“Boys,” said Hurley, when they came near, “meet Willie Hunt. He’s one of the best old scouts I met when I was East, that time I stood that college on its head, like I told you. I reckon you know Willie is a real man, if he _is_ a parson. Mr. Hunt, meet Jib Collins, Cale Mack, Jim Tierney, and—last but not least—Bill Judson, who is the honored mentor of this camp.” “Whatever that is,” and the storekeeper grinned, shaking hands in turn with Hunt. “This yere Joe Hurley slings language at times that sartainly stops traffic. He can’t seem to get over it. It was wished on him when he lived East that time he is always telling us about.” Hunt knew how to meet these men—he was by nature a “good mixer.” There is much in the grasp of a hand, a steady look, an unafraid smile, that recommends the stranger to such bold spirits. The timid, even the hesitant, make no progress with them. “Parson,” pursued Judson, “we was just discussin’ your business as you and Joe come along. In my opinion we need you yere at Canyon Pass. I’m speakin’ for myself alone,” and he glared at the other men in the group accusingly; “but I can’t put it too strong. We need ye. To my mind religion is a mighty good thing. We’re loose livin’, we’re loose talkin’, and we need to be jacked up right smart. “You can count on me, parson, to back any play you make, clean across the board. I’m for you, strong. We need meetin’s started. We ought to have a Sunday school for the young ’uns. We need to be preached at and prayed with. I come of right strict Presbyterian stock, and when I was a lad I was used to all the means of grace, I was.” “You are interested, then, Mr. Judson, in any attempt we may make to inaugurate services here on Sunday?” Hunt asked cheerfully. “Youbetcha!” was the hearty rejoinder. “Of course, Mr. Judson,” Hunt pursued, “you understand that, to have successful and helpful services, some of us at least must have the spirit of service?” “Sure. That’s what I tell ’em.” “I take it from brief observation that this day—the Sabbath—is observed very little at present in Canyon Pass?” “True as true,” said the storekeeper. “To get people really interested in divine services on this day, don’t you think we should begin by making some difference—a real difference—between the First Day and the other six?” Hunt continued, eyeing Judson reflectively. “If we who are interested in the betterment of the community are not willing to lead in this matter, those we wish to help can scarcely follow. “Sunday should not be like the other six days of the week. Your mines and gold washings shut down on this day. How about other secular activities ceasing—as far as it may be possible?” “I—I reckon you’re right, parson,” Judson said, though with some hesitation. “Of course, the boys have been used to having their freedom on Sundays, and their fun. I don’t believe you could go far in shutting down the saloons and gambling tables—not right at first.”