“Never heard how we got religion to Angels, stranger? I thought, uv course, everybody’d heerd that yarn. Tell ye? Why sure; but let’s licker again and I’ll reminisce.
“Yet see, ’twas afore Angels got to be sech a big camp as ’twas later on, but it was a rich camp and a mighty wicked one. There were lots uv chaps there who’d jest as soon die in their boots as eat; and every other house was a dance-house or a saloon or a gambling-hell. Pretty Pete and his pardner, Five-Ace Bob, was reckoned the wickedest men in the State; and Old Bill Jones, what kept the Golden West Hotel, had a national reputation for cussin’. The idea of a parson striking the camp never was thought uv; but one day I was playing bank into Pete’s game when Five-Ace came a runnin’ in ’n’ sez:
“‘Boys, I’ll be derned, but there’s an ornery cuss of a parson jest rid up to Jones’s. He’s got a partner with him, and he ’lows he’s goin’ to convert the camp.’
“‘The hell he is!’ sez Pete. ‘I’ll finish the deal and go down and see about that!’
“So we all walked down to Jones’s, and thar, sure ’nuff, in the bar, talking with Old Bill, wuz the parson, black coat and white tie ’n’ all. He was a big, squar’-shouldered chap with a black beard, and keen grey eyes that looked right through yer. His pardner was only a boy of twenty or so, with yeller, curly ha’r, pink-and-white gal’s face, and big blue eyes. We all walked in, ’n’ Pete he stands to the bar ’n’ shouts fer all hands ter drink; ’n’ to our surprise the parson ’n’ the kid both stepped up and called fer red licker ’n’ drank it. After the drink was finished, the parson sez:
“ ‘Gents, as yer see, I’m a minister of the Gospel, but I see no harm in any man drinking, ez long ez he ain’t no drunkard. I drank just now because I want yer to see that I am not ashamed to do before yer face what I’d do behind yer back.’
“ ‘Right yer are, parson,’ sez Pete; ‘put it thar’; ’n’ they shook hands, ’n’ then Pete he up and called off the hull gang—
Five-Ace ’n’ Lucky Barnes ’n’ Dirty Smith, ’n’ one ’n’ all the rest ub ’em.
“The parson shook hands with all uv us, and sed he was going to have a meetin’ in Shifty Sal’s dance-house that night, ez ’twas the biggest room in camp, ’n’ ast us all to come, ’n’ we sed we would. When we got outside, Pete sez: ‘Boys, you mind me, that devil-dodger’ll capture the camp’; ’n’ he did. That night we all went along to Shifty’s, and found the parson and the kid on the platform where the fiddlers used to sit; and every man in camp wuz in the audience. The parson spoke first:
“‘Gents, I want to tell yer first off I don’t want any uv yer dust. I’ve got enough fer myself and my young friend, ’n’ there won’t be no rake-off in this yer meetin’-house, ’n’ I’m not here to preach against any man’s way o’ makin’ a livin’. I will preach ag’in drunkenness, and I shall speak privately with the gamblers; but I want to keep you men in mind uv yer homes ’n’ yer mothers ’n’ yer wives ’n’ yer sweethearts, and get yer to lead cleaner lives, so’s when yer meet ’em ag’in yer’ll not hev to be ’shamed.’
“And then he sed we’d hev a song, ’n’ the youngster he started in ’n’ played a concertina and sang ‘Yes, we’ll gather at the River’; ’n’ there wuzn’t one uv us that it didn’t remind uv how our mothers used to dress us up Sundays ’n’ send us to Sunday school, and stand at the door to watch us down street, and call us back to ast if we were sure we had our clean pocket handkerchur; ’n’ I tell yer, mister, thar wuzn’t a man with dry eyes in the crowd when he’d finished. That young feller had a v’ice like a angel. Pete he sed it wuz a tenner v’ice, but Five-Ace offered to bet him a hundred to fifty it wuz more like a fifteener or a twenty. Pete told Five-Ace he wuz a derned old fool ’n’ didn’t know what he wuz talkin’ about.
“Well, things run along for about a week, ’n’ one day Pete come to me and sez:
“‘Look here, Ralters, this yere camp ain’t no jay camp, ’n’ we’ve got to hev a church fer the parson. He’s a jim-dandy, and won’t ask for nothing. He’d jest natchelly go on prayin’ and preachin’, ’n’ tryin’ ter save a couple uv old whisky-soaked souls like yourn and Bill Jones’s, which ain’t wuth powder to blow ’em to hell, ’n’ you’d let him go on doin’ it in that old shack of Sal’s ’n’ never make a move. Now, I’m goin’ to rustle round ’n’ dig up dust enough from the boys, and we’ll jest build him a meetin’-house as’ll be a credit to the camp’; ’n’ in a few days the boys hed a good log meetin’-house, built, floored, ’n’ benches in it, ’n’ everythin’.
