Then came up from the keen intellect-quiver of our Rocky Mountain engineman all the stock phrases, replies, and arguments of Voltaire, Rousseau, Ingersoll, and others whose writings he knew perfectly.
With Christian and cultivated patience the minister listened and then said with captivating and sympathetic tenderness: “But, my dear sir, that is all speculation on the part of those scholarly and eloquent men whom you quote so accurately. They know no better. The religion of Jesus is not speculation; it is practical knowledge. Would not you, sir, like to know personally as to its truth?”
“Yes, but how can I?”
His foot had been taken in the snare of the wise trapper.
Said the preacher: “You can; and this is the way. As you leave this city for your return to the West, get a cheap New Testament; indeed, here is a copy; please accept it. Tear it in two in the middle, retaining only the four Gospels––Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Read them; you will by yourself and by this means find the way to perfect knowledge.”
He of the throttle, hungry for the deepest knowledge, did as directed and advised.
Back to his cab and engine he went, under the deepest conviction. Yet he declared that he needed no extraneous assistance to be as good as any Christian; Jesus he considered a superfluity, and said so. The negative influences of the atheistic authors yet warped him. He said: “I dare any of you to watch me. I can and will be as upright as any Christian on earth.” But after a short time of exemplary conduct, he would wake up some morning only to discover to his hearty disgust that he had been on an extended period of dissipation. 54 Later he would attempt another straightening-up and try to “be good” without the necessary becoming so, only to fall again and harder than before.
Once, after such humiliating debauch, he entered a saloon which contained the only barber shop in the village, the railway division point where he had his “layovers” for regular rest. He sat down for his daily shave. It was the morning after pay-day among the employees, and, as he stated it to the writer, “everybody, even the barber, had been drunk.” Cigar stumps, empty bottles, cards, and other plentiful signs of the previous night’s carousals covered the floor with bacchanalian litter. Lying there, eyes shut, an Armageddon was taking place on the stage of his perturbed soul. His story is this:
“While lying there that morning a voice said to me, ‘You are not a square-dealer.’ I opened my eyes on the barber, only to see a bloated face with impassive and mute lips; he had said nothing, I could easily see. I closed my eyes again, only to hear, ‘You do not treat me as you would a gentleman.’ I now knew that the voice was that of an 55 unseen person, and I replied mentally but really. ‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ ‘I am Jesus, whom you deny without having known, and condemn without having attempted to prove. You have been saying all the while you can succeed without my assistance, and you know you have failed every time. All I want is a chance in your life that I may prove myself to you.’ Then I replied, ‘If this is what you want, just come in and we will talk it over.’ He then came in never to go out again. I went to my little shack-room and, locking the door, took out of a little old hair-covered trunk a Bible my mother had given me; it had lain there for thirty long years untouched. I opened it and read a while and then got down on my knees to pray. What I said was about like this: ‘Lord, if it is really the Lord who was talking to me (I have my doubts), you know I am a man of my word, and you can trust me. I want to make you a proposition: I’ll do the square thing by you if you’ll do the same by me. Amen!’”