And so, following the example of most of his predecessors on the Mount Pisgah circuit, he paid many a visit to old Wardelow, to learn strength from this perfect example of patient faith.
As the circuit-rider left the old man one evening, and sought his faithful horse in the deserted barn in which he had tied him, he was somewhat astonished to find the horse unloosed, and another man quietly leading him away.
Courage and decision being among the qualities which are natural to the successful circuit-rider, he sprang at the thief and knocked him down. The operator in horse-flesh speedily regained his feet, however, and as he closed with the preacher the latter saw, under the starlight, the gleam of a knife.
Commending himself to the Lord, he made such vigorous efforts for the safety of his body that, within two or three moments, he had the thief face downward on the ground, his own knee on the thief’s back, one hand upon the thief’s neck, and in his other hand the thief’s knife. Then the circuit-rider delivered a short address.
“My sinful friend,” said he, “when two men get into such a scrape as this, and one of them is in your line of business, one or the other will have to die, and I don’t propose to be the one. I haven’t finished the work which the Master has given me to do. If you’ve any dying messages to send to anybody, I give you my word as a preacher that they shall be delivered, but you must speak quick. What’s your name?”
“I’ll give you five hundred dollars to let me off—you may holler for help and tie my hand, and——”
“No use—speak quick,” hissed the preacher—“what’s your name?”
“Stephen Wardelow,” gasped the thief.
“What!” roared the preacher, loosening his grasp, but instantly tightening it again.
“Stephen Wardelow,” replied the thief. “But I haven’t got any messages to send to anybody. I haven’t a relative in the world, and nobody would care if I was dead. I might as well go now as any time. Hit square when you do let me have it—that’s all!”