Sometimes the minute-man has a harder time. A scholarly man who now holds a high position in New England was a short time since in a mountain town where he preached in the morning to a few people in an empty saloon, and announced that there would be service in the same place in the evening. But he reckoned without his host. By evening it was a saloon again in full blast. Nothing daunted, he began outside. The men lighted a tar-barrel, and began to raffle off a mule. Just then a noted bravo of the camps came down; and quick as a flash his shooting-irons were out, and with a voice like a lion he said,-- "Boys, I drop the first one that interferes with this service." Thus under guard from unexpected quarters, the preacher spoke to a number of men who had been former church-members in the far East. Often these minute-men must build their own houses, and live in such a rough society that wife and children must stay behind for some years. One minute-man built a little hut the roof of which was shingled with oyster-cans. His room was so small that he could pour out his coffee at the table, and without getting up turn his flapjacks on the stove. A travelling missionary visiting him, asked him where he slept. He opened a little trap-door in the ceiling; and as the good woman peered in she said,-- "Why, you can't stand up in that place!" "Bless your soul, madam," he exclaimed, "a home missionary doesn't sleep standing up." 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,--