CONTENTS

ABOUT THIS BOOK

"WHY don't we see any miracles like that today?" questioned Mildred. "If God is 'the same yesterday, and today, and forever,' why doesn't He perform such wonders now?" Thus in a Bible history class in an academy, a teacher and his pupils discussed Christ's miracles.

In reply to Mildred's question, the teacher told of the miracles of modern missions, of the transforming of men and women by the miracle-working power of the gospel.

Then another hand was raised and Harold spoke. "Yes, I know we hear these stories," said he, "but it seems so distant and vague. Nineteen hundred years back in history is a long time ago, and across the Pacific Ocean is a long distance. I wish that I knew of someone who has been changed by the gospel. It would make these stories of the miracles of Jesus more real to me."

The teacher was about to speak when the bell announced the close of the class period and brought the discussion to an end. But the unanswered question did not vanish. All day long that instructor turned it over in his mind, seeking for an answer to satisfy these young people. He fell asleep that night with the query still unanswered. The answer came when he wakened in the morning. Had there not come into his life the dramatic portrayal of the matchless love and unbounding lonesuffering of the Master in the life of his own father, and in addition the experience of one who was transformed from an archcriminal into a child of the King?

The next morning the teacher briefly told his class a story that had come close to his own life. And before the bell rang again, bringing the class to a close, Mildred raised her hand and said, "Thank you. I know that this has been hard for you to tell, but it has made the power of Jesus more real to me."

In that moment this book was born. It is the earnest desire of the writer that this story may be the means of helping other young people find the power of the Man of Galilee for themselves.

The Author

Governor Frank Steunenberg, Sr.

"Open, sincere, modest and unassuming, he was, in his purposes and plans, as inflexible as honor itself. Rugged in body, resolute in mind, almost massive in the strength of his convictions, he was of the granite hewn."--Senator William E. Borah, from funeral oration.

Chapter 1

From the Land of the Wooden Shoes

"How was the fishing today, Jan?" "Oh, good, very good," replied the youthful fisherman as he opened the side gate that led to the garden of one of the most attractive homes of Utrecht, Holland.

Jan Keppel, the son of a Holland fisherman, was a hard-working, upright youth. He possessed a good singing voice and great skill in whistling. At social gatherings he was always welcome, and often provided more than his share of the entertainment.

Arriaantje Pellicon, who stood by the gate, was the daughter of a wealthy Utrecht family. Much to the displeasure of her father, a strong attachment had developed between the youthful fish peddler and the beautiful daughter. The sturdy old Dutchman had forbidden her to see Jan or to buy his fish. But Jan was of typical stubborn Dutch stock and his lady love also had inherited an ample amount of her father's determination. The friendship ripened into courtship in spite of the threats and commands of father Pellicon.

"Dare we do it, my Arriaantje?" whispered Jan one evening.

"Yes, we dare," answered the breathless maiden as she gave a little click on the clean stone pavement with her wooden shoe.

Love found the way, and in time Arriaantje's father forgot his anger and welcomed Jan, his son-in-law. The match proved to be a happy one, for the aristocratic girl demonstrated that she was ready to work hard and make sacrifices incident to the rearing of eleven children.

The middle of the nineteenth century saw streams of immigrants cross the Atlantic to the New World. As the ships pulled away from the dock they rocked Jan's little fishing boat with their mighty waves. The fisherman would stand with his hand shielding his eyes, gazing with deep longing after the vessels sailing westward. His own neighbors and friends were often among the throngs on the decks waving farewell to the fisherman of Utrecht. Arriaantje was quick to catch the meaning of the faraway look in her husband's eyes, but love of the ancestral home and a satisfied feeling of security filled her heart with fear for such an adventure into a strange new country.

Letters from the New World painted pictures of opportunity and advantage undreamed of in the land of dikes and windmills. Jan's enthusiasm was contagious. In time the older children caught the spirit, so that America became the main topic of conversation around the dinner table.

Then came that never-to-be-forgotten evening in January, 1847. "Children," said the mother with deep feeling, "since you and father want to move to America, I will go. Let us get ready as soon as possible." One can well imagine what the announcement did to that supper hour!

Morning found Jan and the eldest boy Teunis at the steamship office seeking information concerning fares and passage.

"Yes, passage is available," assured the ticket agent. Then they visited the customs office and immigration officials. Passage was arranged and in a matter of weeks the day of departure arrived. One can almost hear the clatter of wooden shoes as a dozen pairs of flying feet hastened here and there in the final hours of packing. The large family knew how to work, and you may be sure father and mother Keppel and their children were not late for the boat. Now it was Jan's turn to look down on the little fishing boats dotting the harbor. From the vantage point of the prow of a powerful ship he gazed at the sea, the place where he had earned his livelihood. The elder children of the Keppel family had often accompanied their father in his little fishing craft, so boat and sea motion were not new to them. But the majesty of an ocean liner and the fact that they were moving to a new country thrilled every heart. Sadness of farewell vanished as the limitless expanse of ocean beckoned them on.

Not long after leaving their homeland one of the younger children became ill. Tenderly mother Keppel watched over the fevered little one day and night. Many willing hands volunteered for service; but all to no avail. Quietly the stricken child died in her mother's arms. The next day the boat stopped for a few moments as crew and passengers gathered on the deck, and after a brief service of the Dutch Reformed Church, of which the immigrant family were members, the little body was lowered into the sea. The break in the family circle was keenly felt; but there were the living, so they pressed together a little closer and with brave hearts looked ahead.

America! America! the land of opportunity! Straining eyes beheld with eager interest the rapidly changing scenes as the boat made its way up the muddy Mississippi River to Kansas City. Here the gangplank was lowered and strangers in the New World set foot ashore.

