Part 4 (1/2)

On Pecos carnival nights like this, when some of the cowboys were in town, prudent people used to sleep on the floor of Van Slyke's store with bags of grain piled round their blankets two tiers deep, for no Pecos house walls were more than inch boards.

At this early period of its history the few wandering advance agents of the Gospel who occasionally visited Pecos were not well received. They were not abused; they were simply ignored. When not otherwise occupied, the average Pecosite had too much whittling on hand to find time to ”'tend meetin'”; of this every pine drygoods box in the town bore mute evidence, its fair sides covered with innumerable rude carvings cut by aimless hands.

This prevailing indifference to religion shocked Mr. Allison. As opportunity offered he tried to remedy it, and as far as his evangelical work went it was successful. One Tuesday morning about ten o'clock he walked into the Lone Wolf Saloon, laid two pistols on the end of the bar next the front door, and remarked to Red d.i.c.k, the bartender, that he intended to turn the saloon into a church for a couple of hours and did not want any drinks sold or cards thrown during the services.

Taking his stand just within the doorway, pistol in hand, Mr. Allison began to a.s.semble his congregation. The first comer was Billy Jansen, the leading merchant of the town. As he was pa.s.sing the door Clay remarked:

”Good-mornin', Mr. Jansen, won't you please step inside? Religious services will be held here shortly an' I reckon you'll be useful in the choir.”

The only reply to Billy's protest of urgent business was a gesture that made Billy think going to church would be the greatest pleasure he could have that morning.

Mr. Allison never played favorites at any game, and so all pa.s.sers were stopped: merchants, railway men, gamblers, thugs, cowboys, freighters--all were stopped and made to enter the saloon. The least furtive movement to draw a gun or to approach the back door received prompt attention from the impromptu evangelist that quickly restored order in the congregation. When fifty or sixty men had been brought into this improvised fold, Mr. Allison closed the door and faced about.

”Fellers,” he said, ”this meetin' bein' held on the Pecos, I reckon we'll open her by singin' 'Shall We Gather at the River?' Of course we're already gathered, but the song sort o' fits. No gammon now, fellers; everybody sings that knows her.”

The result was discouraging. Few in the audience knew any hymn, much less this one. Only three or four managed to hoa.r.s.ely drawl through two verses.

The hymn finished--as far as anybody could sing it--Mr. Allison said:

”Now, fellers, we'll pray. Everybody down!”

Only a few knelt. Among the congregation were some who regarded the affair as sacrilegious, and others of the independent frontier type were unaccustomed to dictation. However, a slight narrowing of the cold black eyes and a significant sweep of the six-shooter brought every man of them to his knees, with heads bowed over faro lay-outs and on monte tables.

”O Lord!” began Allison, ”this yere's a mighty bad neck o' woods, an' I reckon You know it. Fellers don' think enough o' their souls to build a church, an' when a pa'son comes here they don' treat him half white.

O Lord! make these fellers see that when they gits caught in the final round-up an' drove over the last divide, they don' stan' no sort o'

show to git to stay on the heavenly ranch 'nless they believes an'

builds a house to pray an' preach in. Right here I subscribes a hundred dollars to build a church, an' if airy one o' these yere fellers don' tote up accordin' to his means, O Lord, make it Your pers'n'l business to see that he wears the Devil's brand and ear mark an' never gits another drop o' good spring water.

”Of course, I allow You knows I don' sport no wings myself, but I want to do what's right ef You'll sort o' give a shove the proper way. An'

one thing I want You to understan'; Clay Allison's got a fast horse an'

is tol'able handy with his rope, and he's goin' to run these fellers into Your corral even if he has to rope an' drag 'em there. Amen.

Everybody git up!”

While he prayed in the most reverent tone he could command, and while his att.i.tude was one of simple supplication, Mr. Allison never removed his keen eyes from the congregation.

”Reckon we'll sing again, boys, an' I want a little more of it. Le's see what you-all knows.”

At length six or eight rather sheepishly owned knowing ”Old Hundred,”

and it was sung.

Then the sermon was in order.

”Fellers,” he began, ”my ole mammy used to tell me that the only show to shake the devil off your trail was to believe everythin' the Bible says. What yer mammy tells you 's bound to be right, dead right, so I think I'll take the sentiment o' this yere round-up on believin'. O'

course, as a square man I'm boun' to admit the Bible tells some pow'ful queer tales, onlike anythin' we-'uns strikes now days. Take that tale about a fish swallerin' a feller named Jonah; why, a fish 't could swaller a man 'od have to be as big in the barrel as the Pecos River is wide an' have an openin' in his face bigger'n Phantom Lake Cave.

n.o.body on the Pecos ever see such a fish. But I wish you fellers to distinctly understan' it's a _fact_. I believes it. Does you? Every feller that believes a fish swallered Jonah, hold up his right hand!”

It is sad to have to admit that only two or three hands were raised.