them will want to say good-by to 
 you. Why not stay over Sunday, not as a prisoner, 
 but as my guest, and meet them to-morrow after 
 noon? They'll want to hear you, anyway." It was so 
 arranged. 
 
 The warden was right. They did want to hear him. 
 Happy is the preacher who has so large and so sym 
 pathetic an audience as No. 3708 had that Sunday. 
 For twenty minutes he held their undivided atten 
 tion. They knew he had been pardoned, and when 
 at the close of his address he spoke of it as the last he 
 would be likely to make to them, many of his hearers 
 were visibly affected. The warden having given per 
 mission to all to take leave of him, for half an hour
 
 NO. 3708 193 
 
 they gave him an ovation. Some with moist eyes 
 gave him a silent pressure of the hand. Many ex 
 pressed the hope to meet him when their time expired. 
 One old man said: "I'm a lifer, and it ain't likely I'll 
 ever get out to see you, but you've made life better for 
 all of us here." The general sentiment was pretty ac 
 curately expressed by one convict who remarked to 
 his neighbor as they passed out of the room: "I'm 
 glad he's got his pardon all right enough, but I wish 
 FJ could trade off our parson for him."
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 THE LARGER FAITH. 
 
 When Rev. Mr. Winter had been at Young's ranch 
 two months he said one day to Young: "I feel per 
 fectly well and able to return to Ohio, but I should 
 like to stay here awhile longer, if you'll keep me." 
 
 "Your company has been a pleasure to Ned and 
 me, and we'll be glad to have you stay as long as you 
 feel like it," replied Young. 
 
 "Sure!" assented Ned. 
 
 "Then I want to pay you two months' board," said 
 the minister. "What will be right?" 
 
 "Oh," said Young, "the extra expense to us is al 
 most nothing; just stay as our guest." 
 
 "No; I'd like to live with you awhile, but I must 
 pay my way," said the minister. 
 
 "Well, if you feel that way, $10 a month will cover 
 all the expense," said Young. 
 
 "That seems to me too little. I'm perfectly will 
 ing to pay $20 a month," replied the minister, hand 
 ing out two bills of that denomination. 
 
 "We'll compromise at $15," said Young, and he
 
 THE LAKQEK FAITH 195 
 
 added, smiling: "We shall hope your stay will be ex 
 tended, for at that rate we'll be making money off 
 you/' 
 
 Mr. Winter's improvement had, indeed, been rapid. 
 From the day of his arrival he had begun to eat well 
 and sleep well. Soon he began to take walks and to 
 chop wood. He had carried on the last-named exer 
 cise to such an extent that Young told him he had a 
 year's supply on hand. 
 
 The following extract from a letter he wrote to his 
 wife shortly after the incident above related will show 
 something of how he felt in other respects: 
 
 "I do not attach much importance to the doctor's 
 injunction not to think of returning for several 
 months; for I feel as well as I ever did and am satis 
 fied there is nothing the matter with my lungs. Still, 
 if you all remain well I want to stay here awhile, pos 
 sibly for a few months. 
 
 "I have told you that Mr. Young, with whom I am 
 staying, impresses me as being an extraordinary man. 
 I have learned nothing of his history save that he was 
 born in New York. He seems not to wish to talk of 
 himself, and of course I would not question him. I 
 feel sure that he is not in hiding, for he is not only 
 one of the best men, but one of the most spiritual men 
 I have ever met. Seeing him out at work with his 
 rough clothes on, one might take him for a common 
 laborer or a ranchman. Get him started to talking on 
 books in his pleasant sitting room of an evening and
 
 196 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 you'd think him some professor of English literature 
 living out here in disguise. 
 
 "But it is another side of this many-sided man that 
 interests me most, and that, in truth, is keeping me 
 here now. When I came here I found on his table a 
 well-worn bible and a copy of Cruden's Concordance, 
 the same I have used. On the book shelves were Mat 
 thew Henry's and Meyer's Commentaries on the Bible, 
 besides several books and many articles in periodicals 
 which I had never read touching modern criticism 
 of the bible. Mr. Young never makes a display of his 
 knowledge on any subject, and is difficult to draw out 
 at times, but I found when I succeeded in getting 
 him started that he has been a profound student not 
 only of the bible but of religion. I do not think he 
 belongs to any church, but there are few men so well 
 fitted to teach religion. I must say to you frankly, my 
 dear, that after having been twenty-five years in the 
 ministry I am not sure but this western ranchman 
 knows more of God than I have learned. I am going 
 to stay here with a view of learning. I have not told 
 Mr. Young anything of this, and shall not, but I con 
 fess to you that some things he has said have made me 
 feel that a large part of all my work has been devoted 
 to the mere shell of religion. I grieve to think that 
 this is true, but I have always tried to live up to my 
 honest convictions and I mean to do that now. 
 
 "I am taking a second course in theology, then, 
 with a man for a teacher who was never in a theo 
 logical seminary, probably, and who would admit be 
 ing unorthodox. And that reminds me: The only 
 harsh things I have heard him say were directed at 
 orthodoxy, which he looks upon as opposed to re-
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 197 
 
 ligion. Usually he seems to have a boundless charity 
 for all mankind and for everything. He has a re 
 markable faculty of arousing love toward himself. The 
 very animals love him and the people here who know 
 him seem almost to reverence him. I cannot account 
 for it, unless it is because he loves others, and love 
 begets love." 
 
 This letter created no anxiety in the mind of Mrs. 
 Winter. She had unbounded faith in her husband, 
 and was confident not only that he would do what was 
 right, but also that he would know what was right. 
 She was gratified at the news of his good health, and 
 filled with curiosity to see that Mr. Young who had 
 made such an impression on the mind of her hus 
 band. 
 
 While Young did not avoid the subject of religion 
 in talking with Rev. Mr. Winter, he felt reluctant to 
 obtrude his views upon the minister. He never sus 
 pected that the minister was trying to learn of him. 
 In the few talks they had had on matters touching 
 religion his arguments had been combated by Mr. 
 Winter, and Young took it for granted that the min 
 ister regarded his views as unorthodox and, therefore, 
 unsound. He feared he had once or twice exceeded 
 the bounds of courtesy when drawn out by the min 
 ister's arguments. For the idea of making a convert 
 of Mr. Winter or of trying to change any of his be 
 liefs never entered Young's mind. The minister was
 
 198 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 much older than himself, had been in the ministry a 
 long time, and doubtless had well-settled views on 
 all matters touching religion. 
 
 Still, of late he noticed that Mr. Winter seemed dis 
 posed to talk on such subjects, and also much dis 
 posed to listen. It occurred to Young that the min^ 
 ister had determined to make a convert of him, and 
 he resolved, if further pressed, to speak out frankly 
 and openly. 
 
 Opportunities were not lacking. One evening the 
 minister said to him: "I have never heard you speak 
 of the miracles performed by Jesus Christ. Do you 
 believe in them?" 
 
 "Yes, and no," answered Young. "To get any un 
 derstanding of the miracles of Jesus we must remem> 
 ber in the first place that we have a very imperfect 
 account of him and his life an account which prob 
 ably does him less than justice, even where it attempts 
 to do him more. All we have are mere fragmentary 
 statements of what He said and did, written years 
 after the occurrences. 
 
 "In those times the belief in the supernatural was 
 universal. Miracles were attributed to very many 
 persons besides Jesus. But what are miracles? You 
 say something supernatural. Strictly speaking, there 
 is not and never was anything supernatural, and yet 
 the world to-day is full of natural-supernaturalism. 
 We do not even yet know much about nature. A few
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 199 
 
 years ago the idea that persons hundreds of miles dis 
 tant from each other could speak and recognize each 
 other's voices would have seemed necessarily to in 
 volve a miracle. We now know it is entirely in ac 
 cordance with the laws of nature, and the Pharaohs 
 might have had the telephone had the people of that 
 day known as much of nature in this respect as do the 
 people of to-day. You have seen what are called 
 birthmarks?" 
 
 "Yes, frequently," replied the minister. 
 
 "What causes them?" asked Young. 
 
 "Well, I have always understood they were ac 
 counted for by a pre-natal condition of the mother," 
 said the minister. 
 
 "That is to say, a condition of the mother's mind?" 
 
 "Yes," said the minister, "some strong impression 
 on the mother's mind." 
 
 "Is every birthmark a miracle?" asked Young. 
 
 "No; they are not regarded as miracles," said the 
 minister. 
 
 "No, because they are common," said Young. "And 
 yet every birthmark, in its last analysis, is the result 
 of a thought, of the effect of mind upon matter Is 
 not that so?" 
 
 "Yes, I suppose it is." a^e t~d *hp miri^er. 
 
 "You have perhaps heard soldiers say, as I have, 
 that many men in the army died of pure homesick 
 ness, without having any physical ailment?"
 
 200 THE LAKGER FAITH 
 
 "Yes, I have been told of such cases. Some of my 
 acquaintances were said to have died in that way," 
 said the minister. 
 
 "I have simply mentioned these as some of the 
 hundreds of instances we have at hand of the effect 
 of the mind, or of spirit, upon matter. Now, a num 
 ber of the miracles of Jesus consisted in the casting 
 out of devils, or demons, the belief in which was uni 
 versal. At that time, too, the insane and demented 
 of that country wandered about at will as they do, 
 in fact, to this day. Is it to be wondered at that upon 
 such people those supposing themselves to be filled 
 with devils and those who were demented the per 
 sonality of Jesus, of which we have so imperfect a 
 description, should have had a soothing, quieting, 
 or, if you please, a healing effect? Jesus undoubt 
 edly healed many others whose ills, like the ills of 
 to-day, were largely mental rather than physical. 
 His biographers evidently considered it necessary to 
 invest him with supernatural powers, and the same 
 power was claimed in those times for numerous other 
 persons. Jesus Himself never made such a claim, and 
 more than once shrank from appearing to perform 
 miracles and from getting the name of doing so, en 
 joining those around him to say nothing about it. 
 
 "If you ask me, then, if I believe Jesus healed the 
 sick, made the blind to see and the lame to walk, I an 
 swer unhesitatingly, Yes. I believe he did all these
 
 THE LABGEE FAITH 201 
 
 things in a natural way, and that they are all being 
 done to-day in a natural way, without the use of 
 medicines. 
 
 "If you ask me if I believe Jesus ever did anything 
 which was in its strict sense supernatural and incapa 
 ble of being performed to-day, I answer, No. I re 
 peat, however, that our knowledge of nature and of 
 natural powers and possibilities is yet so limited that 
 it is difficult for us, even now, to say what is a mir 
 acle. 
 
 "All nature is a miracle, so far as our ability to ex 
 plain the processes of nature is concerned. We know 
 that in the springtime the sap goes upward in tree 
 life. We know that upon the rosebush the bud be 
 gins to swell and finally develops into the full-blown 
 rose; that upon the grapevine is developed by slow 
 and imperceptible degrees the perfect bunches of 
 ripened grapes. But how this is done or why it is so 
 is absolutely as far beyond our ken as is the turning 
 of water into wine. So far as the how and why are con 
 cerned that is to say, when it comes to explaining 
 the process by which results are brought about the 
 resurrection of Lazarus after he had been dead four 
 days was no greater miracle than is the coming into 
 life and birth of a child." 
 
 For a time they sat silent. Then the minister said: 
 "It seems to me your views on miracles and your dis 
 belief in the supernatural are inconsistent with a be*
 
 202 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 lief in special providences. You will admit, will you 
 not, that God at times intervenes directly in the af 
 fairs of this world?" 
 
 "Not as you state it," replied Young. "My belief 
 is broader than that. I believe that God, through es 
 tablished law, controls and directs the universe at all 
 times." 
 
 "So do I," said the minister. "I believe, too, in 
 special providences." 
 
 "That is to say," asked Young, "that the natural 
 order of things is suspended or changed by Deity at 
 particular times or places?" 
 
 "Yes, if you choose to put it that way," replied the 
 minister. 
 
 "Let us see," said Young. "God is unchangeable. 
 God's laws, which are the laws of nature, the laws 
 governing the universe, are immutable. Now, that 
 for particular purposes or upon special occasions an 
 unchangeable God would or could suspend or alter 
 the operation of immutable laws is to me unthink 
 able." 
 
 "But, Mr. Young, isn't all this destructive of the 
 very basis of the Christian religion?" 
 
 "Certainly not," replied Young. "As I once be 
 fore said, I look upon true Christianity as the final 
 religion of mankind, embodying as it doas in its es 
 sentials the essence of all true religion. In my judg 
 ment, the greatest hindrance to the wider diffusion of
 
 THE LABGEB FAITH 203 
 
 the Christian religion among mankind to-day is the 
 foolish insistence, on the part of those who assume to 
 speak for it, upon impossible beliefs in non-essential 
 miracles and senseless supernaturalism." 
 
 At another time, after the minister had been draw 
 ing Young out on similar questions for a time, he 
 said: 
 
 "What do you call your religious belief or doc 
 trine?" 
 
 "It would be a mistake," replied Young, "for you 
 to suppose that my belief is either original with or 
 peculiar to myself. There is nothing esoteric about it. 
 I believe there are thousands, many of them from 
 force of habit or of conventionality in the churches, 
 who share my belief. I have never heard it given a 
 name, but if I were to designate it I should call it 
 the larger faith." 
 
 "Is it not a misnomer to call it a larger faith when 
 there are so many things you don't believe which are 
 believed by the churches?" 
 
 "I do not think so," answered Young. "A belief 
 is not necessarily large because it includes a great 
 number of small things, especially if those things are 
 not founded in reason and are unimportant if true. 
 To me this faith of ours seems infinitely higher, 
 deeper, broader, than the professed belief of any of 
 the churches. It is as wide as the universe and does
 
 204: THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 not limit God by investing him with human quali 
 ties, frailties and passions." 
 
 "I believe I'll take a walk/' said the minister, after 
 a pause. "I feel the need of fresh air." 
 