Jan and the two older boys, Teunis and Albert, spent several days buying and equipping oxen and a covered wagon. Then, in real pioneer style, they moved northward along the great river to Keokuk, Iowa. This was two years before the forty-nine gold rush to California, and traveling pioneers walked or bounced along in springless wagons behind placid oxen. Cornelia and Nancy, aged thirteen and fourteen, walked the entire distance.

The frugal, hardworking family immediately set about to learn how to live among all the sights and sounds of the New World. They liked the bigness of the country and its spirit of adventure.

Ideals are like stars; you will not succeed in touching them with your hands. But like the seafaring man on the desert of waters, you choose them as your guides, and following them you will reach your destiny.—Carl Schurz.

CHAPTER II

How the Mortgage Was Paid

FOUR years before the arrival of the Keppels in Iowa, two Dutch boys, Bernardus and William Steunenberg, of Holten, Holland, joined the westward movement to America. As they were unable to speak English, they were often taken advantage of by those who employed them. However, the same persevering spirit that had strengthened them for the migration in the first place, carried them over the rough spots of the first years and helped them build solidly for the future.

Bernardus was a shoemaker, and as a young man he became noted for his skill and workmanship. The Steunenbergs and the Keppels had lived about twenty miles apart in Holland, but it took America to bring them together. The young shoemaker enrolled in the Michigan infantry and saw service in the Mexican War. He was mustered out in July, 1848. Four years later he married Cornelia Keppel, and they made their home, first in Keokuk and later in Knoxville, where six of their ten children were born. In spite of the fact that Bernardus was an excellent craftsman the financial burden of six sons and four daughters bore heavily on him. The boys were big fellows; each grew to be more than six feet in height.

The fourth child of Cornelia and Bernardus Steunenberg, Frank, was born during the Civil War. He was tall, strong, and inclined to do a great deal of teasing. During his late teens he apprenticed himself to the publisher of the Knoxville Register and learned the printer's trade. As years passed he became fired with the ambition to obtain more education than the schools of Knoxville afforded. The Iowa Agricultural College, as it was then called, was located at Ames. As many of his schoolmates had gone there to continue their education, he was determined to follow them. He worked nights, saving every penny possible. With the meager wages of that day it took him two years to reach his goal; but how thrilled he was to have two hundred dollars in the bank! His mother would have been proud of him, had she known, but she had died when he was younger.

In the area around Knoxville a large number of Dutch emigrants made their homes, and it was only natural that there should be intermarriage among them. Family gatherings and extended visits were frequent. Family reunions were almost religiously celebrated. Sometimes several generations would be present at once to join in the play, chatter, and reminiscences of the past.

It was on one such occasion that Frank became interested in brown-eyed Evelyn Belle, a descendant of the Keppel family. Passing years strengthened the friendship, and the young printer began shaping his plans for the future. He was adept in the printing business, and he felt that a couple of years at college would place him on vantage ground for life.

One evening, a few days before school opened, father Steunenberg came home from the shoe factory greatly agitated. To the inquiring family he broke the news that on the morrow the mortgage was due on their home, and that the two hundred dollars with which he had planned to pay the obligation had failed to materialize. The family were sober as they sat around the supper table, bewildered by the blow.

Without finishing his supper, Frank left the table and went out to walk alone under the harvest moon. How the dreams and plans of the future struggled for supremacy over the problems and duties of the present. As he walked and meditated, his steps became more firm and rapid as his decision began to take shape. Yes, he would do his part. Then suddenly he stopped. The vision of the worried and perplexed family had absorbed his whole thought, but now it shifted to Evelyn Belle and his dreams for the future.

Before the family went to bed, Frank quietly entered the living room where his father and questioning brothers and sisters had tried to occupy themselves. Every eye eagerly scanned the face of the printer, looking for some answer. Quickly retiring to his own room, Frank wrote on a little pad. Every eye was upon him as the lanky youth rejoined the family circle and walked directly to his father. He placed the note in his father's hand, and the sturdy old Hollander read the message. Mist filled his eyes as he made out the name of the local bank and saw the two hundred dollar figure on the right-hand side of the check.

The next morning life went on as usual about the home. Frank was on time at the print shop, and as he took up his type stick he realized he was just where he had been two years before. His Savings were gone, and his plans were broken. Nevertheless he was happy and at peace with the world.

Winter passed, and spring found Frank with sufficient funds to see him through a summer term at college. What a grand day it was when he stepped onto the campus! Yes, he was rather shabbily dressed compared with many other students. His suitcase was old, and he did not own an overcoat; but he was determined to learn. As a dry sponge takes up water, so he absorbed his books. Often during the months that followed he did janitor work in the halls and classrooms, or he split wood or carried coal. Much of the time he boarded himself. By such thrift and industry he was able to spend several terms at Ames.

When he returned home he applied for a job on the Knoxville Register. Of course he was welcomed, and he soon had half ownership of the paper. Evelyn Belle was waiting for him, and their wedding day came.

Business prospered and so did Frank's family, for in two years a baby boy brought happiness to their home.

The land of the heart is the land of the West.--George P. Morris.

CHAPTER III

The Call of the West

AMBITIOUS youth was soon attracted by rumors of opportunity in the West. Frank's younger brother, Albert, also a printer, was already on the western slope of the Rockies, and the enthusiasm of his frequent letters stirred the Steunenberg family.

However, caution made Frank pause and analyze the prospects. His associations as part owner of the Knoxville Register were happy and profitable. He was comfortably situated, and there was the baby, now seven months old. Did he dare to thrust his family into the pioneer life of the rugged mountains, or sagebrush- and jackrabbit-infested plains of the territory of Idaho? Would the compensations be worth the effort and risk? At length Frank decided to go and scout the "promised land" for himself.

