"Well, in the first place," said Jasper Kemp, with a slow wink around at the company, "that little matter about hell needs adjustin'. Hell ain't no superstition. I ain't dictatin' what kind of a hell there is; you can make it fire or water or anything else you like, but there is a hell, an' you believe in it. D'ye understand? We'd just like to have you make that statement publicly right here an' now."
"But how can I say what I don't believe?" whined West, almost ready to cry. He had come proudly through a trial by Presbytery on these very same points, and had posed as being a man who had the courage of his convictions. He could not thus easily surrender his pride of original thought and broad-mindedness. He had received congratulations from a number of noble martyrs who had left their chosen church for just such reasons, congratulating him on his brave stand. It had been the first notice from big men he had ever been able to attract to himself, and it had gone to his head like wine. Give that up for a few miserable cowboys! It might get into the papers and go back East. He must think of his reputation.
"That's just where the dynamics of the thing comes in, brother," said Jasper Kemp, patronizingly. "We're here to make you believe in a hell. We're the force that will bring you back into the right way of thinkin' again. Are you ready, boys?"
The quiet utterance brought goose-flesh up to West's very ears, and his eyes bulged with horror.
"Oh, that isn't necessary! I believe—yes, I believe in hell!" he shouted, as they seized him.
But it was too late. The Rev. Frederick West was plunged into the water-hole, from whose sheep-muddied waters he came up spluttering, "Yes, I believe in hell!" and for the first time in his life, perhaps, he really did believe in it, and thought that he was in it.
The men were standing knee-deep in the water and holding their captive lightly by his arms and legs, their eyes upon their leader, waiting now.
Jasper Kemp stood in the water, also, looking down benevolently upon his victim, his chin in his hand, his elbow in his other hand, an attitude which carried a feeling of hopelessness to the frightened minister.
"An' now there's that little matter of the devil," said Jasper Kemp, reflectively. "We'll just fix that up next while we're near his place of residence. You believe in the devil, Mr. Parson, from now on? If you'd ever tried resistin' him I figger you'd have b'lieved in him long ago. But you believe in him from now on, an' you don't preach against him any more! We're not goin' to have our Arizona men gettin' off their guard an' thinkin' their enemy is dead. There is a devil, parson, and you believe in him! Duck him, boys!"
Down went the minister into the water again, and came up spluttering, "Yes, I—I—I—believe—in-the—devil." Even in this strait he was loath to surrender his pet theme—no devil.