 For a long time he walked in the starlight of the 
 cloudless New Mexican night. As he walked, he ex 
 perienced an exaltation of spirit. His mental horizon 
 seemed to expand, his spiritual vision to be clarified. 
 Never had religion as a part of man's nature seemed 
 to him of so great importance as it seemed then. 
 Never had he so clearly perceived the utter littleness 
 and unimportance of all creeds. 
 
 In the days that followed Young and his guest had 
 many long talks which need not be recorded here. 
 
 When at the end of five months Eev. Mr. Winter 
 took his departure he said to Young: "For the rest 
 of my life I am going to preach the larger faith."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MAUDE. 
 
 From a very remote period in history writers have 
 from time to time noted the effects upon the lives of 
 men and nations of what in themselves seemed to be 
 very trifling incidents. It is said the course of a 
 stream has been changed by a pebble; that a decisive 
 battle was once lost because the dinner of the com 
 mander on one side was badly cooked. A good many 
 years ago attention was called to the extensive con 
 flagration which might originate in a small fire. Cer 
 tain it is that what seem to be very small circum 
 stances are often the starting points of more or less 
 important events. 
 
 At the boarding-house where Darrell made his 
 home there lived a Mr. North, a gentleman of inde 
 pendent means and no family. This Mr. North was 
 about fifty-five years old, very regular in his habits 
 and fond of a game of whist, which he generally man 
 aged to have in the evening. During the three years 
 he and Darrell had lived in the same house they had 
 become well acquainted, and, for persons so dissim-
 
 206 THE LAEGEE FAITH 
 
 ilar in age, rather chummy. Mr. North was in every 
 thing a thoroughgoing conservative. He was op 
 posed on principle to innovations, whether in politics, 
 religion, business or social matters. He had some pet 
 theories, one of which was that all men act from self 
 ish motives. Selfishness, he argued, was the main 
 spring of all action, whether of governments, com 
 munities or individuals. It is but fair to him to say 
 that in his daily life he did not seem to exemplify his 
 own theory. He was generous, kind-hearted and 
 careful not to offend others or infringe on their 
 rights. Still, he insisted that he was selfish, like 
 everybody else. When one day Darrell, referring to 
 some beneficence which the old gentleman had con 
 ferred, taxed him with not living up to his own 
 theory, he replied: 
 
 "You take a wrong view altogether. I do these 
 things simply because it gives me pleasure to do them. 
 It is pure selfishness on my part." 
 
 Darrell one evening remarked that the next day 
 he had to go to the city of E . 
 
 "How long are you going to be in E ?" asked 
 
 Mr. North. 
 
 "One day, possibly two," answered Darrell. 
 
 "I have an old college classmate up there," said Mr. 
 North, "whom I have not seen for years, Tom Briggs, 
 a druggist. I wish you'd call on him if you get time. 
 Fll give you a note of introduction."
 
 MAUDE 207 
 
 "I'll have time to see him," said Darrell. 
 
 When Darrell had finished his business for the day 
 
 at E he called on Mr. Briggs at his drug store 
 
 and presented the letter of introduction. Mr. Briggs, 
 having read the letter, treated Darrell cordially, asked 
 many questions about their friend North, and before 
 he left invited him to take dinner and spend the 
 evening with the Briggs family, an invitation which 
 Darrell accepted. 
 
 That evening he met Mrs. Briggs and Miss Maude 
 Briggs. He had accepted the invitation almost per 
 functorily, and largely because he had nothing else 
 to do. Before the evening was over, however, he felt 
 it would have been a great misfortune to him not to 
 have met this family, while at the same time it seemed 
 to him he had never appeared to so great disadvan 
 tage. Although he was not what is called a society 
 man, he was yet quite accustomed to the usages of 
 polite society and to associating with people at vari 
 ous social functions. He was neither a boy nor a 
 neophyte in matters social, and yet when for the first 
 time he met Maude Briggs he felt himself blushing 
 and at a loss for something to say. He tried to shake 
 off this feeling and regain his usual composure, but 
 with poor success. He felt irritated that neither his 
 friend North nor the girl's father had told him there 
 was a Miss Briggs, so that he might not have been 
 taken by surprise.
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 In the course of the evening Darrell, more for the 
 purpose of trying to get relief from the embarrass 
 ment which annoyed and irritated him than because 
 he wanted to hear any piano playing, asked Miss 
 Briggs to favor them with some music. 
 
 The truth was that Darrell had once thought he 
 liked music, but at the boarding-house where he lived 
 was a Miss Crites who was accustomed to sit down 
 and thump the piano from one end of the keyboard 
 to the other in a way that exhibited great facility in 
 the use of her fingers, but was anything but pleasing 
 to Darrell. He thought she could play anything in 
 the world but music. And then she had a voice 
 such a voice! She could sing, he had often heard it 
 said, away up to high something, he had forgotten 
 \vhat, but it was considerably higher than the point 
 if there was a point at which her voice sounded 
 well to him. She professed to be fond of "Annie 
 Laurie," and Darrell had heard her often sing in a 
 voice which could be heard somewhere in the next 
 block: 
 
 "Mac Swelton'a bra-a-ays are baw-ne-e-e " 
 
 till he wished old Mac Swelton and his brays had 
 never been invented. 
 
 When Darrell asked Maude Briggs to play she 
 didn't say that she was out of practice; she didn't run 
 the piano stool either up or down. She seated herself,
 
 MAUDE 209 
 
 and instead of the preliminary chase up and down 
 the keys which Darrell was expecting she touched 
 the keys as if she loved them, and glided off quietly 
 into one of Mendelssohn's songs without words. The 
 girl evidently had plebeian tastes, for after one or two 
 other melodies Darrell found himself listening to the 
 tune of an old song not at all fashionable and scorn 
 fully rejected by most pianists as not being classic. 
 Even this old song Miss Briggs played without those 
 variations in which amateur pianists so love to in 
 dulge. When she had finished the tune Darrell asked 
 her to sing, and in answer to an inquiry as to what 
 kind of songs he liked he said unblushing liar that 
 he had become that "Annie Laurie" was one of his 
 favorites. After a short prelude Miss Briggs sang the 
 song with subdued feeling and, as Darrell thought, 
 with the finest taste. It may have been in a lower 
 key than Miss Crites used; certain it was that Miss 
 Briggs didn't squeal on the high notes. 
 
 Darrell was for once entirely sincere in expressing 
 the pleasure he felt in listening to both the playing 
 and singing. 
 
 Before taking his leave of the Briggs family Dar 
 rell was intrusted with various messages of good will 
 to Mr. North and what was much more important to 
 him was asked to come and see them whenever he 
 should be in the city. He was not exactly lying when 
 he said he expected to be in E again within a
 
 210 THE LAEGEB FAITH 
 
 month, though before coming to that house he had no 
 such expectation. 
 
 He was in E again within the time he had 
 
 stated, and he spent another evening at the Briggs 
 household. About a fortnight later he was there 
 again. After the first few visits he quit giving 
 
 Ananias reasons for coming to E so often, and it 
 
 is to the credit of his intelligence that he had sense 
 enough to quit this in time to preserve some reputa 
 tion for veracity with the Briggs family. 
 
 After awhile, in some way, Darrell and Maude 
 Briggs got to writing letters to each other. Then, in 
 the first letter after one of his visits, he addressed her 
 as "My Dear Maude," and in her reply, sent the day 
 after the receipt of his letter, she addressed him as 
 "My Dear John." But why prolong the recital? It 
 was in the case of these two young people the story 
 as old as humanity, yet as new as the freshly opened 
 rose. "All the world loves a lover," because in every 
 pure love, whether of man and woman for each other, 
 of parent for child or of man for mankind, there is 
 something of divinity something which makes the 
 lover God-like. And thus it is that while hatreds 
 and enmities are forgotten, while memories of na 
 tions and of human greatness are lost, the story of 
 love will have an ever-renewed interest so long as man 
 is man. 
 
 Darrell could not long keep to himself the secret
 
 MAUDE 211 
 
 of his great happiness. He first told his friend North, 
 who promptly claimed all the credit of the arrange 
 ment on account of his letter of introduction, a claim 
 which Darrell admitted without argument. In writ 
 ing to Young he said at the end of his letter: 
 
 "I supposed myself to be a confirmed bachelor 
 when I saw you at any rate, I had no idea of marry 
 ing. Since then I have met and become engaged to 
 the sweetest woman in the world. The time of our 
 marriage is not fixed yet, but it will be about next 
 April or May. Can't you arrange to come to our 
 wedding?" 
 
 When Young got this letter he had been thinking 
 seriously of leaving his ranch, at least for a time. He 
 felt that he had mastered himself, or, as he put it, 
 that he had learned to possess his soul. He had not 
 fully decided where he would go or what he would 
 do, but the idea of doing what he could to help others, 
 which had first taken possession of him long before, 
 had now become a fixed purpose. He had been wait 
 ing to be sure of himself. Now it was only a ques 
 tion of where to go and what to do. 
 
 Ned Long, since being at the ranch, had made such 
 progress in his studies that he was a well-informed 
 young man of his age, especially in history, in which 
 study he took a keen delight. In the matter of look 
 ing after Young's property Ned was even more care-
 
 212 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ful than Young himself. Young knew that every 
 thing left in Ned's care would be as safe as if he were 
 there. In this frame of mind he answered Darrell's 
 letter, congratulating him heartily, and adding: 
 
 "It is quite probable I shall accept your invitation 
 and be present at your wedding. You once asked if 
 I intended to remain here always. I have been think 
 ing for some time of going away, but have not decided 
 just where. I shall probably leave here in the spring, 
 for a time at least. 
 
 "By the way, you did not mention the name of your 
 fiancee. I presume she lives in C and the wed 
 ding is to be there, as you said nothing to the con 
 trary." 
 
 When Darrell called on Maude after receiving this 
 letter he told her he had invited to the wedding his 
 western ranchman friend who had taken care of him 
 when he had a sprained ankle, and of whom he had 
 spoken to her before. 
 
 "I shall be glad to see him," said Maude, "and to 
 thank him for what he did for you. But what will 
 he look like if he comes? Will he wear his cow-boy 
 clothes?" 
 
 "I don't think we need worry about his looks or 
 his clothes," answered Darrell. "The probability is 
 that he'll outshine the other men present, including 
 the groom."
 
 MAUDE 213 
 
 "I'm not afraid of that," said Maude, "but I want to 
 see him." 
 
 Darrell wrote a short letter to Young, in the course 
 of which he said: 
 
 "The truth is, I was too happy to be very coherent 
 when I wrote to you last. I'm still happy, but I'll try 
 to be coherent this time. The name of my affianced 
 
 wife is Maude Briggs, and her home is in E , 
 
 Ohio, up on the lake, you know. The wedding will be 
 at her home, of course. I have told Maude of you, 
 and she is anxious to meet you and thank you for 
 what you did for me." 
 
 Alas for the man who thinks he has mastered him 
 self! When Young g'ot this letter it brought back 
 with a rush all his past life, all his past anguish, and 
 his first impulse was to go over to Vigil's and take a 
 drink. Then the time subsequent to his great grief 
 passed before him, and he said to himself: "No, what 
 ever of hell I suffer hereafter, whisky will not be any 
 part of it." Hastily mounting his horse, he started 
 for the ranch at a pace that made the bystanders look 
 on in surprise. 
 
 "Goes off like he'd been sent for sudden," re 
 marked one. 
 
 "They say that gray can go to his ranch in a little 
 over'n hour," said another. 
 
 "Y' ought to see th' way he takes care of his horse,
 
 214 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 though," put in another. "When he gets home a 
 big blanket goes on, covers the horse from head to 
 tail, 'nd it stays on for'n hour; then th' horse gets a 
 feed." 
 
 "I don't believe in sidewheelers, generally," said 
 the first speaker; "they can't stand the racket; but 
 that one of Young's is a good one all right enough." 
 
 "Young says the only trouble is they ride so easy 
 that fellers ride 'em to death without knowin' it," 
 said one of the lookers-on. 
 
 "Don't know but he's right," said another. "His 
 gray c'n stay with any of 'em, anyhow." 
 
 That evening Young said to Ned Long: "Ned, did 
 you ever drink anything beer or whisky or wine?" 
 
 "No, I never did," said Ned. 
 
 "I wouldn't, if I were you," said Young. "You're 
 most likely to take the first drink from a desire to be 
 friendly: then when you feel a little excited, either 
 very good or very bad. I wouldn't drink at all." 
 
 Young soldom gave advice to Ned unless asked. 
 Ned was so anxious to please and to follow his guard 
 ian that it wasn't necessary. 
 
 After what Young said Ned would have lost a 
 limb rather than take a drink of liquor. 
 
 A few days later Young wrote to Darrell saying: "1 
 will be at your wedding. Let me know the date in 
 ample time."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE HEKETIC. 
 
 When Eev. David Winter returned to C from 
 
 New Mexico he was urged by many members of his 
 last congregation again to accept the pastorate of the 
 First Presbyterian church. The church had not been 
 in a flourishing condition since Mr. Winter's resigna 
 tion. The church debt had been such a burden that 
 the congregation had felt unable to employ a regular 
 pastor, and the pulpit was filled or partially filled 
 from week to week with "supplies." 
 
 To all of those who asked Mr. Winter to accept a 
 call from the congregation he replied that he ex 
 pected to withdraw from the Presbyterian ministry 
 and from the church and become an independent 
 preacher. Some of those to whom he made this state 
 ment were greatly shocked; others, after talking with 
 him, approved his course and expressed an intention 
 of attending his church, provided he preached in that 
 city. In the course of a few weeks a number of per 
 sons had become sufficiently interested to look around 
 for an auditorium with a view of having him preach
 
 216 THE LABOER FAITH 
 
 to them. Finding no other suitable room, they se 
 cured the use of a theater, and the first meeting was 
 announced for the next Sunday. 
 
 Mr. Winter found himself facing a large audience 
 upon his first appearance as an independent preacher. 
 Very diverse motives had brought the members of 
 the assembly together. Some of them were former 
 attendants at the church where Mr. Winter had last 
 preached, who believed in him and in his preaching; 
 some were persons who had heard something of his 
 treatment by the officers of his former congregation 
 and who wanted to hear him "give it to the Presbyteri 
 ans," while still others, knowing of his withdrawal 
 from the ministry and the church to which he had be 
 longed, expected that he would take a fling at religion 
 generally. Darrell had induced his friend North to 
 go with him, though after some grumbling on the part 
 of the old gentleman. 
 