One cold January morning the "Cannon Ball," as the train was humorously called, pulled into the station of Caldwell, Idaho. It was a cattle town, growing up in a salt-grass, alkali valley of what was destined to become Canyon County, Idaho. Much to Frank's dismay he found that brother Albert had not refrained from exaggerating when he had described the West. However, there were compensating features, for the country was new and vigorous. Wiring his wife in Iowa for counsel, Frank was cheered to receive a reply that was characteristic of her: "Where my husband chooses to live, there I shall be." The decision was made, and the Caldwell Tribune became the property of the Steunenberg brothers. By the time Frank returned to Iowa, most of the disposable items had been sold and the rest had been packed for the westward migration.

What a train trip it was! To be sure, it was a tremendous improvement over the covered wagon of a half century earlier, but crude in comparison to the luxurious streamliners of today. The father, mother, and baby found quarters in an "immigrant car." It was an undecorated affair with few windows, board benches, and rickety tables. Heat was provided by a potbellied stove in one corner of the car, when the passengers were ambitious enough to fire it.

the bare floor, that is, when there was room; for passengers who were going only short distances often pressed into the car until there was scarcely room to sit, let alone Sleep. Other accommodations were in keeping with these. Water was handy in a large open pail if it had not spilled when the train lurched on the uneven rails.

For seven days and nights the bolting train crept across the plains, up into the l)buffalo country, and finally across the continental divide. The day came when the cars were shunted onto the tracks of the Oregon Short Line, and, at length, the train pulled to a stop in Caldwell.

Like most frontier towns of its day, Caldwell, Idaho, was a small community. There were some twenty buildings where the cattlemen and sheepmen, the picturesque cowboys, and the stoop-shouldered miners came to do business or seek entertainment. The free life of pioneer communities was emphasized by the many saloons and their accompanying evils.

There was much to do in the new territory, so the Steunenbergs set to work arranging their new home and entering into the life of the community. "Being a man of untiring energy, of winning personality, and of unimpeachable character," as one Idaho citizen said concerning Frank, "he soon became very popular in the community in which he lived." Later he served as mayor of the thriving little city.

In a few years the agitation that Idaho be accepted into the sisterhood of states stirred the territory. A constitutional convention was called and the printer of Caldwell was chosen to represent his community. He served so well as a member of this body that his constituents chose him to represent them as a member of the first legislature after Idaho gained Statehood.

During the years that followed, Frank Steunenberg was chosen by his party to run for the office of governor, and in 1897 he was elected its fourth governor by 8o per cent of the voters.

* * * * *

The state of Idaho has rather oddly shaped boundaries. It is nestled between the continental divide and the coast states. Lying on the western slope of the Rockies, the state has a narrow northern corridor extending to Canada. The eastern part of the state parallels the backbone of the continental divide. This high, rugged, timber-covered expanse, filled with lofty peaks and spreading valleys, has been characterized as "The Gem of the Mountains."

Nature favored this mountain country with fabulous deposits of mineral wealth, which was buried deep beneath the forest-covered slopes. In the country of the Coeur d'Alenes, as it is sometimes called, is scenic beauty to inspire any poet. In the early days of prospecting, this picturesque region saw much mining. The prospector plied his pick and panned his diggings, and as the surface deposits disappeared, men dug deeper. They formed companies and bought suitable machinery to mine the ore. The workmen organized themselves into groups for mutual benefit and pleasure. The isolated, rugged nature of the region seemed to react unhappily on many of its inhabitants, for the name Coeur d'Alene became synonymous with violence and bloodshed.

It was not unusual for armed men to break into the home of one against whom they carried a grudge, pull him from his bed, and force him to flee bruised, bleeding, and unclad into the midnight cold. Sometimes the victims were beaten and slain as wives and children looked on in terror. There were occasions when a score of men would fight an open battle, and the streets of the narrow mining towns became fields of strife. Such a condition went on for several years. Law officers were either bought off or frightened into inactivity. They seemed powerless to control the uprisings. State executives were concerned over affairs in the northern part of Idaho, but because of its isolation they despaired of controlling it. A lawless element was bent on a "reign of terror."

"O! what authority and show of truth can cunning sin cover itself withal!"--Shakespeare

CHAPTER IV

Stealing a Train

"WELL, Tommy, what do you think of that? The morning train has backed up Spur Four and is stopped at the powder house of Helena Frisco."

"Sure enough, Jack, there it is. That's strange, though, for the train should be miles down the track by this time. Let's go over and see what's up."

This was the morning of April 30, 1899; and two small boys in the mining town of Burke had discovered the unusual actions of the morning freight train. Had they been near the railroad shop a few miles up the track only a half hour earlier they would have had the answer to their questions. The train crew had been preparing for the day's run down the valley when they were suddenly surprised by a gang of masked men carrying guns. The assailants rushed out from behind a warehouse and took possession of the train. The engineer was forced at gun point to climb into the engine cab and start the train. The masked men took positions of advantage on the train and held the crew prisoners.

That was the reason why the train, after a brief stop at Gem, had not proceeded on its regular way, but had backed up to the powder house. Two of the masked men shattered the heavy locks and bars that secured the door and pried it open with a crowbar. Other men joined the robbers in stealing eighty boxes of dynamite from the warehouse and loading it into one of the freight cars.

This accomplished, the bandits gave the signal and the engineer opened the throttle and sent the train down the valley to the town of Wallace. Here almost a thousand men were waiting for its arrival. As the train pulled in, the miners climbed into boxcars and on flatcars, and in less than ten minutes the train was again on its way down the valley.