“The parson was tickled ’most to death. Next they built him a house, ’n’ he ’n’ his pardner moved into it. Then Pete said the gals must go; sed it wuz a dead, rank, snide game to work on the parson ter hev to go down street ’n’ be guyed by them hussies (’n’ they did guy him awful sometimes, too); so the gals they went. Then Pete sed the church had to be properly organised; hed to hev deacons ’n’ churchwardens ’n’ sextons ’n’ things; so Old Bill Jones ’n’ Alabam ’n’ me wuz made deacons, ’n’ Pete ’n’ Five-Ace was churchwardens.
“In a month every last man in camp wuz worryin’ ’bout his future state. Old Bill Jones came into meetin’ one night with his face ’n’ hands washed ’n’ an old black suit on, ’n’ sot down on the anxious bench and ast to be prayed fer. The parson knelt down ’n’ put his arm round him, ’n’ how he did pray! Before he got through, Lucky Barnes, Alabam, ’n’ me wuz on the bench too, ’n’ Pete shoved his Chinaman up the aisle by the collar ’n’ sot him down ’longside o’ me. Pete sed he was high-toned Christian gentleman himself, hed been born ’n’ raised a Christian, ’n’ wuz a senior churchwarden to boot, and that he’d make a Christian of Ah Foo or spoil a Chinaman.
“That parson prayed most powerful that night. As a offhand, rough ’n’ tumble, free ’n’ easy prayer, I never see his beat; he hed the whole aujience in tears, ’n’ you might hev heard Pete’s amens ’n’ glory-halleluyers off to Buller’s Flat. Old Jones wuz a rolling around on the floor ’n’ hollering fer to be saved from the devil before the parson were half finished, ’n’ he made so much noise that Pete hed to fire a bucket uv water over him to quiet him down. That meetin’ wuz so plum full uv the spirit (ez the parson called it) that it never broke up till twelve o’clock, ez Jones’s shift to deal faro begun at twelve.
“There wuz over twenty perfesses that night, not countin’ Pete’s Chinaman, ’n’ next Sunday we hed a big baptism in the crick, ’n’ forty uv us wuz put through. Pete sed he reckoned Ah Foo hed better be put through every day for a week or so, sence he’d always bin a dodgasted heathen, but the parson ’lowed wunst wuz enuff; but he giv’ him an extra dip jest fer luck, ’n’ I never see a more ornery-lookin’ cuss in my life than that Chinese were when he came out.
“The Chinese laundrymen were ast to jine the church, but they wouldn’t savey, ’n’ so Pete ’n’ Five-Ace, Old Bill ’n’ me ’n’ Alabam we waited on ’em ’n’ told ’em to git, ’n’ took ’em down to the crick ’n’ baptized ’em jest fer luck. Pete sed if they stayed Ah Foo ’ud git to backslidin’ fust thing he knowed, ’n’ then where’d his reputation be?
“Waal, stranger, things run along nice ’n’ smooth fer a couple uv months er so till Chris’mus come nigh. The boys hed been a keepin’ mighty straight; there wuzn’t a man in camp that drinked more’n wuz hullsome fer him; there hedn’t bin a shootin’ scrape fer weeks. Pete sed things wuz gittin’ so all-fired ca’m ’n’ peaceful that he wouldn’t be at all surprised to git up some fine day ’n’ find Ah Foo with wings, ’n’ feathers on his legs like a Bramah hen. Nary a man packed a gun, ’n’ when a gent ’ud forgit ’n’ drop a cuss word he’d beg parding. The parson wuz thick with all the boys. He writ letters for us, advised us about all out biznus, ’n’ knew all about everybody’s affairs. Lots uv ’em gave him their dust-sack to keep fer ’em, ’n’ he knowed where every man hed his cached.
“Along jest afore Chris’mus cum Pete called a meetin’ uv the deacons ’n’ churchwardens down to his place, ’n’ after the sexton (Ah Foo) hed brought in a round of drinks, he sed:
“‘Gents, ez chairman ex-officer in this yer layout, I move that we give the parson a little present fer Chris’mus. Yer know he won’t take a dern cent from us, ’n’ never has. Uv course, he has taken a few thousand from time to time to send to orfings ’n’ things uv that kind, but not a red fer hisself or pard; ’n’ I move that we make him a little present on Chris’mus Day, ’n’ it needn’t be so derned little, either. Gents in favour’ll say so, and gents wot ain’t kin keep mum. Carried, ’n’ that settles it. Five-Ace ’n’ me’ll take in contributions, ’n’ we won’t take any less than fifty cases.’