 "Why couldn't the damned preacher stick to his 
 knitting," he said, "and preach where he belonged? 
 I don't have much use for religion, but when I do 
 have, my mother's bible will be good enough for me!" 
 
 "By the way," said Darrell, "what did you pay that 
 oculist $17 for yesterday?" 
 
 "Why, for fitting my eyes with a pair of glasses. 
 They're fine ones, too each one exactly suited to 
 the eye. That fellow understands his business." 
 
 "Why didn't you get a pair of glasses like your
 
 THE HERETIC 217 
 
 parents did?" said Darrell. "You could have got 
 them ready made for about 80 cents and saved some 
 thing over $16." 
 
 "You're going to the dogs, John, fast," growled the 
 old man. "Glasses and religion haven't anything to 
 do with each other, and you know it." 
 
 With but few preliminaries Mr. Winter announced 
 his text and preached a sermon about twenty-five 
 minutes in length, which is here given in full: 
 
 " 'If we love one another, God dwelleth in us and 
 His love is perfected in us.' I. John, iv., 12. 
 
 "The Garden of Eden story is so familiar that we 
 need not rehearse its details. As an example of an 
 cient literature it is of great interest and value. It is 
 dramatic in quality. It is poetic in its style. It is ar 
 tistic in its arrangement of the plot and in its adjust 
 ment of dramatic action. But theology has chosen 
 to make it also an inspired proclamation of the origin 
 of sin and of saving religion for the human race. 
 
 "The masses of Jewish and Christian people have 
 indorsed this estimate of the story. We have unhesi 
 tatingly accepted it as the fundamental enactment of 
 the Christian religion. We base our systems of 
 theology upon it. We plant our churches upon its 
 statements. It inspires our catechisms. It deter 
 mines our confessions of faith and our articles of be 
 lief. We have held it in superstitious reverence. We 
 have been taught that it would be sacrilegious, and so
 
 218 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 dangerous to our eternal interests, for us to venture 
 to criticise this story. And so we have given it little 
 rational study. Possibly it may be excusable in us to 
 investigate the story and the claims set up for it with 
 a little more care than we have been doing. If it is 
 found to be rational and profitable, it will thus be 
 come of greater value for us. If it is in any manner 
 irrational, then we cannot afford either to believe it 
 ourselves or to attribute its authority to God. Such 
 a study must not be in the spirit of impious denuncia 
 tion; nor yet of superstitious veneration. We must 
 sincerely seek to understand the rational value of this 
 Garden story. 
 
 "Laying prejudice aside, we must concede that this 
 story is not in harmony with modern knowledge of 
 the orderly forces of nature as they are manifest in 
 the process of creation. If the plot of the story were 
 to be recast so that it might harmonize with the ac 
 cepted science of evolution it would become a new 
 story. For the story of the Garden and the story of 
 science cannot be tortured into harmony of interpre 
 tation. But this point we do not wish to enlarge 
 upon. It is mentioned merely to show that the story 
 of the Garden cannot be rationally estimated as an 
 inerrant transcript of inspiration. And so our most 
 reverent acceptance of it as such can determine 
 neither the fact of our moral righteousness nor of our 
 religious fidelity.
 
 THE HEBETIC 219 
 
 " 'By their fruits ye shall know them' is the New 
 Testament rule of judgment. Under the terms of this 
 rule we may estimate the value of each human insti 
 tution according to the measure and quality of its ap 
 plied force or influence. Because Caesar and Caesar- 
 ism have not heen of value to human society we judge 
 that it were better to abandon them. If Jesus and his 
 religion have been of value then we may estimate 
 them as worthy of approval and perpetuation. Has 
 the theology which represents the story of Eden ac 
 tually accomplished good results for humanity? Has 
 it done for man all which his welfare has required? 
 In answer we are compelled to admit that it has sig 
 nally failed to meet the issues raised in the facts of 
 social deformity. Nor has it kept up to the line of the 
 ideal concept of human achievement. It has been 
 weighed in the balance, and it is found to be wanting. 
 
 "And so the Christian of to-day cannot be satisfied 
 with the superstitious religion of creed and ceremony 
 of the past. He asks for a living religion. He wants 
 a Christlike Christianity. And such a religion has 
 not been found in association with the story of the 
 Garden. 
 
 "But the God of the Garden story is not the God of 
 whom Jesus told us during his ministry in Palestine. 
 From Eden comes the story of an angry and vengeful 
 God. From Galilee we hear the story of a Father who 
 will not break the bruised reed; whose heart follows
 
 220 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 the prodigal son with the prayer of affection, and 
 never with a curse or a threat. 
 
 "And here we meet two distinct types of religion. 
 We cannot indorse them both. In genius they are re 
 pellent and not homogeneous. One of them has been 
 given a test of four thousand years. And it has not 
 been a success. Its history is a tragedy of failure. 
 It has told man only of an angry God who holds over 
 him the menace of an eternal threat. This of neces 
 sity has taught him either to hate or to fear God. And 
 surely neither one of tLese emotions can refine human 
 lives. It has told all human beings that they are vile 
 and worthless rebels; sinners who are fit only to asso 
 ciate with devils in hell. There is no more positive 
 way for training the child into a life of sin than to 
 constantly tell him how very vile he is. Under such 
 religious influences it is not strange that sin has not 
 been erased and society purified. The only wonder 
 is that the beneficent forces of nature have been able, 
 in spite of such adverse influences, to keep our race 
 in the ordained pathway of its ever-increasing excel 
 lency. 
 
 "Why, then, shall we not turn away from this dread 
 ful tragedy and seek to usher in among men the reli 
 gion of the loving son of a loving God? Superstition 
 has already ruled the thought of the world too long. 
 It is but natural that in its far-away beginnings 
 human thought should have been largely, and possi-
 
 THE HERETIC 221 
 
 bly wholly, superstitious. In the light of modem 
 knowledge we have no right to assume that our race 
 was initiated into this world in possession of its high 
 est possible measure of attainment. And so we can 
 not regard mankind at the present day as the de 
 praved offspring of initial ancestors who were physic 
 ally and mentally and morally perfect beings, who 
 afterward fell from such heights of quality, into such 
 depths of depravity, as to fasten the hereditary guilt 
 of hopeless and damning sin upon each soul of the 
 oncoming generations of their offspring. But we are 
 rather to consider humanity as slowly but surely ad 
 vancing along an ever upward pathway. And this is 
 leading man away from the lower conditions of his 
 primitive estate and into such possibilities as we at 
 present may not be able to foretell. 
 
 "And so in his primal weakness and ignorance it is 
 but natural that man's concepts should have been 
 superstitional in quality. They must have been so. 
 He could not have grasped the sublime facts which 
 nature is revealing to men to-day. He could not un 
 derstand nature. And so he invented for himself the 
 supernatural. He planted a superhuman God on a 
 supernatural throne as master and monarch among 
 the forces which he felt, and which to him appeared 
 to be in antagonism among themselves. 
 
 "And this supernatural God, invested with super 
 natural power and authority, was for him a satis-
 
 222 THE LARGEK FAITH 
 
 factory explanation of the varied phenomena by which 
 he found himself surrounded. Such a being of course 
 might exercise rightful authority over man. It was 
 his right to command. And it was man's duty to 
 obey. In case of man's disobedience then God must 
 be angry. And then it became his rightful duty to 
 punish the wrongdoer. It was also his privilege to 
 determine upon what terms and conditions such pun 
 ishment might be withheld. And so God came to be 
 regarded as the inventor of certain forms of penance 
 and sacrifice and sacramental ritualism, in the observ 
 ance of which man was to be released from the pun 
 ishment which sin merited. All this constituted 
 man's primary religion. It was also unnatural and 
 unauthorized superstition. And so all our stock of 
 knowledge and religion reaches us through lineal 
 descent from man's primal superstitions. 
 
 "In matters of knowledge we have laid aside these 
 earlier misconceptions as we have come into the 
 higher concepts of the sublime unities of nature. But 
 in matters of religion we refuse to surrender the old 
 superstitions. We deny our right to do so upon the 
 ground that they are direct gifts from God himself, 
 and so not to be regarded as of less sanctity than God 
 himself, who is their author and giver. And so in all 
 churches we find emphasis still laid upon the observ 
 ance of certain ceremonials. And in such observance 
 we are taught to expect to escape the otherwise in-
 
 THE HERETIC 223 
 
 flicted punishments of God. Now, this religious su 
 perstition has come naturally into human experience. 
 It has observed a natural place and order in the evolu 
 tion of religion. But all observant, thoughtful and 
 sincere religionists are coming to ask if all this crud 
 ity or superstition may not now be eliminated from 
 religion to its own advantage. 
 
 "If this may be done it will of necessity reduce re 
 ligion to the very simple terms under which it was 
 taught and exemplified by Jesus. However natural 
 religious superstition may have been in the past, it 
 is distinctly unnatural to-day. However helpful it 
 may have been, its usefulness seems to be now wholly 
 outgrown. For at the present time it is not serving 
 to make men wiser. Nor is it making them better. 
 All which may be claimed for the superstitions of 
 theology is the possible fact that they may not be 
 making men and society the worse, and even this 
 claim may be doubted. 
 
 "When we consider the vast volume of existing 
 moral depravity and social corruption and personal 
 suffering which prevail in the very midst of Chris 
 tian civilization, and when we observe the immense 
 expenditure of religious energy which fails to correct 
 such evils, then we must become entirely dissatisfied 
 with this inert and fruitless quality of religion. We 
 want something having aggressive value against 
 wrong. We want a religion of positive force for good.
 
 224 THE LAEGEE FAITH 
 
 We want an objective religion. We *want a religion 
 whose altars of worship are in the temple and in the 
 home, and in the office, and in the school, and in the 
 halls of legislation, and in the courts of civil proced 
 ure. 
 
 "And this is the very kind of religion which Jesus 
 undertook to teach the world two thousand years ago. 
 But the world has been a dull pupil. We have not 
 yet learned the truth of the fatherhood of God and 
 the universal brotherhood of man. Shall we not then 
 join our humble efforts with an experiment which 
 seems about to be undertaken? This is the experi 
 ment of superseding the old religion of superstition 
 and creed and fear with the religion of love and 
 brotherly service. If we will at last make operative 
 the simple but lofty religion of the Nazarene we may 
 accomplish such results of human regeneration as the 
 old religion of superstition is not qualified even to 
 undertake. 
 
 "Jesus is understood to have led a life of lowly 
 purity. If we might find an unprejudiced account 
 of his teachings we might also learn that the ancient 
 wise men of the east and the modern wise men of the 
 west may alike come to him to learn the solution of 
 the problem of human regeneration. For his was the 
 soul the message, the mission of the idealist. And 
 in his lofty thought he foresaw humanity saved with 
 a near-at-hand salvation a real and practical salva-
 
 THE HERETIC 225 
 
 tion. No future heaven can ever quite compensate ua 
 for our experiences in an earthly hell. We need an 
 earthly paradise as surely as a heavenly home. And 
 in his vision he saw them both. And so his was a 
 message of love. Love was the keynote around which 
 and in unison with which he sang his wonderful songs 
 of mortal and immortal hope. He is said to have 
 lifted the curtain that John might peer into the fu 
 ture. And there he saw no God of anger. He saw 
 no prison hell. He saw no hopeless prodigals cast out 
 from a father's heart and home. But he saw a God 
 of love. And through the ever open and welcoming 
 doors of his home came pouring in all his children. 
 They came from every world, and nation, and kin 
 dred and tribe. And every knee bowed down before 
 the loving Father of them all. And they sang one 
 song. 
 
 "But his ear had already caught a prelude to this 
 anthem of the angels. He had already seen another 
 vision. And this had been a vision of mortal men. 
 And they were a band of universal brothers. For 
 they had learned at last that all men are of one blood. 
 And so they dwelt in the peace of love in all the 
 earth. They lived together. The competition and 
 jealousy and the greed of commerce did not separate 
 them. Some did not feed in luxury while others 
 starved. Some did not array themselves in fine ap 
 parel while others perished in their rags. Some were
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 not slain in battle that conquerors might possess their 
 homes. And so the glory of humanity in the earth 
 was as the glory of the angels in heaven. 
 
 "Such is the salvation which the religion of Jesus 
 promises to our race. And there is not a single com 
 munity in any land where such a salvation is not at 
 present needed. We need it here in our city. It is 
 needed in our homes and in our offices, and in our 
 stores our private and our official citizens need it. 
 And must we not also confess that our churches need 
 it most of all? 
 
 "Such is the only religion wlr'ch men really do 
 need to-day. It is the only religion which is worth 
 the having. Our hungry world has starved too long 
 on a diet of theological stones. And as His children 
 have prayed for an egg that miracle of potential 
 life has the heavenly Father given them only the 
 scorpion, that symbol of stinging theological death? 
 Shall we not then in His name seek out for men the 
 bread of eternal life? And must not this bread of 
 life feed every hungry mortal man? Would we save 
 the perishing? Then in most cases let us heed the 
 couplet: 
 
 " 'Send not the priest with sacrament and prayers, 
 But send the baker with his saving wares.' 
 
 "This religion of love and brotherhood implies 
 plenty and peace among all men. Plenty of work for 
 all and plenty of rest for each one.
 
 THE HEEETIC 227 
 
 "Such is the ideal religion of Jesus. But we have 
 come far short of its realization. And this not be 
 cause it is impracticable, but only because supersti 
 tion has stifled the ideal. 
 
 "The idealist is the world's only savior. Supersti 
 tion cries out against life. Life means force and ad 
 vancement. It means the reaching after better re 
 sults. Superstition forbids progress. It demands 
 preservation of the existing order of things. It chains 
 the living man to a dead body. But he cries out 'Oh, 
 wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from 
 the body of this death?' 
 
