Strapping a bundle of books on his shoulders, this minute-man starts out on a mule-trail. If he meets the train, he must step off and climb back. He reaches the distant camp, and finds the boys by the dozen gambling in an immense saloon. He steps up to the bar and requests the liberty of singing a few hymns. The man answers surlily,—
"Ye ken if ye like, but the boys won't stand it."
The next minute a rich baritone begins, "What a friend we have in Jesus," and twenty heads are lifted. He then says,—
"Boys, take a hand; here are some books." And in less than ten minutes he has a male choir of many voices. One says, "Pard, sing number so and so;" and another, "Sing number so and so." By this time the saloon-keeper is growling; but it is of no use; the minister has the boys, and starts his work.
In some camps a very different reception awaits him, as, for instance, the following: At his appearance a wild-looking Buffalo-Bill type of man greeted him with an oath and a pistol levelled at him.
"Don't yer know thar's no luck in camp with a preacher? We are going to kill ye."
"Don't you know," said the minute-man, "a minister can draw a bead as quick as any man?" The boys gave a loud laugh, for they love grit, and the rough slunk away. But a harder trial followed.
"Glad to see ye, pard; but ye'll have to set 'em up 'fore ye commence—rule of the camp, ye know." But before our man could frame an answer, the hardest drinker in the crowd said,—
"Boys, he is the fust minister as has had the sand to come up here, and I'll stand treat for him."
It is a great pleasure to add that the man who did this is to-day a Christian.