Collection 1997 - End Of The Drive (v5.0) Read Online Free Page B

his first meeting.
    There must’ve been three hundred people out there on that green mountainside when Brother Elisha called his flock together. Nobody knew how the word got around, but suddenly everybody was talking about it and most of them went out of curiosity.
    By all accounts Brother Elisha turned out to be a Hell-and-damnation preacher with fire and thunder in his voice, and even there in the meeting house while the reverend talked we could hear those mighty tones rolling up against the rock walls of the mountains and sounding in the canyons as Brother Elisha called on the Lord to forgive the sinners on the Great Day coming.
    Following Sunday I was in church again, but there was nobody there but old Ansel Greene’s widow who mumbled to herself and never knew which side was up…except about money. The old woman had it, but hadn’t spent enough to fill a coffee can since old Ansel passed on.
    Just the two of us were there, and the reverend looked mighty down in the mouth, but nonetheless he got up in the pulpit and looked down at those rows of empty seats and announced a hymn.
    Now I am one of these here folks who don’t sing. Usually when hymns are sung I hang onto a hymnal with both hands and shape the words and rock my head to the tune, but I don’t let any sound come out. But this time there was no chance of that. It was up to me to sing or get off the spot, and I sang. The surprise came when right behind me a rich baritone rolled out, and when I turned to look, it was Brennen.
    Unless you knew Brennen this wouldn’t mean much. Once an Orangeman, Brennen was an avowed and argumentative atheist. Nothing he liked better than an argument about the Bible, and he knew more about it than most preachers, but he scoffed at it. Since the reverend had been in town his one great desire had been to get Brennen into church, but Brennen just laughed at him, although like all of us he both liked and respected the reverend.
    So here was Brennen, giving voice there back of me, and I doubt if the reverend would have been as pleased had the church been packed. Brennen sang, no nonsense about it, and when the responses were read, he spoke out strong and sure.
    At the door the reverend shook hands with him. “It is a pleasure to have you with us, Brother Brennen.”
    â€œIt’s a pleasure to be here, Reverend,” Brennen said. “I may not always agree with you, Parson, but you’re a good man, a very good man. You can expect me next Sunday, sir.”
    Walking up the street, Brennen said, “My ideas haven’t changed, but Sanderson is a decent man, entitled to a decent attendance at his church, and his congregation should be ashamed. Ashamed, I say!”
    Brennen was alone in his saloon next day. Brother Elisha had given an impassioned sermon on the sinfulness of man and the coming of the Great Day, and he scared them all hollow.
    You never saw such a changed town. Ralston, who spoke only two languages, American and profane, was suddenly talking like a Baptist minister at a Bible conference and looking so sanctimonious it would fair turn a man’s stomach.
    Since Brother Elisha started preaching, the two emptiest places in town were the church and the saloon. Nor would I have you thinking wrong of the saloon. In my day in the West, a saloon was a club, a meeting place, a forum, and a source of news all put together. It was the only place men could gather to exchange ideas, do business, or hear the latest news from the outside.
    And every day Brother Elisha went up the mountain.
    One day when I stopped by the saloon, Brennen was outside watching Brother Elisha through his field glasses.
    â€œIs he prayin’?” I asked.
    â€œYou might say. He lifts his arms to the sky, rants around some, then he disappears over the hill. Then he comes back and rants around some more and comes down the hill.”
    â€œI suppose he has to rest,” I said. “Prayin’ like