 "Superstition cannot do this. It cannot give life its 
 freedom. It has fostered heartless and unbrotherly 
 selfishness among men. It has created the fatal in 
 justice of competition and greed as the genius of hu 
 man society. And now it says that the existing order 
 of things cannot be changed. That it ought not to 
 be changed. It says that men ought not to ask that 
 it be changed. They should submit; they should en 
 dure without complaint, for such is the duty of God's 
 people, to bow to his will without repining. 
 
 "But the idealist calls the sleeper to awake, and the 
 dead to come forth to life. In the overthrow of super 
 stition he promises the salvation of love. Then why 
 shall we not echo the cry of the divine idealist? And 
 they who profess to worship Jesus, why shall they
 
 228 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 not obey and imitate him? It was he who proclaimed 
 against the superstitions handed down to us from the 
 Garden of Eden. He held up before all men the truth 
 that love is the fulfillment of the law; that man owes 
 no duty which is not fulfilled in love. The life of 
 love cannot bow down low enough to come into touch 
 with the deadly ceremonies of superstition. Love 
 alone fulfills the law. For there is but one law. And 
 love is that law. Scientists and religionists alike 
 sometimes refer to laws and forces. But in correct 
 thinking only one force can be recognized. The law 
 of geology is a part of the law of astronomy. There 
 are no several laws nor forces of light, and heat, and 
 chemistry, and electricity, and gravity, and cohesion, 
 and repulsion, and centripetality, and centrifugality, 
 nor of body, and of mind, and of spirit, nor of morals 
 and religion. These are but so many expressions of 
 one centric law or force which involves them all 
 equally. This implies absolute affinity, unity and 
 oneness between all items of nature. No two expres 
 sions in nature can be in fundamental disagreement. 
 And this universal affinity and harmony constitute 
 love. When our lives internally and externally are in 
 unison with every natural expression of this one force 
 and law of the universe, then we are living true lives 
 of love. And short of this we are not fulfilling the 
 law of God. 
 
 "This law of love is natural. It is in no sense
 
 THE HEEETIC 229 
 
 supernatural. Indeed, it is the only verity which is 
 natural. Any variation from it is unnatural and ab 
 normal. This law is also very simple. It may be 
 easily recognized. Its implied obligation, as affect 
 ing the individual, is to love self. Then to love the 
 fellow-man. And also to love God. Here is the sub 
 stance of the religion of Jesus: 'Thou shalt love the 
 Lord thy God with all thy might, mind and strength, 
 and thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' On these 
 equal commandments hangs all the law. But here 
 comes the old question: How can man love God 
 whom he hath not seen? Whom no man can see and 
 live? For it is a law of the emotion of love that it 
 must find both expression and response. Hand must 
 touch hand. Eye must look into the depth of eye. 
 Love must sing its song of the heart to the heart. 
 How then are we able to love an inaccessible God? 
 Superstition has said that its God is supernatural and 
 inaccessible. But the religion of love knows nothing 
 of such a God. Its God must be both natural and dis 
 coverable. Throughout organized space there can 
 be no more than one fundamental force. And this 
 one force must be vitalized unity, or living love. 
 Nothing exists or is manifest apart from it. And in 
 it we discover God. And so when we put ourselves 
 into peaceful relation with any known order of na 
 ture we are loving God. Among the visible expres 
 sions of nature we come into no such measure of in-
 
 330 THE LABGBR FAITH 
 
 timate association as with our fellow-men. And so 
 Jesus teaches us that our love of our fellow-men is our 
 highest expression of our love of God. All this shows 
 us that we and all men are fundamentally parts of 
 God. We are to love ourselves and keep in unison 
 with nature because we are natural parts of God. And 
 our neighbors are also parts of God. They are also 
 part of ourselves. They, with us, are associate mem 
 bers of one body, even God. In loving them we ex 
 press self-love and appreciation. This is nature's law 
 requiring that we love our neighbors as we love our 
 selves. And that such conduct as we desire from oth 
 ers we should accord to them. 
 
 "If society were to make this law of love operative 
 the vision of the idealist would be realized. As the 
 superstitions and traditions of the religion descended 
 from the Garden of Eden will not allow men seriously 
 to undertake to realize this religion of Jesus, it there 
 fore becomes the duty of every real Christian to elim 
 inate the last vestige of superstition from his thought. 
 By coming out of the bondage of superstition we may 
 come into the freedom of a larger faith. Into a larger 
 measure of the richer faith that saves with the power 
 of a present salvation. Into a faith which reveals to 
 us a grander God. 
 
 "Such a faith makes us one with an ever-present in 
 dwelling and overshadowing God. It will lay beside 
 each aching heart another holy heart through which
 
 THE HEKETIC 231 
 
 is flowing a tide of tender, loving sympathy. It is a 
 faith which looks not out across the valley of the 
 shadow of death to find an eternal heaven. For its 
 love builds its own heaven here in this world among 
 God's own children. This is a faith that sees God in 
 every sun and world, in every mountain and raindrop, 
 in every bird and flower. And because his God 'is all 
 and in all' the man of such a faith sees in each lower 
 order of being a kindred atom in the universal or 
 ganism. He cannot be unkind even to his dumb 
 brothers. He also sees God in every man. Not one 
 is so near or so far away, so weak or so strong, so pure 
 or so deformed, but he realizes in him the kindred tie 
 of brotherhood. 
 
 "Oh, that we might come into such a faith as thisl 
 In our reaching out after it we may well afford to 
 turn aside from conventional sacraments of supersti 
 tion. No baptismal water is so holy, nor any sacra 
 mental wine so sacred, as is the love which recognizes 
 all men in natural and equal brotherhood. Let us 
 then choose as the captain of our salvation Him who 
 has taught the fatherhood of God and the brother 
 hood of man. For of His teaching the prophecy is at 
 last fulfilled: 'The darkness is passed, and the light 
 of truth now shineth.' And this word of light de 
 clares: 'He that loveth not his brother abideth in 
 death.' Therefore, 'let us not love in word, but in 
 deed and truth/ For 'God is love, and he that dwell-
 
 232 THE LAEGEE FAITH 
 
 eth in love, dwelleth in God, and God in him/ 'If 
 we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and His love 
 is perfected in us/ " 
 
 At the close of his sermon Mr. Winter said: 
 "And now, my friends, a word of personal explana 
 tion is expected from me, and I will say here all that 
 I expect ever to say on this subject. 
 
 "For twenty-five years I was a minister of the 
 Presbyterian church. I withdrew from the ministry 
 and from membership in that church, and a decent 
 regard for the opinion of those who have known me 
 impels me to state briefly my reasons for adopting the 
 course I have taken. Besides, I want no misappre 
 hension or misunderstanding concerning this mat 
 ter. It was not an easy thing for me to do, to sever 
 the relations of a lifetime. I was brought up in the 
 Presbyterian church. My relatives are members of 
 it, some of them in the ministry. Toward the mem 
 bers of that church, its ministry and the church itself, 
 I have none but the kindliest and most friendly feel 
 ings. There is not in my heart a single hostile feel 
 ing toward that or any other denomination. They 
 are all doing good, and I believe they are all doing 
 right as they see the right. But I felt impelled to 
 withdraw from the Presbyterian church because the 
 creed of the church, the dogmas, the articles of faith, 
 were in my judgment hampering and hindering and 
 overshadowing the cause of religion. I could not
 
 THE HERETIC 233 
 
 consistently join any other church, for the same ob 
 jection presented itself against any of the orthodox 
 churches. If you ask me if I am no longer orthodox 
 I must answer frankly, I am not. I believe that all 
 religion is one, for religion is the spirit of God in 
 man the conscious knowledge of man's relationship 
 to God. 
 
 "You ask why I did not take this step before? The 
 question is a pertinent one. I have always tried to do 
 my duty as it was given me to see my duty. Last year 
 for the first time in my life my health gave way. My 
 physician ordered absolute rest and advised me to 
 spend a few months in an arid climate. Through a 
 friend I secured board with a ranchman in New 
 Mexico. There, in a log cabin, twenty miles from a 
 postoffice, I found a man from whom in a few months 
 I learned more of mankind, of religion, of God, than 
 I had before known. Unconventional, unassuming, 
 simple, direct, without pretending to instruct, this 
 western ranchman brushed aside the undergrowth of 
 orthodoxy and showed me what, when I asked him to 
 name it, he designated the larger faith. Hereafter, 
 unhampered, undeterred, with malice toward none, 
 with charity for all, I mean to preach that larger 
 faith, the underlying principle of which is love." 
 
 After Mr. Winter had ceased speaking the chair 
 man of the committee that had engaged the audito 
 rium made a short statement. He said it had been
 
 234 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 decided to continue the meetings just as long as the 
 necessary expenses were raised by purely voluntary 
 contributions; that a box was placed near the door 
 into which those who wished to give something from 
 time to time might deposit their contributions, but 
 that no collections would be taken up at meetings. 
 He further said that he had a subscription paper on 
 which any persons who wished to do so might, after 
 the dismissal of the meeting, subscribe whatever they 
 felt like giving for the first year. When the congre-. 
 gation had been dismissed one of the first men to put 
 his name on the subscription list was DarreU's ultra- 
 conservative friend, North, and opposite his name he 
 wrote $100.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A DISCOVEBT. 
 
 On one of Darrell's visits to E , some time after 
 
 his engagement to Maude Briggs had become known 
 to their immediate friends, she asked him to go with 
 her and call on the family of Uncle Dr. Roberts, and 
 Darrell, though reluctant to be thus put on exhibi 
 tion before Maude's relatives, could do nothing but 
 go. He found, however, that both Dr. and Mrs. Rob 
 erts were pleasant people to meet. ISTo reference to 
 the engagement of the young people was made till 
 they were about to leave, when the doctor, intimating 
 that he understood Darrell was to become a rela'.ive, 
 invited him and Maude to come and take dinner with 
 them the next time Darrell should be in town, add 
 ing: "Our daughter, Corinne, will likely be at home 
 then, and she will wish to meet you." The invitation 
 was accepted, it being understood that Maude would 
 inform her aunt when Darrell would next be in the 
 city. 
 
 "That is the cousin Corinne I've heard you speak 
 of?" said Darrell on the way home.
 
 236 THE LAEGEK FAITH 
 
 "Yes," replied Maude, "and I must warn you 
 against her in advance." 
 
 "How's that?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "Oh, she can play and sing and do everything else 
 so much better than I can that I'm afraid you'll fall 
 in love with her." 
 
 "I'll risk that, my dear," replied Darrell. 
 
 Nevertheless, when, a few weeks later, Darrell and 
 Maude went to take dinner with the Roberts family, 
 Darrell found Corinne Eoberts a very charming 
 woman. She was older than Maude, and though Dar 
 rell did not fall in love with her he felt proud that he 
 was soon to have such a woman for a cousin. Darrell, 
 who was a close observer of people, noticed that while 
 there was nothing about Corinne's manner which in 
 dicated a desire on her part to dictate, or even to lead, 
 those around her seemed naturally to defer to her and 
 to regard her opinion as final. 
 
 Before dinner, the doctor not having arrived, and 
 while Mrs. Eoberts and Corinne were absent from the 
 parlor, Darrell began idly turning over the pages of 
 a large album. There were photographs of the Rob 
 erts and Briggs families, besides many persons whom 
 Darrell did not know. Maude designated by name 
 many of the photographs, schoolmates of Corinne and 
 others. 
 
 "Who is this?" asked Darrell, coming to a three* 
 quarter profile view of a full-bearded man apparently
 
 A DIBCOVEBY 237 
 
 about his own age. "Seems to me I've seen him 
 somewhere." 
 
 "That's a Mr. Horton, an editor who used to be 
 here. He's dead." Then as Corinne entered the 
 room while Darrell was still gazing at the picture 
 Maude added in a low voice: "Say nothing about 
 him. Turn on." 
 
 In the course of the evening Darrell asked Corinne 
 to favor them with some music. When he had heard 
 Corinne play he understood Maude's statement that 
 what she knew about music she had learned from 
 Corinne. When later the two cousins sang together, 
 Corinne sang the soprano and Maude the alto parts. 
 Darrell was too much in love to feel jealous of any 
 one's playing or singing, but he had to acknowledge 
 to himself that what Maude had told him of Corinne's 
 ability as a musician was true. 
 
 As Darrell and Maude walked slowly toward her 
 home, after having taken leave of the Eoberts family, 
 his thoughts reverted to the picture he had seen in 
 the album. Suddenly he stopped, faced around 
 toward Maude and grasped her arm. "What's the 
 matter?" asked Maude. "Did you forget something 
 at Uncle's?" 
 
 "That picture," said Darrell, "that you said was of 
 an editor Horton. Did you say he's dead?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Maude. "At least everybody but 
 Corinne thinks he's dead. Why?"
 
 THE LAEGER FAITH 
 
 "Tell me all yon know abont him," said Barrel!, 
 disregarding her question. "How is it some people 
 think he's dead and Corinne thinks otherwise?" 
 
 "It's rather a long story/' said Maude, "and a sad 
 one for all of us. This Mr. Horton and Corinne were 
 engaged to be married. Their wedding day was set 
 nearly seven years ago it will be seven years in May. 
 I was a little girl then. You've heard me speak of my 
 brother Tom that was drowned?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Darrell. 
 
 "It was then," said Maude; "just a few days before 
 Corinne was to be married she went out on the lake 
 fishing with Tom one afternoon. Tom was a good 
 boatman, but he didn't get the boat that day that he 
 had been used to. Just when they were going to start 
 home Corinne caught a very big fish. They got it in 
 the boat, but it flopped out, and Tom, in grabbing at 
 it, upset the boat. They could both swim, but Tom 
 was drowned he had on a pair of rubber boots. 
 Corinne got hold of an oar or something and kept 
 afloat a little while. Then a steamer picked her up. 
 It was just starting from here to Cheboygan, Mich., 
 and the captain wouldn't turn back. The body of 
 brother Tom 'was washed ashore a day or two later. 
 They wouldn't let me see him." And, overcome by 
 the emotion which the recital of the story awakened, 
 Maude began using her handkerchief and crying 
 quietly.
 