Some twenty miles ahead was Kellogg, another center of mining activity. Here the Bunker Hill and Sullivan Mining Company owned extensive mining properties and operated a large mine and concentrating mill. This company employed many men in its operations. It paid top wages, and hired men without respect to creed, politics, or organization membership; but it consistently refused to have any part

in the strife and bloodshed of the region. The train was forced to a stop at a little clearing about a half mile from Kellogg. The men jumped from the train and, armed with rifles and revolvers, started for the mine. From somewhere a barrel of whisky had been obtained, and the alcohol set the mob into a greater frenzy.

About two hundred and fifty armed men formed ranks like a company of soldiers and led the mob up the slope toward the Bunker Hill and Sullivan concentrating mill. As the men neared the structure they separated into three groups and approached from as many directions. The owners of the mill had been warned of the attack and had sought to avoid bloodshed by abandoning the plant. Consequently the attackers found no resistance and they soon had guards with guns at strategic points, taking complete control of the plant and the surrounding premises.

The men, women, and children of Kellogg fled up the steep slopes of the mountain, hiding behind rocks, brush, and trees. Soon eighty men who had remained at the train came to the mill, each carrying .a fifty-pound box of dynamite on his shoulder. The explosives were skillfully placed in three nests among the foundation timbers of the plant. Then all but three members of the mob retired to a safe distance.

There was the cry, "Fire! fire!" as matches lighted the fuses. For a moment all was silent, and then two tons of dynamite exploded.

A wail arose from the hidden watchers, while shouts came from the drunken mob. When the smoke had cleared away, all that was left of the $3oo,ooo concentrating mill was a heap of twisted iron, crumbled brick, and splintered wood.

'The lawless mob found two employees near the scene and commanded them to run for their lives. Before they had a chance to go far, rifles spat and the luckless runners fell dying to the ground.

'Who was the leader of this desperate mob? Where did he come from? How long had he been there?

CHAPTER V

A Quaker From Canada

IN THE year i866, a Quaker home in Northumberland County, near Toronto, Canada, was made happy by the arrival of a blue-eyed baby boy who was named Albert. There were eight children in the family, happy boys and girls, who grew to manhood and womanhood under the influence of a strong father and a devoted Christian mother.

Their influence was not lost on Albert, for he attended religious services regularly and became a probationary member of one of the Protestant churches of the community. The young man remained at home until he was twenty, and then he decided to start life on his own. He established a cheese factory in the dairy country where he lived.

In spite of the religious influences of his early years, evil habits and evil associations made inroads on the youth's character. He was ambitious and hardworking, and for a time he prospered. He married a Christian girl and together they established a home. Gambling and card playing fascinated Albert; but since times were good and business was prospering, he was able to finance his folly. Then a baby girl came to the home and the future looked promising.

Financial reverses came suddenly, and prosperity turned to loss. In spite of his careless habits and the pressure of financial problems, Albert maintained an honest business. But one day after a customer left his cheese factory Albert realized he had knowingly cheated the buyer by short-weighting the purchase. He was startled; but he comforted himself with the thought that business would soon be better and then he would make up the stolen amount. However, before the day was over he had cheated another customer. Days passed, and the deliberate stealing increased in frequency. The voice of conscience grew fainter in Albert, and cheating became the order of the day.

Months later, on a moonless night, he crept through the streets of the Canadian town with a can of kerosene in one hand and a bundle of excelsior in the other. Hurriedly he unlocked the door of his failing factory, set fire to it, and ran from the scene of his crime. Albert collected eight hundred dollars insurance, and a short time later he deserted his wife and baby, leaving the country with a woman who was not his wife.

Deeper and deeper he plunged into lawlessness, bloodshed, and crime. Bigamy, arson, robbery, and even cold-blooded murder became commonplace in the life of this once respected man. He had begun with little sins, but the seeds had grown and multiplied in his life.

Once an artist drew a picture that aptly illustrates this experience. A young man played with a little snake, allowing it to wind around his finger and twist about his hand. As the serpent grew it was able to encircle his arm, and in time his whole body. His friends warned him of the danger, but he scorned their entreaties. Came the day when the little snake now grown to a huge reptile, crushed its owner in a viselike grip. Neither his cries nor his appeals for help could save him. So it was with Albert; he had played with crime too long and he could not break from it now.

It was Albert who had guarded the dynamite car that morning at Wallace, Idaho. He had led the mob up the hill, and he had lighted one of the dynamite fuses. He had lived for two years in this lawless territory, apparently feeling at home with kindred spirits of disorder and bloodshed. For a time he operated a woodyard, and later he was employed as a mucker in the mines. In time he came to be a leader in lawlessness and violence. Using more cunning than most of his associates, he slipped away from the crime and by nightfall of that fatal day he was across the border in the state of Montana.

CHAPTER VI

Stop That Reign of Terror

IDAHO'S Governor, Frank Steunenberg, was sick in bed when the telegram arrived announcing the destruction of life and property in the Kellogg riot. How should he cope with such a situation? There were three choices. The experiences of his predecessors suggested that he ignore the tragedy and do nothing. Again, he wondered if he should send a message of censure and regret to the Coeur d'Alene county sheriff and let it go at that; or, should he make a full-scale effort to restore law and order to this terror-stricken section of the state? Such was the challenge to the governor, confined to his bed with a high fever.

