"I'll go to minin' again, an' my wife'll keep boarders. She's glad to 'ave me give up the dram shop."

Esther's eyes filled with happy tears.

The first Sunday in February had arrived. Nearly all vestiges of a saloon had disappeared from what had been Keith's saloon. Ma.s.ses of mistletoe and fragrant spruce had taken the place of indecent pictures. A cabinet organ, borrowed for the occasion, stood at one side. A small table served as the speaker's desk. The billiard tables had disappeared, and chairs now filled the room.

The crowd that gathered about the door the day of this first service in the saloon was unusually large, for word had gone out that David Bright, the grandfather of their pastor, would speak at the meeting.

The saving of the souls of men had come to be the vital question of the hour in Gila.

As the crowd caught sight of a stately white-haired man accompanying their leader, there was a respectful hush. Men and women stepped aside, leaving a pa.s.sage to the door. The two entered. The singers were already in their places. The congregation a.s.sembled, and the song service began. At its close, there followed an impressive stillness, broken only by the joyous notes of a Kentucky cardinal.

The aged preacher sat with bowed head. One would hardly have been surprised to hear a voice from on high.

At last he rose. Everyone looked intently into his benevolent, kindly face. Slowly and impressively he repeated:

"Repent ye; for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand."

He repeated the words a second time, then took his seat.

Again the pregnant silence. When David Bright rose the second time, he read Matthew III., and closing his Bible spoke to them for an hour, holding their undivided attention.

"Beloved," he said, "this voice is speaking to us to-day. 'Repent ye: for the kingdom of Heaven is at hand.' The kingdom comes to us individually. It comes only as men's hearts are prepared for it."

Then he carried his audience with him as he preached the need of repentance, and Christ's compa.s.sionate love for every human soul. His voice rose and fell, and the roughest men listened, while down many faces flowed repentant tears. Oh miracle of miracles,--the turning from sin to righteousness! Oh greatest experience of the human heart,--the entrance of the Divine!

As the G.o.dly man took his seat, Esther Bright rose, and sang, with face shining, "I Love to Tell the Story." As she sang, the notes of the Kentucky cardinal burst forth, a joyous accompaniment to her glad song.

To the amazement of all, Ben Keith rose and said:

"I 'ave been a sinful man. May G.o.d forgive me. I repent me of my sins.

I 'ave led men and women astray in this saloon. May G.o.d forgive me. I 'ave determined to turn face about, and to lead an honest life. I 'ave sold my last drop o' whiskey. I 'ave poured all I 'ad left on the ground. I shall keep no more saloon. May G.o.d 'ave mercy on my soul, and on the souls of them as I 'ave led astray."

A sob was heard. It came from the long-suffering Mrs. Keith. Then another stood, asking for prayers; then another, then another. Last of all, David Bright rose, and after speaking a few fatherly encouraging words, he dismissed them with the benediction.

He was soon surrounded by men waiting for a word, a hand grasp. They asked for personal conferences with him.

"Let us go down to the timber," suggested Jack Harding. So together these men strolled down to the river bank.

"Thou art troubled about the unpardonable sin, thou sayest?" the preacher said to a young man walking by his side.

"Yes," replied the youth addressed. "I've been a bad one, but now I really want to be a Christian. I fear I have committed the unpardonable sin. Do you suppose--" he asked in a voice that choked a little, "that G.o.d could pardon such a sinner as I am?"

"With G.o.d all things are possible," reverently replied the other, laying a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. "The only sin that seems to me to be unpardonable is that unrighteous obstinacy that forever refuses the _offer_ of salvation."

And into the old man's face came an expression of sorrow.

"But if the offer of salvation is forever _pa.s.sed by_, what then?"

asked another.

"I believe the soul is lost."

"You mean the soul is in a place of fire and torment, literal h.e.l.l fire?" asked the first speaker.

"I said I believe the soul is lost."

"Then you don't believe in h.e.l.l?" asked another.

"No," answered David Bright; "not as some believe in it,--literal fire. Spirit or soul is, I believe, immortal. It lives on. To know G.o.d, and Jesus Christ, His Son, is eternal life; not to know them is death. To obey the laws of G.o.d here on earth means a foretaste of heaven; to disobey them, means a foretaste of h.e.l.l."

"And you think there can be h.e.l.l on earth?" asked one.

"Yes: a man's own evil mind and life make for him a constant h.e.l.l."

"And you believe heaven may begin on earth?"

"I do. Heaven is the rightful heritage of the soul. Heaven is accord with the Divine. It is the natural environment of the soul. It is more natural to do right than wrong. It is evil environment that perverts the soul."

They seated themselves on a dead tree trunk.

"Here," said David Bright, laying his hand on the fallen tree, "you see an ill.u.s.tration of what happens to many a life. Its environment has brought a parasite that lays hold upon the life of the tree, saps its strength, and decay follows. Destructive agencies in a sinful environment lay hold of human life, sap its strength, and moral decay follows. Many a strong man has fallen as has this magnificent tree.

Nothing can revitalize the tree once fallen into decay; but, thanks be to G.o.d, there _is_ a force that can revitalize the human being long after he seems dead and lost to the world, and that is the redemptive power of Jesus Christ. There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved."

The look of one who bears the sorrow of his race upon his heart came into the beautiful face. And the men watched him with deepening reverence for their kind.

One who had thus far been silent spoke.

"But if the soul is immortal, spiritual death cannot come."

The old man looked keenly into the young man's eyes. He spoke with deepest conviction as he said:

"I believe there is almost no limit to the possibilities of the mind and soul to him whose ideals are high, whose courage is great, and who holds himself to the very highest ideals of living. Christ paved the way for such a life for every young man. That sort of life is real living, for it means constructive work in the world. It means growth, immortality.

"To come short of what one might be, steadily, increasingly, brings moral deterioration, atrophy;--to my mind, the saddest form of death.

It is life to grow toward the Divine. My son, it will soon be too late. Turn G.o.dward now. Shall we pray?"

Then up to the throne of G.o.d went a prayer for these young men,--sons of parents who had long ago lost their grip on them.

For about two weeks, religious meetings were held daily. Night after night the room was crowded. The services consisted of talks by David Bright, songs, short prayers and testimony. Sometimes several men and women would be on their feet at once, eager to voice their repentance, and to testify of G.o.d's mercy.

The interest did not end here. Down in the mines, brief meetings were held daily at the noon hour. One group of miners would start a hymn; then way off, another group would catch up the refrain. On many lips the oath or unclean story died unspoken.

Men sought David Bright as they would a father confessor, pouring the story of their lives into his kind and sympathetic ear. They seemed to know intuitively that he was a man of G.o.d. What mattered, if he were Catholic or Protestant? He found men evil, and left them good.

And Esther Bright's influence was hardly less marked. Her deep spirituality made her a great power for righteousness.

John Harding seemed scarcely less interested in saving men's souls than she. "Giving men a chance," he called it. He went from mining camp to mining camp, carrying the tidings of salvation, and urging men to repent. And those who heard him not only came to the meetings, but began to bring others also. And so the work grew.

It was at the close of David Bright's second week in Gila that the most impressive meeting was held. At its close, the aged evangelist bade them farewell. Then they crowded about him, thanking him for all he had done for them, and asking him to remember them in his prayers.