 * DISCOVEKY 239 
 
 "Well?" said Darrell, gently, after waiting a lit 
 tle time. 
 
 "They found the boat they'd been in turned upside 
 down," continued Maude. "It was nearly a week be 
 fore they heard from Corinne. She came home after 
 ward on the cars." 
 
 "But about Horton," said Darrell. "What became 
 of him?" 
 
 "He walked along the lake shore for two or three 
 days," said Maude, "till after Tom's body came in. 
 Then he went to Aunt Mary, kissed her good-by, and 
 nobody has seen him since. They all think he 
 drowned himself all but Corinne/' 
 
 "And what does Corinne think?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "Oh, Corinne feels just as sure that he'll come back 
 as that she's alive," answered Maude. "Jt makes me 
 feel a little creepy sometimes to hear her talk of 
 Frank. Of course she's perfectly sane on every 
 other subject, anyway but everybody else knows 
 that Frank Horton is dead, for they tried every way 
 to find him. One man, a railroad conductor, was sure 
 he had gone to Cincinnati, but he said Mr. Horton 
 rode on a pass, and he had nothing to go on, only that 
 he had noted that pass number on that day. But there 
 were lots of people in Cincinnati that Mr. Horton 
 knew and that knew him, and none of them had seen 
 him."
 
 240 THE LARGEE FAITH 
 
 "What is there about Corinne's talk that makes you 
 feel creepy?" asked Darrell. 
 
 "Oh, lots of things/' replied Maude. "She said to 
 me once: 'Frank was in trouble for a long time after 
 he went away, but he's not in trouble any more.' I 
 thought to myself, No, because he's dead, but I asked 
 Corinne what made her think such things, and she 
 said: 'I don't think them; I know them.' I asked 
 her how she knew them, and she said: 'I know them 
 because I love him.' Not long ago she sang the old 
 Scotch song, 'We'd Better Bide a Wee,' and when 
 she had finished it remarked that Frank always liked 
 that song and she wanted to keep in practice till he 
 returned. Poor Corinne! I'm sorry for her." 
 
 "But if she is so cheerful about it, why did you tell 
 me to say nothing of this Mr. Horton this evening?" 
 asked Darrell. 
 
 "Because Corinne always speaks of him as some 
 one who is absent just for the time being, and it 
 makes Uncle Doctor and Aunt Mary and all of us 
 feel creepy," replied Maude. 
 
 They had resumed their walk as they talked. After 
 a pause Darrell asked: "Maude, can you keep a se 
 cret?" 
 
 "Of course I can," answered Maude, indignantly. 
 "What about?" 
 
 "Well," replied Darrell, "I hardly know just what 
 to do yet, but Corinne is right. I've seen Horton or
 
 A DISCOVEKT 241 
 
 his twin brother. I don't see how I could have failed 
 to recognize the picture at once. I guess it was your 
 statement that he was dead that threw me off." 
 
 "Where have you seen him,, and when?" demanded 
 Maude, in her turn stopping and facing toward Dar- 
 rell. 
 
 "That's the picture of William Young, the ranch 
 man in New Mexico," replied Darrell. "Only when 
 I saw him he didn't wear a full beard." 
 
 "Do you really think so, John ?" inquired Maude. 
 
 "I can't be mistaken," said Darrell. "I ought to 
 know that face and head anywhere." 
 
 "Oh, let's go and tell Corinne!" exclaimed Maude. 
 
 "No, I don't believe we'd better do that just now," 
 replied Darrell. "I think we ought to talk it over 
 first." 
 
 So they held a long family consultation. It was 
 the first time they had consulted each other on any 
 matter of policy or of future conduct, and each one 
 was highly pleased at the discernment and good judg 
 ment shown by the other. It was finally decided that 
 before saying anything to others Darrell should see 
 Young or Horton and then decide on a course of 
 action. 
 
 When Darrell arrived at the office a day or two 
 later he applied for a two weeks' leave of absence to go 
 to New Mexico. In answer to a searching look of in 
 quiry he said: "I have no investment there and no
 
 242 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 intention of making any. This is a family mat 
 ter." 
 
 "All right, Darrell," said the senior member of the 
 firm, to whom the application had been made. "We'll 
 try to spare you that long. When do you want to go?" 
 
 "As soon as I can/' answered Darrell. 
 
 "Well, start whenever you're ready," was the re- 
 
 piy. 
 
 The first thing Darrell did was to send a telegram 
 to William Young, Tres Piedras, New Mexico, stat 
 ing when he would arrive there. Then he made 
 hasty preparations and took the next train for the 
 west. 
 
 All the way out he puzzled over the question how 
 to approach Young. If Young was Frank Horton, he 
 must have known Maude Briggs when she was much 
 younger than now, but he would probably deny it. 
 Still, why had he promised to come to their wedding? 
 What if he should prove to be the wrong man? In 
 that case Darrell felt that his trip was not only use 
 less, but that he was making a fool of himself. He 
 had seen the picture but once, and then but for a few 
 moments. The nearer he got to New Mexico the 
 greater became his doubts as to either the usefulness 
 or the propriety of his errand. He resolved finally to 
 make some excuse for his sudden visit and let mat 
 ters take their course. 
 
 Arrived at Tres Piedras, he found Ned Long await-
 
 A DISCOVEET 243 
 
 ing him with a dogcart. Mr. Young, Ned explained, 
 had to be away on other business that day or he would 
 have come himself. 
 
 All Darrell knew of Ned was that Young had taken 
 some boy or young man to live with him. On the way 
 out he tried by questioning the young man and at the 
 same time appearing to be indifferent, to learn some 
 thing of Young's history, but Ned, while not at all 
 averse to talking about Young, knew nothing of him 
 save what he was, and it is needless to say his opinion 
 on that point was favorable. 
 
 "Does Mr. Young correspond with many people?" 
 asked Darrell with an inward blush at thus prying 
 into the private affairs of his friend. 
 
 "No, I guess not very many," replied Ned. "I 
 never carried any letters for him but those addressed 
 to you and Mr. Winter, that stayed with us awhile last 
 year." 
 
 They rode on in silence till a turn in the road 
 brought the house in sight. 
 
 "Ah!" said Darrell, taking a long breath, "there's 
 Young's ranchl"
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 UNITED. 
 
 Young was not at home when Darrell and Ned got 
 to the ranch, but he arrived not long afterward, and 
 met Darrell with the same quiet cordiality which he 
 had shown when they parted and in his subsequent 
 letters. 
 
 While Young was getting dinner Darrell sat in the 
 kitchen and they talked. Darrell related some of his 
 experiences since they parted. 
 
 All the time, though, he was watching Young with 
 the same curiosity he had felt when they first met, 
 only his curiosity was now greatly intensified. How 
 should he approach the subject of this man being 
 Frank Horton? How should he apologize or get out 
 of it if Young proved not to be Frank Horton? Dar 
 rell would not for any consideration offend Young, 
 whoever he might be. 
 
 This part of the matter, however, was settled more 
 suddenly than Darrell had anticipated. Dinner over 
 and the work being done, Young and Darrell re 
 turned to the sitting room, where they lighted cigars
 
 UNITED 245 
 
 which Darrell provided. When they had smoked a 
 little time Young extended his congratulations to 
 Darrell on the latter's approaching marriage and said, 
 quietly: "I knew Maude Briggs when she was a lit 
 tle girl." 
 
 "Then," blurted out Darrell, "you're Frank Hor- 
 ton!" 
 
 "Yes," replied Young, naively, "I'm Frank Hor, 
 ton." 
 
 The very composure with which Young or Hor~ 
 ton said this threw Darrell entirely off his balance. 
 He had been wondering how to establish the identity 
 of William Young and Frank Horton, but now that 
 this was done he saw that he had accomplished the 
 smallest part of his errand. He didn't want to shock 
 this man. Truth to tell, he was a little afraid to do 
 so. Underneath that calm exterior Darrell felt that 
 there was a slumbering volcano of passion, and that a 
 sudden shock to him would be like touching off a 
 quantity of blasting powder. 
 
 With these feelings and in his rattled condition Dar 
 rell adopted about as awkward a course as could have 
 been devised by a man of his experience and knowl 
 edge of men, though it is true this particular kind of 
 negotiation was new to him. With a vague idea of 
 leading up to the point gradually, he began somewhat 
 abruptly and without any apparent relevancy to relate 
 instances of cases where people had been supposed to
 
 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 be dead but turned out not to be. He related a case 
 he had read about of a man being legally hanged and 
 afterward revived. Then he told of an instance where 
 a woman, after being in her coffin for two days, and 
 just when they were about to bury her, was discov 
 ered to be alive and lived for years afterward. Next 
 he related the story of a man who had been in bath 
 ing at the seashore, and had gone down and stayed 
 in the water for more than an hour and had been 
 taken out without a sign of life, but after several 
 hours' work with him had revived and lived. 
 
 From the time of stating that he was Frank Hor- 
 ton, Young had not uttered a word, but had sat there 
 intently watching his companion. As he talked on 
 Darrell was getting more and more nervous, and he 
 showed it. Finally he told of a case where some per 
 son had been supposed to be drowned, but had got 
 hold of a plank or something, been picked up and re 
 appeared among his friends after having been sup 
 posed to be dead for months. At the close of this 
 story Darrell said, in a rather weak voice: "You've 
 heard of such cases, Mr. Horton?" 
 
 For answer Horton, over whose face had spread a 
 deathly pallor, strode across the room, grasped Dar- 
 rell's arms with a grip which made the latter wince 
 and which he afterward averred left marks on his 
 arms for weeks, and said: 
 
 "Is Corinne Eoberts living?"
 
 UNITED 247 
 
 "Yes" answered Darrell, weakly. 
 
 "And at E ?" asked Horton. 
 
 "Yes," said Darrell. 
 
 "Tell me what you know, man, quick!" commanded 
 Horton. 
 
 "You're crushing my arms!" exclaimed Darrell. 
 
 "Pardon me. I didn't know I was touching you," 
 said Horton, releasing his hold and dropping into a 
 chair. "Now go on." 
 
 "I saw Miss Eoberts " Darrell began. 
 
 "When?" broke in Horton. 
 
 "Within a week," said Darrell. 
 
 "Is she well? How does she look? Are her parents 
 living and well? They must think me " 
 
 "They're all well," said Darrell, "and all of them 
 but Miss Eoberts think you're dead. If she ever 
 looked better than she does now " 
 
 "You say she doesn't think I'm dead?" interrupted 
 Horton. 
 
 "All I know about it is what Maude tells me," re 
 plied Darrell, and he related the conversation between 
 himself and Maude. 
 
 Horton was deeply touched when told that Corinne 
 was always expecting him, though her parents and all 
 her friends believed him dead. 
 
 "All of them," said Darrell, "even Maude, thought 
 Corinne was queer in that respect." 
 
 "The intuition of love is often superior to what
 
 248 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 we call judgment," said Horton, as if he were com 
 muning with his own thoughts rather than replying 
 to Darrell. 
 
 Then for an hour followed what Darrell asserted 
 was the most searching examination he had ever un 
 dergone. Every scrap of information he had con 
 cerning Corinne, her parents and every person and 
 everything either closely or remotely related to her 
 and her life was elicited. 
 
 Finally, after a lull in the conversation, Horton 
 went to his desk, saying: 
 
 "I thought at first I'd send a telegram, but that 
 wouldn't be fair to her. I'll write." 
 
 "I'll look around and see if you've been taking 
 proper care of things since I left," said Darrell, start 
 ing to leave the room. "I hope, though," he added, 
 as he paused at the door, ruefully rubbing his biceps, 
 "that the next time you find it necessary to grab 
 somebody I'll not be within reach. You have a grip 
 like a blacksmith." 
 
 In a little while Horton left the house with a letter 
 in his hand. 
 
 "Ned," he called to the young man, who was at a 
 little distance, "I want to get to the station in time to 
 catch the mail going north. May I ride Whitefoot?" 
 His gray was out in pasture. 
 
 "Why, of course, Mr. Young," answered Ned. 
 "But why can't I take the letter?"
 
 UNITED 249 
 
 "Thank you; I want to go myself," said Horton. 
 
 In a few minutes he was on his way to the station 
 at a pace that made Ned uneasy. 
 
 "I hope Mr. Young hasn't got any bad news?" he 
 said, looking inquiringly at Darrell. 
 
 "No, I don't think he would call it bad news," said 
 Darrell. "It may take him away from the ranch, 
 though." 
 
 "That so?" said Ned, anxiously. 
 
 "I really don't know what his plans are," said Dar 
 rell. "I doubt if he knows himself." 
 
 "Well, you can just count he comes pretty near 
 knowing," said Ned, feeling that Darrell's last re 
 mark denoted indecision of character on the part of 
 his guardian. 
 
 "I mean till he gets an answer to his letter," said 
 Darrell. "The fact is, I've brought him word that a 
 friend of his that he supposed to be dead is still liv* 
 ing." 
 
 "That's curious," said Ned. "How did Mr. Young 
 come to think he was dead if he's alive?" 
 
 "She's a woman," said Darrell. "She was thought 
 to be drowned, but was picked up by an outgoing 
 steamer, and her friends didn't hear from her foi 
 some time." 
 
 "Oh!" said Ned, and for the first time in his life 
 he felt a pang of jealousy and that toward a woman. 
 
 This is the letter Horton sent:
 
 250 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 "MY DEABEST CORINNE (if I may still call you so) : 
 
 "When a little while ago I learned from Mr. Darrell 
 that you are still living, my first intention was to send 
 you a telegram. But there are some things about 
 myself which you have a right to know before answer 
 ing, and which I could not tell you by telegraph. 
 
 "For nearly two years after I left E , supposing 
 
 you to be dead, I was a tramp, and a drunken tramp. 
 In all that time I hardly drew a sober breath. Then 
 I was convicted of murder and sent to the Colorado 
 penitentiary under a life sentence. I had not com 
 mitted the crime for which I was sentenced, however, 
 and after serving something over six months of my 
 sentence the governor of the state pardoned me on 
 the ground of innocence. 
 