Though perhaps he was not aware of it, lesser challenges in past days had prepared him for this hour. The sacrifice he made in giving his money to save the family home, and his decision to accept the hardships of pioneering in the West, had made their contribution to his life and had helped prepare him for this crisis. From Governor Steunenberg went forth a strong and vigorous order to punish the crime and restore peace. Being unable to go himself, he appointed state auditor, Bartlett Sinclair, as his personal representative, with power to declare martial law in the lawless region.

The Idaho militia was engaged in helping fight the war against Spain. Therefore the governor telegraphed President William McKinley for federal troops in Idaho's crisis. The request was granted. General Mirriam was appointed commanding officer and with characteristic military dispatch, quickly gathered United States soldiers from the forts at Walla Walla, Washington, Boise, Idaho, and Missoula, Montana.

CHAPTER VII

The Master Killer

WORKING at odd jobs here and there, Albert and a companion drifted southward through Montana. Summer found them in Wyoming and in early autumn they crossed into Colorado. Albert soon found himself in the rich Cripple Creek mining area. Here he made new friends, but the same law-defying spirit he had possessed in Idaho cropped out in great strength. He had already gained notoriety as a ruthless dynamiter and killer; consequently it was not long until he came directly in contact with the ringleaders of violence that had blighted the mining regions for many years.

The Quaker lad from Canada had drifted so low that he was hardened to all types of crime. In him the gangster bosses found the instrument they had been seeking. Quickly they took him into their councils and hired him to engineer more bloodshed and destruction. Well-supplied with money, and equipped with bombs, guns, and dynamite, Albert went where the bosses indicated, leaving a trail of murder, destruction, and sorrow behind him.

One of his assignments was to take the life of Governor Peabody of Colorado. The statesman's vigorous prosecution of lawless elements in his state had kindled the anger of the gang and they determined to slay him. Albert shadowed his victim diligently for days, but when he could not find sufficient opportunity for his deed, he went on to other tasks.

On another occasion the master killer was directed to take the life of an eminent jurist, Judge Goddard, of Colorado. Following his usual custom, Albert shadowed his victim until he became sufficiently acquainted with his habits to plan the attack. But his plans did not succeed and the judge escaped death.

Later he was directed to kill Fred Bradley, president of the Bunker Hill and Sullivan Company, who lived in San Francisco. He attempted to poison his victim with strychnine placed in milk bottles, but the cook caught the unnatural bitter tinge and poured the milk down the sink drain.

Frustrated in the poisoning attempt, the killer devised a more violent approach. He made a bomb filled with high explosives and at night laid it on the steps of the Bradley apartment. The next morning he set the bomb off. The front of the apartment was wrecked and Mr. Bradley was left bruised and bleeding, but still alive. He was rushed to a hospital where in time he recovered. The owner of the apartment house sued the gas company, which he charged was responsible for the blast, and received judgment for five thousand dollars.

Albert's most deadly assignment was staged in the mining town of Independence, Colorado. One cold winter night he waited in an empty warehouse, a string in his hand. One end of the string was attached to a bomb hidden under the railroad station a short distance away. When the midnight train rumbled in, Albert jerked the line. Within seconds the tracks, the station, and the train were smoking heaps of debris. In that explosion fourteen men died.

The youthful church member had become an archcriminal, the respected cheese merchant of Canada, a master killer. A soul whose Eden ancestors were created in the image of God had degenerated into a companion of demons to whom he had yielded his body and soul.

Such was the life of this youth, once dedicated to God, but now devoted to crimes of the worst sort. The seeds of sin were beginning to be reaped.

The world abounds with laws, and teems with crimes.--Junius.

CHAPTER VIII

The Tiger Trails Its Prey

FRANK STEUNENBERG, freed from the overwhelming worries and executive problems that had burdened him, now entered with characteristic enthusiasm into his personal business affairs at Caldwell. He was acquainted with many leaders of national reputation, who helped him in his efforts for progressive development of the West. Many extensive irrigation projects that have recreated the arid sagebrush plains can be traced to his genius and organizing ability.

In addition to being president of a bank and co-- publisher of the local paper, he staked out a claim of four hundred acres of sagebrush land. With his own hands and a Water pail he set out the number of acres in maple, ash, and box-elder trees that the government stipulated homesteaders should plant in that region. As years passed he acquired mining properties. He owned hundreds of sheep that grazed on the hills and in the salt grass valleys.

One morning Steunenberg was stunned as he opened his mail to find a threatening, unsigned letter. Could this be someone's crude idea of a practical joke? Or could it be that after nearly six years there were those whose hearts were still bent on murder and violence? In a few days the mail brought another message, more abusive than the first. Evidently there were destructive forces marking him for death.

The ringleaders had again selected Albert to carry out their fiendish plot, and the spring of 1905 saw him registered under the name of Bill Hogan at the Saratoga Hotel in Caldwell, Idaho. He posed as a sheep buyer, and in time he became quite a figure, known for his gambling, drinking, and card playing in the saloons. For weeks he was in and out of town, until he felt himself sufficiently familiar with the place to set to work. Through high-powered binoculars he watched the daily habits of Steunenberg and his family. Frequently he would stroll by the family home or circle the block absorbing any information he could obtain concerning his victim.

On one occasion he found that Steunenberg was planning a business trip to Boise, the state capital, thirty miles away. That night in his hotel room Albert constructed a deadly machine which he concealed in a small suitcase. He boarded the train the next day, and in Boise he registered at the same hotel where the former governor stayed. While Steunenberg was at dinner that evening, the criminal entered his room with a passkey. He carefully set the timing device and placed the bomb under the bed. As he quietly relocked the door, the ticking of the clock that was to set off the charge at midnight, disturbed him. Albert was afraid that the one for whom it was intended might hear it when he went to bed, so he re-entered the room, took the bomb, carried it to the suburbs, and threw it into the Boise River.

