The hostility was more than usually marked at the service held on the Sunday following.It was, perhaps, thrown into stronger relief by the open and delighted approval of Hi, who was prepared to back up anything The Pilot would venture to say.Bill, who had not witnessed The Pilot's performance in the pitcher's box, but had only Hi's enthusiastic report to go upon, still preserved his judicial air.It is fair to say, however, that there was no mean-spirited jealousy in Bill's heart even though Hi had frankly assured him that The Pilot was "a demon," and could "give him points." Bill had great confidence in Hi's opinion upon baseball, but he was not prepared to surrender his right of private judgment in matters theological, so he waited for the sermon before committing himself to any enthusiastic approval.This service was an undoubted success.The singing was hearty, and insensibly the men fell into a reverent attitude during prayer.The theme, too, was one that gave little room for skepticism.It was the story of Zaccheus, and story-telling was Moore's strong point.The thing was well done.Vivid portraitures of the outcast, shrewd, converted publican and the supercilious, self-complacent, critical Pharisee were drawn with a few deft touches.A single sentence transferred them to the Foothills and arrayed them in cowboy garb.
Bill was none too sure of himself, but Hi, with delightful winks, was indicating Bruce as the Pharisee, to the latter's scornful disgust.The preacher must have noticed, for with a very clever turn the Pharisee was shown to be the kind of man who likes to fit faults upon others.Then Bill, digging his elbows into Hi's ribs, said in an audible whisper:
"Say, pardner, how does it fit now?"
"You git out!" answered Hi, indignantly, but his confidence in his interpretation of the application was shaken.When Moore came to describe the Master and His place in that ancient group, we in the Stopping Place parlor fell under the spell of his eyes and voice, and our hearts were moved within us.That great Personality was made very real and very winning.Hi was quite subdued by the story and the picture.Bill was perplexed; it was all new to him; but Bruce was mainly irritated.To him it was all old and filled with memories he hated to face.At any rate he was unusually savage that evening, drank heavily and went home late, raging and cursing at things in general and The Pilot in particular--for Moore, in a timid sort of way, had tried to quiet him and help him to his horse.
"Ornery sort o' beast now, ain't he?" said Hi, with the idea of comforting The Pilot, who stood sadly looking after Bruce disappearing in the gloom.
"No! no!" he answered, quickly, "not a beast, but a brother.""Brother! Not much, if I know my relations!" answered Hi, disgustedly.
"The Master thinks a good deal of him," was the earnest reply.
"Git out!" said Hi, "you don't mean it! Why," he added, decidedly, "he's more stuck on himself than that mean old cuss you was tellin'
about this afternoon, and without half the reason."But Moore only said, kindly, "Don't be hard on him, Hi," and turned away, leaving Hi and Bill gravely discussing the question, with the aid of several drinks of whisky.They were still discussing when, an hour later, they, too, disappeared into the darkness that swallowed up the trail to Ashley Ranch.That was the first of many such services.The preaching was always of the simplest kind, abstract questions being avoided and the concrete in those wonderful Bible tales, dressed in modern and in western garb, set forth.Bill and Hi were more than ever his friends and champions, and the latter was heard exultantly to exclaim to Bruce:
"He ain't much to look at as a parson, but he's a-ketchin' his second wind, and 'fore long you won't see him for dust."