“That wuz two days afore Chris’mus Day, ’n’ when it cum Pete ’n’ Five-Ace hed about five thousand in dust ’n’ nuggets fer the parson’s present. Pete assessed Ah Foo a month’s pay, ’n’ he kicked hard, but twer’n’t no use.
“The day wuz bright ’n’ clear, ’n’ at ’leven o’clock every man in camp wuz at church. The little buildin’ looked mighty tasty—all fixed off with pine-tassels ’n’ red berries we’d got in the woods, ’n’ every man wuz dressed out in his best duds. At ’leven exact the parson ’n’ the kid, who hed bin standin’ at the door shakin’ hands ’n’ wishin’ everybody what cum in Merry Chris’mus, cum in ’n’ took their seats on the platform. Pete ’n’ Five-Ace ’n’ Bill Jones ’n’ Alabam ’n’ me sot on a bench jest in front o’ the platform. We wuz all togged out in our best fixin’s, ’n’ Pete ’n’ Five-Ace they sported dimon’s till yer couldn’t rest. Waal, ez usual, the perceedin’s opened up with er prayer from the parson; ’n’ then we hed singin’ ’n’ it seemed ter me ez if I never hed heerd sich singin’ in my life afore ez thet kid let out o’ him thet day.
“Then the parson he started in ter jaw, ’n’ I must ellow he giv’ us a great discourse. I never see him so long-winded afore tho’, ’n’ Pete was beginnin’ to get mighty restless ’n’ oneasy, when all uv a suddint we heerd the door open ’n’ shet quick ’n’ sharp, ’n’ every one turned round to find a great, big, black-bearded cuss at the door a coverin’ the hull gang uv us with a double-bar’led shotgun, ’n’ jest a standin’ thar cool ’n’ silent.
“ ‘Face round here, ye derned fools!” yelled somebody in a sharp, quick, biznus-meanin’ v’ice, ’n’ all hands faced round to find the parson holding ’em up with another shotgun—own brother to the one the other cuss hed. ‘I don’t want a word out er yer,’ he sed. ‘Yer see my game now, don’t yer? Thar ain’t a gun in the house ’cept the ones you see, ’n’ if any gent makes any row in this yer meetin’ I’ll fill his hide so plum full o’ holes ’twon’t hold his bones. The kid will now take up the collection, ’n’ ez it’s the first one we ever hev taken up, yer must make it a liber’l one, see?’
“The kid started out with a gunny-sack, ’n’ went through the very last man in the crowd. He took everything, even to the rings on our fingers. The parson hed the drop, ’n’ we knew it ’n’ never kicked, but jest giv’ up our stuff like lambs.
“After the kid hed finished he took the sack outside, ’n’ thet’s the last we ever seed o’ him. Then the parson he sez:
“ ‘Now, gents, I must say adoo, ez I must be a travellin’, for I hev another meetin’ to attend this eve. I want to say, tho’, afore I go, thet you’re the orneriest gang uv derned fools I ever played fer suckers. A few friends uv mine hev taken the liberty, while yer’ve been to meetin’ this blessed Chris’mus Day, uv goin’ through yer cabins ’n’ diggin’ up yer little caches uv dust ’n’ uther val’ables. Yer stock hez all been stampeded, ’n’ yer guns yer’ll find somewhar at the bottom of the crick. My friend at the door will hold yer level while I walk out, ’n’ we will then keep yer quiet fer a few minutes longer through ther winder jest so’s we can git a nice, cumf’table start’; ’n’ so they did. What c’u’d we do? The parson walked out, grinning all over himself, ’n’ he ’n’ his pals they nailed up the door ’n’ winders (thar wuz only two), ’n’ very soon after they had finished we heerd the clatter o’ huffs ’n’ knowed they wuz gone.
“I must draw a veil over the rest uv thet day’s purceedin’s, stranger. The langwidge used by ther boys wuz too awful to repeat; but t’was jest ez this parson sed, when we got out o’ thet meetin’-house we found every animal on the location gone, ’n’ the only arms left wuz knives ’n’ clubs; yet we’d hev gone after ’em with nothin’ but our hands, but we couldn’t follow afoot.
“How much did they get? I don’t rightly know, but not fur frum fifty thousand. The hull camp wuz stone-brook, all excep’ Ah Foo, ’n’ he wuz the only one uv us as hed sense enuff not to tell thet durned parson whar he cached his stuff. Pete ’n’ Five-Ace wuz so everlastin’ hurt at the hull biznus that they shut up the Bird o’ Prey, borrowed Ah Foo’s sack, ’n’ left for the Bay to try ’n’ find thet parson; but they never did find him, ’n’ no one ever heard uv him again.”