Some weeks later he made another deadly machine. Hurrying ahead of Steunenberg as he was returning from the Tribune office to his home, the killer cleverly hid the explosive under a clump of sagebrush by the path. He attached a gray string to the firing device and stretched it across the path. Steunenberg had not gone two blocks before he stepped over the string and was welcomed by his little daughter with widespread arms and a kiss.

Albert retraced his steps, carefully cut the string, picked up the bomb, and walked to a distant wheat field where he hid the weapon in a straw stack. He was perplexed by his continued failure. Was this just bad luck or was there sonic mysterious unseen influence thwarting his purpose? It was now December, and the time limit given him for the accomplishment of the deadly scheme expired with tile closing year.

Albert decided to make his future plans more sure. In a neighboring town he purchased a heavy overcoat and an expensive shotgun. He sawed off the gun barrel to aid him in carrying it concealed. One evening about the middle of the month he emerged from the hotel clad in the overcoat. Since lie was of a short, stocky build, the ample folds covered him and his gun. Making his way to the edge of town he carefully circled the block around Steunenberg's home. Satisfied that he was not observed, lie quietly entered the yard through the back gate and cautiously made his way toward the side of the house. The light from an unshaded window attracted him, and he looked in upon a quiet scene where a mother was gently rocking in her chair, keeping time to the rhythm of her deftly-moving knitting needles. The father was reading the evening paper, while the daughter was cutting out paper dolls. Her five-year-old brother was making an engine with blocks on the floor.

Albert gave a hurried glance about him, nervously unbuttoned his coat and drew out the gun. He stepped closer and raised the weapon for steady aim at the head of the ex-governor. As he braced himself to fire, his finger trembled on the trigger. The little boy left his toy and wormed his way up onto his father's lap, saying, "Daddy, won't you sing to me about Old Uncle Ned ?"

That was too much, even for the hardened criminal. Unnerved for the moment by the unexpected action of the little fellow, and touched by the childish plea, the gangster brought his gun down from his shoulder. He hid it under the front walk and returned to his room at the hotel. Sleep did not come to him readily that night, for time was running out and the mysterious circumstances of his repeated failures filled him with foreboding. However as the closing days of the year approached, Albert collected dynamite, caps, plaster of Paris, fuses, and other items with which he constructed another death-dealing machine. He awaited only a favorable opportunity to use it.

God answers sharp and sudden on some prayers, And thrusts the thing we have prayed for in our face, A gauntlet with a gift in It.--Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

CHAPTER IX

Good and Evil Spirits

AS TO how much the ex-governor was aware of plots to take his life, no one will ever know. For neither by unguarded word nor careless action did he betray to either his family or intimate friends the ever-present danger. Forgetting his fears, if he had any, his life was absorbed in his many business enterprises.

The Steunenbergs were Presbyterians. Even though Frank's mother had died when he was young, the family had been reared in the church, and were regular attendants at Sunday services. With Frank, attending church became an early habit with which he permitted neither pressing business transactions nor urgent state matters to interfere. It seems strange that during all the years he had made neither public confession of his faith nor had he joined a church.

'He was unusually modest as well as upright, honest, and kind. There are thousands who say, "Well, isn't that enough ?" But Jesus said, "He that is not with Me is against Me; and he that gathereth not with Me, scattereth abroad." Matthew 12:30.

About this time the teachings of the Bible as Seventh-day Adventists understand them were brought to Caldwell. Mrs. Steunenberg, who possessed an inquiring mind, was quick to see the simplicity and beauty of following the teachings of the Master. It was not without a struggle that she gave up her Sunday-school class and her other positions of responsibility in the church of which she was a charter member. When she could find no authority for Sunday keeping in the Bible, she decided to follow the example of Jesus, who "went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day." The ex-governor encouraged his wife to be true to her religious convictions, and she joined the Adventist Church. Steunenberg associated freely with the Adventist ministers and members. They were always cordially welcomed to his home. He read extensively in their books and papers and engaged in conversation and discussion of the various points of faith.

Though he said little, those who knew him best were aware of a struggle going on behind those quiet blue eyes. The divine Spirit was pleading with him, and now the real decision faced him, the biggest and the last. Often the setting sun of an Idaho summer day would find him under the cottonwood trees, in deep meditation.

How could he, a man of reputation, one upon whom his state had bestowed its highest gift, turn his back on all that the past had made so precious, and become a seventh-day Sabbath keeper? What would he do about his extensive business interests and partnerships? What would his friends think and say? There had been storm enough when his wife joined the Adventist faith. What tempest would be unleashed against them if he followed her?

The Saturday morning of December thirty dawned windy and cold. Shortly after daylight, snow began to fall, and the wind increased in violence to a blizzard. Few left the comfort of their home firesides that day except as necessity drew them forth.

Steunenberg arose, made the fire, and prepared to do the morning chores. As other members of the family arose and gathered around the warmth of the crackling logs, they observed that the man seemed worried and ill at ease. His wife inquired as to the reason for his mood, and she was startled by the solemn reply, "The good and evil spirits were calling me all night long."

"Don't resist the call of the 'good spirits', papa," she pleaded tenderly. No word was spoken in reply, but his magnetic smile assured her that the great and eternal love of God was conquering him. Straightening up from lacing his shoes, he began to slowly pace the kitchen floor with folded arms. Soon he was singing:

I need Thee every hour,

Most gracious Lord;

No tender voice like Thine

Can peace afford.

Then straight from the broken heart of a contrite sinner came forth the chorus:

I need Thee, O I need Thee!

Every hour I need Thee;

O bless me now, my Saviour!