 "I was at all times true to your memory, save that 
 in the respect mentioned I was untrue to myself; and 
 I would have continued true while life lasted had you 
 been dead. Having known and loved you, I could 
 love no other woman. 
 
 "I cannot bring to you the simple purity of life that 
 is worthy of you, and yet I love you. You were 
 you will ever be a part of my life. The thought of 
 your goodness and of my hiding from you from 
 myself all these years so overwhelms me that it is 
 difficult for me to compel myself to write calmly. 
 
 "May I ask you to send me a message by wire as 
 soon as you get this, addressing me as William Young, 
 Tres Piedras, New Mexico ? 
 
 "And now, if you can forgive the great wrong I did 
 to both you and myself when I thought you dead, and 
 receive me again into favor, you will make me once
 
 UNITED 251 
 
 more the happiest of men; but whether you do or not, 
 I shall always bless you and always love you. Yours, 
 
 "FRANK HORTON." 
 
 Darrell was in bed when Horton returned from the 
 station after mailing his letter. The next day their 
 conversation reverted to the people in Ohio in whom 
 they were both so greatly interested. 
 
 "I hope you'll be able to go back with me," said 
 Darrell. 
 
 "I'll know within a week," replied Horton. 
 
 "Perhaps," said Darrell, anxious to aid his friend, 
 "there's something I could explain when I go back?" 
 
 "No," said Horton, decidedly, "nobody but myself 
 will ever explain anything for me to Corinne Roberts. 
 Besides," he added, "I've already written all there ia 
 to say and more than you know about me. You didn't 
 know, for instance, that I am an ex-convict?" 
 
 "No, and I don't believe it," replied Darrell. 
 
 "It's true, nevertheless," said Horton. "I was sen 
 tenced to the Colorado penitentiary for life, and 
 served part of the time." 
 
 "But " said Darrell, hesitatingly. 
 
 "No," said Horton, smiling, "I wasn't guilty. The 
 governor pardoned me on that ground." 
 
 Darrell, at a loss for something to say, remarked: 
 "It was unfortunate that you got convicted." 
 
 "I don't know that it was," replied Horton. "I
 
 252 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 doubt whether I'd have been alive to-day but for my 
 conviction, for I was nearly dead with drinking 
 whisky when I was arrested." 
 
 "I didn't suppose you ever, drank a drop/' said 
 Darrell. 
 
 "I don't," replied Horton, "but for nearly two 
 years I drank very hard." 
 
 Darrell felt that now he was beginning to know 
 something of this man. Although the errand he had 
 started out on was fully performed, he stayed, anxious 
 to know what Corinne's answer would be and what 
 would be Horton's next move. As for Horton, he 
 went about with a feverish intensity during the three 
 days following the sending of his letter, inspecting his 
 stock and everything about the ranch, occasionally 
 giving Ned a suggestion as to the care of some animal 
 or what would best be done at sheep-shearing time. 
 
 On the fourth day he went to the station. Ned 
 Long's anxiety had been increasing since his talk 
 with Darrell. He had never seen Horton so pre 
 occupied and uncommunicative. Ned felt that he had 
 a grievance against that woman, whoever she was, for 
 not staying drowned. Still if Horton or, as Ned 
 knew him, Young cared for her, Ned would have 
 defended her with his life. His worst fears were real 
 ized when Horton rode home that day and in his 
 presence handed Darrell a telegram, saying: 
 
 "I'll go back with you if you start soon enough."
 
 UNITED 253 
 
 Then to Ned he added: "I leave on the next train, 
 Ned, to be absent some time." 
 This was the telegram Darrell read: 
 
 "WILLIAM YOUNG, TRES PIEDRAS, NEW MEXICO: 
 "There is no past. The present and the future are 
 enough. Nothing to forgive. I have expected you 
 always. Come. COBINNE." 
 
 "Ned," said Horton, "I'll leave you some money. 
 If you need more and don't hear from me, sell some 
 thing. Treat everything as your own till I return. 
 The work will all fall on you now, but you'll get 
 along. By the way, my name is Frank Horton. I'll 
 write to you. Take care of yourself." 
 
 Ned was too well accustomed to Horton's ways to 
 ask any questions, but his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Don't let yourself feel lonely or forsaken," said 
 Horton, laying his hand on Ned's shoulder. "What 
 ever occurs, you will always fill a warm place in my 
 heart, my boy." 
 
 Horton's clothes were very plain. He decided to 
 
 travel to C , where Darrell lived, stop off there 
 
 long enough to get an outfit of clothes, and then pro 
 ceed to E to meet Corinne. 
 
 As they traveled eastward Darrell brought up the 
 subject of their correspondence, and in the course of 
 their talks said: "I go pretty regularly to hear Mr.
 
 254 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 Winter preach. You know he's an independent 
 preacher now?" 
 
 "Yes," said Horton, "he wrote me that he was 
 preaching in an independent church, or rather in an 
 independent theater. How is he coming on?" 
 
 "Splendidly," replied Darrell. "He has the biggest 
 audiences of any minister in the city, and I think the 
 most intelligent audiences. One thing is sure, his 
 sermons are full of practical religion and he's doing 
 a vast amount of good. By the way, he thinks you 
 are a great man and a great teacher." 
 
 "We became very good friends while he was at the 
 ranch," said Horton. 
 
 "Yes, but aside from friendship he told me he be 
 lieved he had learned more in the five months he was 
 there than in his whole life before," said Darrell, and 
 he added: "I could understand him, for I learned 
 more from you than I ever knew before." 
 
 "Well," replied Horton, smiling, "I may decide to 
 open a kindergarten for youths of twenty-five to 
 fifty." 
 
 "You'll have pupils if you do," said Darrell, seri 
 ously. 
 
 As their train pulled out of a station one day it ran 
 slowly past a freight train in which some tramps were 
 seen. Darrell made some remark about them. 
 
 "There isn't near so much difference between those
 
 UNITED 256 
 
 people and the ones who ride in palace cars as we 
 sometimes imagine," said Horton. 
 
 "Still, a gulf separates them," replied Darrell. 
 
 "It's a gulf that may be quickly crossed, either 
 way," returned Horton. 
 
 Arrived at C , Horton visited a barber shop, 
 
 then spent two hours shopping. When Darrell ac 
 companied him to the train Horton seemed an easy 
 man about town. Except for the tan on his face he 
 would have passed for a resident of the city. His 
 clothes were ready made, but they fitted him well and 
 were in quiet colors. Besides, as Darrell acknowl 
 edged to himself, somehow nobody was likely to look 
 much at Horton's clothes. 
 
 The meeting between Frank Horton and Corinne 
 Roberts was too sacred for us to intrude upon. Suf 
 fice it to say there was on both sides absolute frank 
 ness, entire confidence, unbounded faith, and that 
 perfect love which comes to a man and woman but 
 once in a lifetime.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE RANCHMAN. 
 
 One Sunday at the close of his sermon Mr. Winter 
 said to his congregation: "I have an announcement 
 which it gives me pleasure to make. Frank Horton, 
 the friend whom you have heard me mention and 
 whom I met at his ranch in New Mexico, is now in 
 the east, and I have invited him to speak to us from 
 this platform on the first Sunday convenient for him. 
 He answers that he will do so next Sunday, provided 
 I make it plain to you that I am not responsible for 
 anything he may say. I make this statement at his 
 request, for I am not at all afraid of his saying any 
 thing that will hurt any of us to hear." 
 
 It became noised about that a ranchman from New 
 Mexico was to fill Mr. Winter's pulpit the next Sun 
 day, and one of the local papers mentioned the fact. 
 The auditorium was filled, and the people were some 
 what surprised at the appearance of the ranchman 
 when he stepped forward on the platform. There was 
 nothing clerical about his appearance; neither was 
 there anything suggestive of ranch life. He was so
 
 THE RANCHMAN 257 
 
 well dressed that nobody could have told afterward 
 what kind of clothes he wore. Without announcing 
 any text, and without any exordium, he began talk 
 ing to them in a conversational tone, which, however, 
 could be heard throughout the house. He said: 
 
 "There is a prevalent idea that religion is some 
 thing apart from every-day life; that man's spiritual 
 welfare is one thing, his temporal welfare another. 
 I do not believe this to be true. Man has but one real 
 nature, his spiritual nature. There is but one kind 
 of welfare, and that is spiritual welfare. All else is 
 but seeming; but the appearance which we sometimes 
 take for the fact. Every human being is the child of 
 God, and has in him the spirit of God. To our phys 
 ical or even to our mental perceptions this spirit may 
 seem to be dormant, or dead, or entirely lacking. It 
 is there just the same. 
 
 "For the spirit of God in man is the very life prin 
 ciple it is the conscious I am in every human being. 
 It is the soul. Without it man would instantly cease 
 to be man. 
 
 "Keligion, I take it, is nothing more than the de 
 velopment of this spirit, which brings man into a con 
 sciousness of his relationship to God, and hence to all 
 life. Religion in this sense is common to all men, in 
 herent in all men. It is a necessary and a natural 
 part of every man's being. 
 
 "The notion that science and religion conflict one
 
 258 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 with the other is wholly a mistake. No fact which 
 has ever been established or which ever may be estab 
 lished by science in anywise conflicts or can conflict 
 with religion. Truth cannot conflict with truth. 
 
 "The experiment of trying to separate man's phys 
 ical from his spiritual nature of trying to secure his 
 temporal welfare without taking into consideration 
 his spiritual welfare has been tried over and over 
 again. It has always failed. It always will fail. Be 
 cause every such attempt is in direct contravention ol 
 a law of nature that is to say, of the law of man's 
 nature by which he was created a spiritual being. 
 
 "Man seeks happiness because there is inborn in 
 every man a recognition of the fact that he has a right 
 to happiness. We seek to gratify the senses, and it is 
 right that we should do so. Some odors, sounds, 
 sights, are pleasing to us; others displease us. Some 
 kinds of food and drink are pleasant and healthful; 
 others are distasteful and hurtful. Some things are 
 pleasant, others are painful to the touch. It is per 
 fectly proper that in all these matters the senses 
 should be gratified, but it is an error to suppose that 
 happiness is to be found in the gratification of the 
 senses. 
 
 "And herein lies what I look upon as the funda 
 mental error of mankind. It is constantly sought by 
 some change in external physical conditions to secure 
 man's happiness. One proposes a change of political
 
 THE RANCHMAN 259 
 
 conditions, another has economic theories which he 
 guarantees to produce human happiness if adopted. 
 They are merely scratching at the surface. All these 
 things are effects, not causes or, if you please, ef 
 fects which, in turn, become causes. You may change 
 a man's every external condition and leave him still 
 unhappy. 'If every one were housed in a palace, dis 
 satisfaction, rivalry and restlessness would still be the 
 rule/ This would not be true if man were only an in 
 telligent animal he could then be made happy, as 
 the brutes are, by a change in external conditions. 
 
 "But man's happiness or unhappiness is not to be 
 found in external conditions, but within himself. 
 Heaven and hell are not locations, but conditions. 
 And they are conditions which are ever present with 
 us. We create our own heaven or hell, and we live in 
 the one or the other day by day. He who is hoping 
 for happiness only after death will not achieve happi 
 ness, for there is no death. 
 
 "True, proper external conditions are necessary to 
 the welfare of our physical being, and, therefore, es 
 sential to our happiness. But is there a single wrong 
 condition which is chargeable to Nature? Is there 
 one which man has not brought on himself? 
 
 "There is an ample supply of sunshine, of pure air. 
 of pure water, for all mankind, for all life. Yet thou 
 sands of human beings are to-day lacking these es 
 sentials to physical health. Why? Not because God
 
 260 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 or Nature has made any mistake or has been at all 
 stinted in these gifts, but because of man's own error 
 in not availing himself of what is provided in such 
 ample abundance. 
 
 "In like manner God has provided an ample 
 amount of health, happiness and prosperity for all 
 mankind. Why, then, are not all men happy, healthy 
 and prosperous? Again, it is not because God has 
 failed or Nature has failed to make ample provision, 
 but because man is depriving himself of these things 
 which are at hand and within his reach. Why does 
 man do this? Only through ignorance through a 
 failure to take into consideration his real nature, the 
 fundamental law of his being. 
 
 "One may live in the upper part of his house and 
 get the benefit of air and sunshine, or he may shut 
 himself in the cellar and deprive himself of both pure 
 air and sunshine. 
 
 "We've been living too long in the cellar. There 
 are evidences on every hand that the plan is not a 
 success. Is it not time to try the other plan? 
 
 "Do not misunderstand me as meaning that there is 
 no necessity for the study of economic and social 
 questions, or that political action is useless. My belief 
 is exactly the reverse of such a view. There is no 
 practicable way of bringing about changes in exist 
 ing conditions, of correcting present errors and
 
 THE BA.NCHMAN 261 
 
 wrongs, save political action on the part of the peo 
 ple. 
 
 'Tor we, the people, organized as society, are caus 
 ing ourselves all the unhappiness we suffer. The 
 Creator, as I said before, has provided amply for all 
 the wants of all mankind. But mankind, because of 
 custom, precedent and conventionality, are simply 
 robbing themselves, or permitting themselves to be 
 robbed when they could prevent it, which amounts to 
 the same thing. 
 
 "It would attract attention and cause exclamations 
 of surprise if it were known that a family of a dozen 
 persons in this community permitted one of their 
 number, no larger or stronger than the others, to col 
 lect in a corner and keep from the others most of the 
 food and clothing provided for the entire family, 
 there to decay for lack of use while the other eleven 
 persons in the family went hungry and ill clad. Can 
 any of you tell me the difference between the actions 
 of that family and what society is doing? 
 
 " 'Man's Inhumanity to man 
 
 Makes countless thousands mourn.' 
 
 "Also man's own ignorance and indifference are 
 causing him to mourn. 
 
 "The remedy lies in our own hands. The practical 
 method of applying it is by political action. By all 
 means express your views in the conduct of the gov-
 
 262 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 eminent, national, state and local. There is as much 
 religion in going to the polls and voting as there is 
 in going to church and singing hymns often more. 
 
