“Now, boys, I love the West, I glory in the fact that I can lay something down and go on about my business an’ come back a month later and find it just where I left it; and if I was takin’ these hosses to sell or trade or use for my own selfish ends, why, I wouldn’t have a word to say again’ your stringin’ me up. I brought my own hoss into this country and when it gave out I didn’t have time to barter an’ trade for another one; so I just caught one, and when it grew weary, I turned it adrift. I don’t claim the hosses I ride; I don’t want to own them; I simply borrow them for a while because my Lord hath need of them. I treat them well, and when they weary, send ’em back to their own range with a pat, and pick up another. The next fellow who rides that hoss will find it a little less trouble than if I hadn’t used it, and there’s no harm done at all. I’m working with you, I’m going to make your own work easier out here by raisin’ the respect for brands, not by makin’ property rights any looser; and you are goin’ to work with me—whether you want to or not. Now then, how much longer are you goin’ to keep this fool noose about my neck?” That posse wasn’t easy minded, not by a jugful. This stranger was speakin’ as though he had power an’ authority an’ public opinion all on his side, and they felt consid’able like the tenderfoot who’d roped the buffalo—they was willin’ to quit any time he was. The Cross brand boys were purty sullen an’ moody; but four o’ the posse belonged to another outfit, an’ they couldn’t stand the strain. One of ’em, a grizzled old codger with one lamp missin’, lifted the noose from the prisoner’s neck, an’ sez most respectful: “Parson, I’m an old man. I ain’t heard a sermon for forty years, an’ I’d be right obliged to ya if you’d make us one.” Badger-face, he snorted scornful; but the rest of the posse was scattered all the way from repentance to sheepishness, an’ the stranger he stepped to a little rise an’ he certainly did speak us a sermon. First off, he sang us St. Andrew’s hymn—I got to learn a good many of his songs after this, but o’ course at that time I was as shy on hymns as the rest o’ the crowd. I tell you it was wonderful up in that little park, with the lush grass for a carpet, the spruce trees for panelin’, the bare peaks stickin’ out for rafter-beams, the blue sky above for ceiling, and that soft, deep voice fillin’ the whole place an’ yet stealin’ into a feller’s heart as easy an’ gentle as a woman’s whisper. He sort o’ beat time as though playin’ on an instrument, until before he was through we were all hummin’ in time with him—an’ then he preached.