It’s the old-style religion,
The old-style religion,
The old-style religion,
That gets you on your way.
’Twas good enough for Moses,
Good enough for Moses—
The old-style religion,
That gets you on your way.
“It ain’t no new-fangled religion, Nell. But it’s comforting——”
“It wouldn’t comfort me none,” answered the girl. “I reckon it ain’t religion—and a sky pilot—that Canyon Pass needs after all. If we’d just run about fifty of these tramps out of town—and Boss Tolley and his gang—we could get along without psalm-singing and such flubdubbery.”
“You ain’t talking like you used to, Nell,” said the old woman, observing her curiously.
“I hadn’t thought so much about it. Religion is too soft. These roughnecks would ride right over a parson and—and that kind. Now, wouldn’t they?”
“Not altogether. I expect they’d try—at first. But if a man had enough grace in him, he’d stand up against ’em.”
“He’d better have backbone.”
“Same thing,” chuckled Mother Tubbs. “Same thing. It takes the grace of God to stiffen a man’s backbone—I tell you true. I hope this parson Mr. Joe Hurley talks about has got plenty of grace.”
“Who—what?” gasped the girl. “What parson?”
“Well, now! That is a gob o’ news. But I thought you must o’ heard it—over to Colorado Brown’s, or somewhere—the way you was talkin’. This parson is a friend of Mr. Joe Hurley, and he wants to get him out yere.”