 "Only in voting, as in all other actions, keep in 
 mind the fundamental truth that all human beings 
 are members of one family having a common parent; 
 that all men are, therefore, your brothers, and that 
 your highest duty is to do what you can for the good 
 of the family. 
 
 "If we vote in this spirit, using such means as we 
 have of knowing what is best for the family, we shall 
 be voting right. Possibly we may vote opposite tick 
 ets, but still each one will be doing the right thing, 
 and it is likely that later we shall be voting together. 
 
 "Besides, we may each bear in mind that our own 
 particular way of getting at a result may not be the 
 best way. 
 
 "You can reach San Francisco by traveling west 
 ward that is the shortest route. But if you travel in 
 exactly the opposite direction, and keep going, you 
 will arrive at the same destination. 
 
 "William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips and 
 John Brown did something toward ending human 
 slavery in America. But John C. Calhoun, Eobert 
 Toombs and Jefferson Davis were also influential in 
 bringing about the same result. 
 
 "Some unthinking persons deprecate the mention 
 of politics in the pulpit. For my part, I believe there
 
 THE RANCHMAN" 263 
 
 is no subject which concerns human happiness which 
 is unfit for the pulpit. When you erect a church, as I 
 understand you intend doing, I trust you will make 
 your pulpit a forum from which may be discussed any 
 and every subject which affects the daily life of men 
 and women. 
 
 "For what we need to learn is how best to live and 
 to make this world a better place to live in. 
 
 "I heard of a church dignitary saying of the mem 
 bers of his denomination: 'Our people die well!' It 
 would have been much more to the purpose had he 
 been able to say: 'Our people live well.' 
 
 "Living well is something more than merely acting 
 in a proper manner. It means being right. If we be 
 right, our acting will be right. If we get the in 
 ternal man right, the external, which is manifested in 
 action, may safely be allowed to take care of itself. 
 
 "People who live with the sole object of dying well 
 and attaining happiness beyond the grave are likely 
 to learn some day that they mistook the purpose of 
 life. 
 
 "My own opinion is that what we call death is 
 probably much less of a change in the existence of 
 the individual than is generally supposed. 
 
 "A fountain, a beacon, by whomsoever first estab 
 lished, becomes the common benefaction of all pass 
 ers-by. So truth, by whomsoever first formulated or
 
 264 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 uttered, is the common inheritance of all who come 
 into a knowledge of it. 
 
 "Truth is eternal. Spiritual truths are ever-exist 
 ent facts, cognizable only by spiritual perception. 
 Jesus formulated and gave utterance to many spirit 
 ual truths. By his life that is to say, the three 
 years of his life of which we have some account 
 and by his death, he vitalized and energized many 
 others. But he never manufactured a single spirit 
 ual fact. He did not change in the slightest degree 
 the spiritual law of man's nature, or the law of man's 
 spiritual nature. 
 
 "Nothing is true to you unless your spiritual and 
 mental perceptions enable you to judge it and accept 
 it as truth. To illustrate: Suppose I hand you a 
 book printed in a language with which you are un 
 acquainted. I ask you 'Is it true?' You can only 
 answer that you do not know. There is no truth 
 in it for you. 
 
 "Nothing that Jesus uttered is true simply because 
 he said it; for every truth uttered by him was an ex 
 istent truth before he gave utterance to it. 
 
 "On the other hand, nothing lacks the quality of 
 truth simply because the author is unknown. Truth 
 is where you find it. Truth for you exists only 
 where your perception enables you to recognize it as 
 truth. 
 
 "In the matter of authoritativeness there is no
 
 THE BANCHMAN 265 
 
 distinction between the sayings of Jesus and the say 
 ings of the undistinguishable John Jones of the pres 
 ent day. Either may be true to you; either, to you, 
 may lack the essential element of all truth. 
 
 "But you ask me: 'Do you not then believe in 
 Jesus Christ?' I believe, profoundly, in the teach* 
 ings, and in the personality, of Jesus. He was the 
 one great man, not only of his age, but I think of 
 every age. He recognized, more clearly than any 
 other of his time, man's true relationship to God. 
 In a time when man seemed given over to the false 
 notion that heaven is a far-off place to be attained 
 only after death, Jesus perceived and was able to say 
 from personal experience that 'the kingdom of 
 heaven is within you.' He founded a religion or 
 form of religion which I look upon as the ultimate 
 wisdom of man. For the Christian religion, so called, 
 is in its essential truths the final religion of mankind. 
 It is so broad, so all-embracing, that it seems to me 
 to cover all that man can desire and all that he can 
 need. It is the religion of mankind that is to say, 
 it is religion. For all religion is one, whether pro 
 mulgated by Jesus, by Mohammed, by Confucius, 
 or by John Jones. We talk of this religion and 
 that religion; of this denomination and that denom 
 ination. Idle words! All are seeking to know God. 
 All are seeking to know man's relationship to God. 
 And all are succeeding. Man is coming into the
 
 266 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 light, and this much more rapidly, I think, than ii 
 generally recognized. 
 
 "The acceptance of the truth, the coming into the 
 knowledge of our true relationship to God, is not a 
 matter of groanings or anguish of spirit. It is simply 
 letting the light of God's truth shine, permitting the 
 warmth of God's love to permeate us and find expres 
 sion in us. 
 
 "Every person will find this light and this love 
 within himself, and sooner or later will give expres 
 sion to them. 
 
 " 'Coming to God' is a misleading expression. None 
 of us was ever for a moment away from God. As 
 well might the smallest thing that lives in the ocean 
 attempt to quarrel with or escape from its element as 
 for man to try to escape from God. 
 
 "All deviations from the laws of nature carry with 
 them their own penalties; and these penalties are 
 kindly warnings. Fire and water are useful and 
 kindly elements, so long as the body sustains the 
 proper relation to them. Let this proper relation be 
 disturbed, as by casting the body into these elements, 
 and they become hurtful, destructive. 
 
 "If man's body were incapable of feeling pain, it 
 would soon destroy itself and the race would cease 
 to exist. 
 
 "Man's spiritual nature demands recognition and 
 satisfaction with even greater insistence than does
 
 THE BANCHMAN 267 
 
 the body. Every infraction of the law of man's 
 spiritual nature carries with it the resulting penalty 
 of unhappiness. 
 
 "Delays in this matter are not dangerous; but de 
 lays may be painful. 
 
 "No human soul will be lost; for every soul is a 
 part of God. 
 
 "The coarse materialism of the present day which 
 regards as realities only those forms of matter 
 which can be recognized by the physical senses, seems 
 to me to be radically and wholly at variance with the 
 truth. The only reality :: Ih? soul. All these forms 
 of matter are but shadows the outward manifesta 
 tions or expressions of thought. 
 
 "The hope of humanity lies in the diffusion of 
 light. A brighter day is dawnirg; to many it is al 
 ready here. The world is oomirg to adopt as a rule 
 of every-day conduct the idealism of Jesus. 
 
 "But it is objected that this would stop human 
 progress. What is progress? Much to which we 
 give that name is really decadence. The adoption of 
 this plan of life would not stop invention. It would 
 not stop the necessary work of the world; for to one 
 who is at peace work is a pleasure and not a task. 
 The work of the world ought to be done and will be 
 done not in subversion of the spiritual life, but in 
 aid and development of it. 
 
 "The adoption of this doctrine would not stop or
 
 268 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 delay anything that is true progress. It might, and 
 I think it will, change some phases of existing con 
 ditions. 
 
 "I admit that in the economic system of Jesus 
 there is no place for either the millionaire or the 
 tramp. Neither one is useful. Both could be 
 abolished to the advantage of the human race. We 
 are apt sometimes to become impatient. We view 
 things from a narrow standpoint, having constantly 
 in mind the short space of time during which the 
 human body exists in its present form. But the soul 
 is infinite, eternal; and as infinity recognizes not 
 space, nor eternity time, so the soul knows no here 
 or there, no yesterday, to-day or to-morrow. 
 
 "There is one with whom a thousand years are as 
 a day, and a day is as a thousand years. 
 
 "I am an optimist. I have entire confidence in the 
 coming of a better time, the dawning of a brighter 
 day for mankind. I am equally sure that this will 
 be brought about only by the diffusion of light 
 among mankind and the recognition of man's real 
 nature. This seems to me to be the first and most 
 essential element to man's welfare and happiness. 
 This element omitted, all changes in the laws will 
 prove ineffectual; this truth overlooked, all attempted 
 reforms will end in merely shifting burdens to other 
 shoulders. 
 
 "Men will not cease to do injustice because a stat-
 
 THE RANCHMAN 269 
 
 ute commands it; they will not recognize each other 
 as brothers because the law says they shall. 
 
 "All force is silent. Love, which is the essence of 
 all true religion, is the dominant power of the world 
 to-day. Love is the sun, gentle, all-pervading, all- 
 powerful, whose tendency is always to lift up, to 
 purify and to attract. The power of love is the 
 power of God. 
 
 "The eternal fatherhood of God and the universal 
 brotherhood of man is not a Utopian dream, but an 
 existent fact the full fruition of which is becoming 
 the dream of nations; and 'the dreams that nations 
 dream come true.' 
 
 "Never since the Christian era has there been such 
 a spiritual awakening as in these last days of the nine 
 teenth century. Never has there been a time when 
 the demand for spiritual food and light was so great 
 as it is to-day. The world is progressing in this 
 direction with as great rapidity as in the arts and 
 sciences, in inventions and machinery. The time is 
 coming, and coming fast, 
 
 " 'That man to man the warld o'er 
 Shall brothers be for a' that.' 
 
 "Belief is not a matter of volition. We believe 
 when the evidence convinces us; we disbelieve when 
 we are not convinced. 'We do not take possession 
 of our ideas but are possessed by them.' No human
 
 270 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 being is under obligation to believe, or to disbelieve, 
 anything. 
 
 "Spiritual truth, to him who perceives it, is 
 thereafter as real as any fact in his existence. What 
 I have said to you is true, to me. It can only be true 
 to each of you in so far as it is mirrored as truth in 
 your own consciousness." 
 
 When Horton ceased speaking a hymn was an 
 nounced, after the singing of which Horton, at a sign 
 from Mr. Winter, advanced to the front of the plat 
 form, raised his hand, and looking out over the con 
 gregation pronounced this benediction: 
 
 "The love of God is with you, alwaysl"
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS MEET. 
 
 Frank Horton called at the Gazette office the day 
 
 after his arrival at E . He found that the paper 
 
 had prospered fairly during his absence, and there 
 was a neat sum in bank to his credit representing the 
 dividends on his stock. A few weeks later, or at the 
 expiration of seven years from the date of his dis 
 appearance, an application was to have been made to 
 the Probate court for the appointment of an admin 
 istrator of his estate. 
 
 The next issue of the paper contained this notice 
 at the head of the editorial columns: 
 
 "Mr. Frank Horton, former editor, has returned 
 and will shortly assume editorial management of the 
 Gazette." 
 
 With Corinne and her parents Horton was entirely 
 
 frank concerning his life after leaving E . He 
 
 told them of being sent to the penitentiary, but 
 seemed averse to talking about the mistake under 
 which he was sent there, saying, when asked about 
 the particulars, that it was a subject he preferred not
 
 272 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 to dwell upon; and his feelings in this matter were 
 respected. 
 
 The Gazette became again a one-man paper when 
 Horton resumed editorial control of it. Every part 
 of the paper reflected the personality of the man who 
 conducted it. Its character was broader and more 
 liberal, its tone somewhat more charitable, than in 
 former years; but its good-natured candor was the 
 despair of small-fry politicians and of all who had 
 anything constituting legitimate news which they 
 wished to conceal. 
 
 While not changing the general character of the 
 Gazette as a secular newspaper, Horton frequently 
 expressed in its editorial columns his views on re^ 
 ligious and social questions. These articles were 
 widely read and criticised, especially by denomina* 
 tional papers. The editor of the Gazette was fre 
 quently given pointed suggestions to the effect that 
 the shoemaker should stick to his last, and that re 
 ligious questions should be settled by those who had 
 made a study of religion, and not by laymen. 
 
 The week following Horton's address to the con 
 gregation of Rev. David Winter this item appeared in 
 the Presbyterian Signal : 
 
 "We are credibly informed that the evangelist or 
 reformer, or whatever he would like to be called, 
 who last Sabbath filled the pulpit (?) of Rev. (?) 
 David Winter, and who is advertised to address the
 
 OLD FKIENDS MEET 273 
 
 people at Workingmen's Hall next Tuesday evening, 
 is in reality an ex-convict of a western penitentiary. 
 The people who attended the meeting, and especially 
 the members of the Presbyterian church who went 
 there, may well ask themselves whether this is the 
 kind of person from whom they can get instruction 
 in religious matters." 
 
 When on the next Tuesday evening Horton ap 
 peared at Workingmen's Hall, he addressed the as 
 sembly with the same quiet earnestness which always 
 characterized him. 
 
 At the close of his address he read the above ex 
 tract from the Signal, and said: 
 
 "This has been handed to me with a request that 
 I deny it. I cannot deny it, for it is true. I did 
 serve something more than six months in the Colo 
 rado penitentiary. I was not guilty, however, and I 
 was pardoned on the ground of my innocence. I do 
 not care further to go into this matter." 
 
 "What was your number at the penitentiary?" 
 called out a voice at the back of the hall. 
 
 There were some cries of 'Tut him out!" and 
 "Order!" but Horton raised his hand and said, quiet 
 ly, "I was number 3708." 
 
 "I guess you won't put me out not right now," 
 said the man who had asked the question, pushing 
 his way toward the platform. "I've got a few words 
 to say, myself."
 
