hese
men were coming towards him, he resumed his position on the plow-handles
and waited for them. As the two men drew near, he recognized in them the
familiar features of Deacon Brown and Deacon Jones.

CHAPTER III

Jake Benton was a member of Mount Olivet Church and had been for
twenty-seven years. Jake was a man of ordinary natural intelligence, but
like most of his neighbors was utterly ignorant as far as literary
training is concerned. He naturally had deep religious sentiments. Under
proper teaching he doubtless would have pressed his way into a genuine
experience of salvation and would have lived a consistent Christian
life, but under the unwholesome teachings of Mount Olivet he had given
himself over to a mighty religious drift and had drifted far away from
God and was completely destitute of redeeming grace. Oh, to be sure, he
testified regularly at the church services and gave of his limited means
toward the church's support, but he was a man of uncontrollable temper
and was well versed in the art of old-fashioned fist-fighting. But his
profession had become a burden to him, and he had often wondered if
there were no possibility of extracting some joy out of the juiceless
lemon of his profession.

Now, it so happened one summer that Deacon Cramps had a large drove of
cattle ranging on the hills about thirty miles to the southeast of Mount
Olivet community. This drove of cattle consisted of a thousand head, and
it became necessary that the Deacon employ some trustworthy person to
herd the cattle and prevent them from scattering, or being stolen by
cattle-thieves who sometimes visited that section. Since Jake Benton was
known as an upright man and was a brother in the church, Deacon Cramps
offered him the position. Out of pure financial necessity Jake accepted.

This was some years before the rubber-tired automobile had invaded the
flint hills of this section and thirty miles meant hours of toilsome
travel. Thus it was necessary that Jake take along a camping outfit and
remain all summer. This he decided to do. Many and long were the hours
that Jake spent in this lonely mountain retreat. For miles around there
was little sign of human activity. No sound of woodman's ax was heard.
The stillness of the long summer afternoons was broken only by the
tinkling of the bells on the hillsides. A lone log cabin lifted its
mud-chinked walls from the brow of a hill from under which flowed a
babbling stream of cl