I come to Thee.

Decision? Yes, this time the decision to follow his Saviour. The call of the "good spirits" had been answered. Jesus had won.

As the family sat down to breakfast, a sharp whistle arose above the storm, announcing the arrival of the morning train. The meal had scarcely been finished before the telephone rang. A business partner who had just arrived in town wished to come out to the house to care for some important business. He was surprised as Steunenberg replied, "No,

George, I will not be available for business matters today. This is our Sabbath, our Sunday, as you would call it. Any other time I will be happy to figure with you."

As the day wore on the storm abated. Since Steunenberg's life insurance had run out, he was not surprised, in spite of the inclemency of the weather, to find the insurance representative at the door. The man was invited in and courteously received, but was soon made to understand that no business matters would be transacted in that home on Saturday.

In the late Sabbath afternoon Steunenberg put on his overcoat and went out to walk in the bracing air. As he was passing the bank of which he was president, a member of the staff called to him. A serious problem had arisen and the bank president was urged to give his counsel in the matter. Kindly but persistently Steunenberg refused to become engaged in the business at hand. He even ignored the entreaties of his brother who was associated with him in the business. After sunset he attended to a few urgent items in town, signed the insurance policy, chatted for a time in the post office, and started home in the gathering darkness.

For some time Albert, with his deadly box hidden under his coat, had been strolling the streets in search of his victim. With morning would come the last day of the old year; he must not miss this time. Spotting Steunenberg in the post office, he watched him intently from the sidewalk across the street. Making certain that his victim was breaking off the conversation with a friend, Albert hurried ahead of the homeward-bound man. Sneaking along the fence, he crouched near the gate, hid the bomb under the fresh snow with the firing cord attached to it, and then quickly stole away. Meanwhile mother Steunenberg and her three children were closing the Sabbath with songs, Scripture verses, and prayer. As darkness came they expected the father and elder brother, who was home from college during the vacation season, to come in at any moment. They were singing:

Day is dying in the west;

Heaven is touching earth with rest ...

A terrific blast shook the house and shattered every window. The entire west side of the dwelling was chipped and splintered, and the gate was ripped and broken. The large mantel clock toppled from its high shelf and landed squarely on Frank Junior, who was lying on his back on a leather couch directly below the clock shelf.

The biting winter wind rushed in through the shattered windows chilling the stunned occupants of the home. The thirteen-year-old daughter was the first to recover. She rushed out of doors, and was the first to behold the devastation. She saw her father, a crimson heap upon the snow. Mother was soon beside her. Dropping down in the snow beside her bleeding husband, she tenderly protected his body from the piercing wind, while the girl ran quickly to the neighbors for help. The mangled form was gently carried into the house. Blankets were nailed over the windows to shut out the cold, and a doctor came without delay.

For twenty minutes the brave heart kept up the unequal struggle, while loving care and medical skill tried to preserve life. But the battle was too much; the odds were too great. Steunenberg's life ebbed slowly away.

Not one knows why the elder son returned home that fateful evening a few minutes after, rather than a few minutes before, his father; or why the keen eyes of the daughter, peering out into the gathering shadows, did not see the sneaking form pause at the gate, then disappear in the darkness. Neither did she see her father nearing the gate, and as her custom was, run to greet him as he entered the yard. But those who were left to mourn knew that there is a God in heaven who allows only that which is best to happen. There was comfort in the assurance that the hand of Providence had shielded the ex-governor again and again from death, until he had determined to follow the example of his Master all the way. The sorrow of that December night is lightened and the burden eased by the confidence that he closed his eyes believing in Jesus Christ as his Saviour.

The funeral services were conducted on the second day of the new year. Friends and relatives from all parts of the nation came to pay tribute to a well-loved citizen, husband, and father. Funeral services were conducted by Pastor Snyder, of the Theology Department of Walla Walla College. He was assisted by William E. Borah, a young Boise attorney, who delivered a masterful memorial address. The remains were laid to rest on top of Old Canyon Hill. The hope of the resurrection comforted the hearts of those who knew him best.

In 1927, friends erected a bronze monument in front of the Statehouse in Boise, as a memorial to the devotion and sacrifice of "The Martyr of Idaho." On the plaque at the base of the monument is inscribed a tribute which is found on the next page.

"When in 1899 organized lawlessness challenged the power of Idaho, he upheld the dignity of the state, enforced its authority, and restored law and order within its boundaries, for which lie was assassinated in 1905. 'Rugged in body, resolute in mind, massive in the strength of his convictions, he was of the granite hewn.' In grateful memory of his courageous devotion to public duty, the people of Idaho have erected this monument."

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friends or of Mine own were; any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for Thee.--john Donne.

CHAPTER X

You Are Arrested

THE instant the explosion split the chill December air, Albert was running breathlessly toward the business section of town and soon was in his hotel room. The news of the murder spread quickly through the town, and hundreds of questioning citizens gathered in the snow-covered streets. The old swinging doors of the Saratoga Hotel groaned a dreary monotone as scores of townfolk pressed in and out of the lobby.

After a few minutes spent in his room, Albert hurried into the lobby wearing a mask of deep concern. As he passed the desk he anxiously inquired of the clerk the reason of the excitement. He mingled among the nervous crowd for a time and then sat down in one of the easy chairs to watch the throngs in the street. Groups of sad-faced citizens clustered together and conversed in subdued tones. Messenger boys, policemen, sheriffs, and other officers were everywhere. Anyone not well known in town was watched and all strangers were questioned. Roads were blocked and guarded, and trains were not permitted to stop even for fuel or water.