 274 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 He was attempting to talk from the floor in front 
 of the platform when cries of "Platform! Platform!" 
 stopped him. Mounting the platform, he said: "For 
 four years I've been hunting the man that was No. 
 3708 in the Colorado penitentiary. For he went 
 there on my account. It was this way: I was in a 
 saloon drinking. I got into a quarrel. The man I 
 was quarreling with reached for a gun. I shot him. 
 It was a question of kill him or get killed. Still, 
 I'm sorry I ever killed a man. But it isn't on my 
 own account I'm here. I've hunted four years for 
 No. 3708. I just got here to-night, on my way 
 home. I heard Frank Horton was to speak, and I 
 used to know him. He was an old friend of mine. 
 If he was No. 3708 he served time for me trying 
 to shield me. I saw somebody come into the saloon 
 while I was having the quarrel, but I didn't see who 
 it was. I suppose he recognized me. I ran away, 
 not because I was afraid of a trial, but because I was 
 afraid of being lynched by the Buck Brady gang. 
 They were running that town then, and the man I 
 shot was one of them. When Frank Horton let 
 them fix the shooting on him rather than tell on me, 
 he took chances on his life, and pretty long chances. 
 When he let them send him to the penitentiary with 
 out saying a word for I heard how the man acted 
 though I couldn't find out who he was it amounted 
 to his giving up his life for me. I reckon that's
 
 OLD FKIENDS MEET 275 
 
 about as much as one man can do for another. I 
 didn't hear for several months that some man had 
 been convicted and sent up for the shooting that I'd 
 done. As soon as I did hear it I went to the gov 
 ernor of the State, told him the facts and surrendered 
 myself. When the authorities investigated the mat 
 ter they were satisfied that I acted in self-defense, 
 and turned me loose without a trial. The governor 
 had pardoned the man that was sent up in my place, 
 and the man had disappeared. I ought to have rec 
 ognized the description I got of him; but I never 
 thought of Frank Horton being in the west. I 
 thought all the time it must be somebody I'd met up 
 with out there. Now you have the facts about Frank 
 Horton being in the penitentiary." 
 
 A ripple of applause went over the audience, 
 after which Dick added: <r My name is Briggs. 
 
 I live here in Ohio up at E . I'm not posing 
 
 as a bad man. I don't carry a gun or drink whisky 
 any more. But if anybody ever refers to Frank Hor 
 ton as an ex-convict in my presence there'll some 
 thing happen." 
 
 This was the first time Dick Briggs had ever at 
 tempted to address an audience. His manner was 
 free from any attempt at oratorical effect, but his 
 evident sincerity and earnestness took the place of 
 eloquence, if indeed it was not eloquence. There was 
 nothing boastful or belligerent in his words or man-
 
 276 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 ner; but when he said, "there'll something happen," 
 every person who heard him believed him. 
 
 Again there was applause, followed by cries of 
 "Horton!" "Horton!" which were kept up till the 
 entire audience seemed to be yelling for Horton. 
 
 When Horton finally stepped forward he was given 
 a reception which would have made glad the heart of 
 a politician. He stood there for full two minutes, 
 waiting for the handclapping and cheers to subside. 
 Then he raised his hand in token of silence, and 
 when he could make himself heard, said: 
 
 "My friends, what my friend Briggs has told you 
 is the truth; only he attaches an undue weight to my 
 action. The fact is, my life at that time was unim 
 portant and not valuable. Besides, my action re 
 sulted in what was probably as great a benefit to me 
 as to him, so we are even on that score. And now let 
 us drop the matter. The editor of the Signal was 
 only trying to warn its readers against being led 
 astray by what he regards as false doctrines." 
 
 It was all well enough for Horton to talk of drop 
 ping the matter; but the newspapers got hold of it. 
 Some of them soon revived the story of his rescue in 
 the runaway by Dick Briggs, and gave that as a rea 
 son for Horton's action in letting himself be sent to 
 the penitentiary. For a while both Horton and Dick 
 were given much more notoriety than they wanted. 
 The matter quieted down, however, after a time; but
 
 OLD FBIENDS MEET 277 
 
 Horton's audiences for some time showed a disposi 
 tion to lionize him as a man who had offered his life 
 for a friend. 
 
 Although he was not again directly attacked as 
 being an ex-convict, his heretical addresses drew 
 forth much adverse comment from orthodox period 
 icals. He was charged with blasphemy. One paper 
 stated that he claimed to be equal to God. Another 
 contained a scathing editorial on the disorganizing 
 tendencies of his addresses, and urged all church 
 members to avoid his meetings as they would a pesti 
 lence. 
 
 The preachers began to notice him in their ser 
 mons. What seemed most to disturb them was that 
 a man who had not taken a course at any theological 
 institution should presume to talk to the people about 
 God and about spirituality. 
 
 To all suggestions that he answer his critics Horton 
 turned a deaf ear. He kept on in the even tenor of 
 his way; and still the people went to hear him. He 
 did once say in the course of an address: 
 
 "Each of us is constructed differently from all 
 others. Each person is unique. What is true to me 
 is not necessarily true to you. It is well for 1:3 as 
 we go along, I think, to bear in mind that no one of 
 us has a monopoly on God, or on the truth." 
 
 He was not at all disturbed by what was said of 
 him. He felt that by his mistaken actions he had
 
 278 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 made his own schooling much more severe than it 
 need have been. Still, he dismissed all regrets for 
 the past as useless, and lived in perfect peace of mind, 
 fully believing and acting on the statement contained 
 in Corinne's telegram: "The present and the future 
 are enough." 
 
 Besides many requests for lectures and addresses, 
 Horton received a large mail from people he had 
 never met, the sentiments of the writers ranging from 
 warm admiration and indorsement to bitter denun 
 ciation. Letters of the former class were signed 
 with the names of the writers; those of the other kind 
 were usually signed only with initials or were wholly 
 anonymous. 
 
 Occasionally Horton replied through the columns 
 of the Gazette to a communication seeming to call 
 for such treatment. Here is a single example: 
 
 "To the Gazette: In a published account of a 
 lecture delivered by the editor of the Gazette I notice 
 he seems to hold that neither a man's belief nor his 
 conduct makes any difference to God; in other words, 
 that God does not care what a man believes or dis 
 believes, what he does or fails to do. 
 
 "Is such teaching as this defensible from any point 
 of view? Is it not demoralizing in its tendency? 
 
 "H. M. W." 
 
 The Gazette published the letter with the follow 
 ing reply:
 
 OLD FRIENDS MEET 279 
 
 "While what our correspondent refers to as a lec 
 ture was in fact an informal talk, it expressed, as far 
 as it went, what the editor regards as the truth; and 
 we do not believe the truth on any subject to be 
 either indefensible or demoralizing. Man's belief 
 and his conduct affect himself, and may affect other 
 persons; they do not affect God. 
 
 "We think there is no subject more sacred than 
 man; for every man has in him something of God, 
 and is in that sense a part of God. Still, we think 
 it is the height of presumption in man to imagine 
 that his belief or lack of belief, or even his conduct, 
 can excite the admiration or arouse the wrath of the 
 Infinite.
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN. 
 
 In the month of May there was a double wedding 
 at the home of Dr. and Mrs. Roberts, on which occa^ 
 sion their daughter Corinne became Mrs. Frank Hor- 
 ton, and John \V. Darrell and Maude Briggs became 
 man and wife, the Rev. David Winter being the offi 
 ciating clergyman. This programme had been 
 agreed upon after sundry conferences and consulta 
 tions among the interested parties. 
 
 As this was several years ago, any attempted de 
 scription of the dress or appearance of the brides 
 or bridegrooms would be very much out of date. 
 They seemed to be satisfied with each other; and 
 that being the case, we and the rest of the world 
 ought to be satisfied also. 
 
 Frank Horton is still editor of the Gazette, and 
 has many more calls made on him for lectures and 
 addresses than he can fill. He and his wife pass a 
 part of every summer at the ranch in New Mexico. 
 There is a youngster four years of age who makes his 
 home with them. Corinne insisted on giving him
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 281 
 
 the name of Frank; and when a middle name was 
 being talked of, John Darrell suggested that it ought 
 to be Young. The suggestion was adopted, but it 
 had one unlooked-for result, that of reversing the 
 order of the lad's given names. He is universally 
 spoken of as Young Frank Horton, and even his 
 parents have fallen into the way of calling him 
 Young instead of Frank. 
 
 From the time of their first summer spent at the 
 ranch Corinne rivaled if, indeed, she did not super 
 sede her husband in popularity with the cow-boys. 
 She seemed intuitively to understand them; and her 
 liking for them on account of the way they treated 
 her husband prompted her to try to make them al 
 ways feel at home when they called. They think 
 there is no woman like "Young's wife Mrs. Hor 
 ton"; for while they always address her as Mrs. Hor 
 ton, they steadily refuse to call her husband anything 
 but Young. Horton takes this good-naturedly and 
 answers to the name of Young while at the ranch. 
 One of the cow-boys once remarked when speaking of 
 the matter: "We don't care what his name is in the 
 States; Young's good enough for us." Still, when 
 speaking among themselves, they always refer to 
 Corinne as "Young's wife Mrs. Horton." 
 
 The first summer of their stay at the ranch Horton 
 found it necessary to build an addition to his cabin to 
 accommodate his guests, not only from the east but
 
 282 THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 from the surrounding country; for the people of that 
 section of the country showed a disposition to make 
 the ranch a favorite visiting place. 
 
 On arriving at the ranch the second summer after 
 their marriage, Horton and his wife found set up in 
 the sitting-room a new piano. 
 
 Upon inquiry, Ned Long stated that a few days 
 before Bill Doolin and two or three other men had 
 appeared there with the piano on a wagon, and asked 
 if they might store it in the house till they called 
 for it. 
 
 When later Horton spoke to Doolin about it, the 
 latter gravely asserted that it was a great accommoda 
 tion to him and others, not specified, to be allowed 
 to store the instrument there; that of course they'd 
 take it away any time it was in the road; but in the 
 meantime they wanted Mrs. Horton to make use of it. 
 Since then hardly a day passes, when Horton and his 
 wife are at the ranch, without a visit from cow-boys, 
 who always want to hear Mrs. Horton play and sing, 
 and who are always gratified. They freely express 
 the opinion that it beats the music at any show they 
 ever attended. 
 
 When Young Frank Horton was three years old 
 some cowboys appeared at the ranch one day, leading 
 a Shetland pony a little bigger than a good-sized 
 sheep, having on it a bridle and miniature cow-boy's
 
 THE FALL OF THE CUETAIN 283 
 
 saddle of the finest make. To the pommel of the 
 saddle was hung a small horse-hair lariat. 
 
 "This is for Young Horton," said the spokesman, 
 presenting the pony to Horton. 
 
 "Say, boys!" replied Horton, "aren't you piling 
 this on a little thick?" 
 
 "That's all right, Young," said the spokesman. 
 "You're gettin' to be a pretty old man, yourself. 
 We're expectin' to have the kid with us when you're 
 gone!" 
 
 With which reassuring statement Horton was com 
 pelled to accept the gift on behalf of his son. 
 
 John Darrell and his wife have two children, both 
 of whom, their father says, have their mother's tem 
 per. It doesn't seem to be a very bad sort of temper, 
 however, for a happier family than they all make to 
 gether would be hard to find. It is a time of espe 
 cial jubilation with them all when they go to New 
 Mexico to spend a month or two at Uncle Frank's 
 ranch. There Maude Darrell is looked upon as the 
 second best pianist and singer America has produced, 
 "Young's wife Mrs. Horton" being regarded as the 
 prima donna. 
 
 Darrell's doubts on matters touching religion have 
 long since disappeared. He is happy and contented 
 in what his friend and teacher, Frank Horton, terms 
 the larger faith. He and his friend North are two of 
 the pillars in the independent church of the Rev.
 
 284: THE LARGER FAITH 
 
 David Winter. After meeting for a year or two in 
 the theater, this congregation erected a building of 
 their own. The church, though large, was not a 
 very costly one; and it was fully paid for before the 
 first service was held in it. They still persist in the 
 unorthodox practice of taking up no collections at 
 their services; and yet they seem to prosper. 
 
 The Gazette has for business manager Mr. Richard 
 T. Briggs. Though not quite so belligerent as for 
 merly, Dick is still ready to "strike where wrong de 
 fies." He has lost something of his youthful im 
 petuosity, but none of his loyalty. He is a bachelor, 
 and doesn't know which he likes best, Maude's chil 
 dren or Young ITorton. They all call him Uncle 
 Dick, and think almost as much of him as of their 
 parents. 
 
 Bob Thompson still fills his office of Bishop with 
 dignity, and, it is believed, with much benefit to the 
 people of his diocese. It has become customary 
 among the cow-boys and cattlemen to refer to him for 
 adjudication many disputes which formerly were set 
 tled in another way; and in deciding the matters sub 
 mitted to him, often nice and difficult questions, he 
 has shown such fairness, sagacity and rare common 
 sense that his word has come to be authority. Any 
 disposition to oppose what the Bishop says is prompt 
 ly frowned down. Bill Doolin, Sam McChesney and 
 other leading lights among the cow-boys are staunch
 
 THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN 285 
 
 supporters of Bishop Bob's ecclesiastical authority; 
 and when on rare occasions it is questioned, Sam gets 
 to smiling too blandly for the comfort of any would- 
 be recalcitrants. 
 
 Even the reader would not recognize Ned Long. 
 Seeing that erect carriage, gazing into those clear 
 eyes, it would be hard to believe that he had ever in 
 his life been afraid. Eumor says he makes frequent 
 trips to the house of a ranchman twenty miles dis^ 
 tant. The ranchman, by the way, has a nineteen- 
 year-old daughter who plays on the piano and sings. 
 
 If Whitefoot were the favorite saddle-horse of a 
 millionaire he could not be given more care and at 
 tention than Ned bestows on him. Once, after re 
 turning from a visit to the ranchman's house, Ned, 
 as he patted the horse's glossy neck, might have been 
 heard to say to him: "It was you that got me into 
 all this, old fellow!" 
 
 Before sleeping that night Ned wrote to Frank 
 Horton an unusually long letter, which he mailed the 
 next day. 
 
 Three days later there flashed westward over the 
 wires the following message: 
 
 "To EDWAED LONG, TKES PIEDRAS, NEW MEXICO: 
 "Hearty commendation. Letter. The one reality of 
 life is love. FRANK HORTON." 
 
 THE END.
 
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