Governor Gooding, accompanied by as many state officials as could be quickly gathered, was in the town within an hour. In fact, the engineer made a record run from Boise that night,--forty minutes instead of the usual two hours.

As the night wore on, a plain-clothes man secreted himself in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby. Carefully his trained eyes surveyed the throng. He was about to leave his hiding place, when he noticed that among all the company of people there was only one seated individual. Forgetting the others, the detective directed his attention to a study of the seated figure. After a time he stepped into the lobby, tapped a friend on the shoulder, and motioned him to follow. In the shadows the two men watched and conversed in whispers. By this time Albert was on the edge of his chair, elbows on knees and face in hands, as he gazed through the large window. The two men stepped toward him, took chairs at his side, and engaged him in conversation. He talked freely, speaking of the "dastardly crime" that had been committed. Expressions of sympathy for the bereaved family flowed glibly from his lips. With vehemence he pledged himself to do all he could to bring the criminals to justice.

The plain-clothes men left him and joined other groups in the lobby. Toward midnight Albert left his easy chair, called a good-night greeting to the desk clerk, and went to his room.

The two alert detectives watched him go. From the record at the desk they found that lie had registered as a sheep buyer and had been in and out of town for several months. Sheepmen were contacted and it was found that he had never bought even a wether. Some citizens remembered that he had been seen with men who were bitterly opposed to Steunenberg's methods of restoring order.

The next morning Albert, shaved and groomed, left his room for breakfast. During the meal the man was drawn into a lengthy conversation to give detectives time to search his room. Carefully they went through everything. As they were ready to leave the room, one detective noticed a rumpled place in the corner of the carpet. He carefully rolled back the uneven rug and found a loose board in the floor. Prying the board up with his jackknife he found a cache containing sticks of dynamite, caps, fuses, acid, plaster of Paris, and tools.

The information was guarded with utmost secrecy. Albert was arrested while still at the breakfast table, and was whisked away to the state prison in Boise to avoid an uprising among the townsfolk.

With the suspected prisoner safe behind stone and steel, the Idaho authorities rested easier. Then they began preparing documents charging Albert with the murder of Steunenberg.

CHAPTER XI

The Stone Melts

SOLITARY confinement! Albert found himself in a bare cell, with a cot, table, and one chair.

Those who deal with criminals have found that men placed under such circumstances for a period of time become so depressed and hungry for human companionship that they often break down and talk freely.

For some time the Idaho authorities used this procedure upon the prisoner. He received plain food three times daily, but he was shut off from other persons and not permitted to see or speak to anyone except the guard who passed in food through the slit in the iron door. Then one day a guard unlocked the door and a well-dressed gentleman entered the cell. The prisoner sullenly offered his one chair to the unsolicited caller while he sat on the edge of the cot. James McPharland, a famous detective, had been hired by the Idaho officials to attempt to obtain a confession from Albert. The detective found the prisoner to be a man of more than average intelligence. He would talk little and maintained only silence when mention was made of the crime with which he was charged.

James McPharland was not a man to be easily discouraged. He had been successful in bringing some of America's most notorious criminals to justice. He called regularly at the cell, and he concentrated all his skill and genius on the problem. In time the prisoner began to converse more freely on general topics.

Finally the day came when, after the detective's usual unsuccessful visit, the warden of the prison unlocked the door of the isolated cell and called on the prisoner. The warden held a little book in his hand. "Here," he said, as he handed it to Albert, "this is a book sent to you by the wife of the man you murdered." Albert gazed at the warden speechlessly. Since the prisoner did not move, the officer dropped the little volume on the table and left the cell. The hollow echo of the warden's footsteps died away before the prisoner stirred. At length he reached for the book. Turning it so the light would strike it better, he read the title, Steps to Christ.

With an oath he threw the book to the floor. What did he want to know about Christ? He had not heard that holy name except in cursing for more than twenty years. Like a caged beast he paced back and forth in his narrow quarters, musing to himself, "A book from the widow of the man I murdered." How great was the love of God manifest in the life of this Christian woman!

After a time he picked up the rumpled pages, but as soon as he read the title again, he cursed and tossed it aside. Three times this happened, and then Albert's curiosity mastered him. He opened the soiled book and began to read. Page after page he absorbed, and the love of Jesus Christ began to melt the stony heart of the solitary prisoner. The next day, as Providence would have it, a Bible arrived at the prisoner's cell--a gift from a devout physician, Dr. David Paulson, of Chicago.

Some days later, as detective McPharland was leaving after another unsuccessful visit, he had difficulty in concealing his surprise when the prisoner asked that a minister be permitted to visit him. The next day Bishop Hinks, a godly clergyman of the Methodist Episcopal church, called at the cell. For hours the two men talked together. It seemed that the dungeon atmosphere became radiant, as "the Light of the world" came into the dark heart.

With heartbroken sobs, Albert inquired of his visitor about forgiveness, and the way of salvation. Before that interview closed, the prisoner not only accepted his Saviour, but demonstrated the sincerity of his conversion by confessing all of his terrible crimes. He admitted he was the murderer of Idaho's ex-governor. Where the skill of the expert criminologist had failed, the "still small voice" had broken through and melted the hardened heart.

THE confession of Harry Orchard, for that was J[ the name by which Albert was widely known, broke the seal to a long-closed record. The confession named men, events, and places that were involved in crimes that extended back over more than two decades. Three men who composed the "inner circle" of lawlessness lived in Colorado.

Idaho authorities were of the opinion that efforts to have them arrested and extradited would be unsuccessful. Therefore, in collaboration with the governor of Colorado and with the help of the railroad they decided on a bold move. The three men were arrested one night at the same time, each in his own home in Denver. They were hurried to a special train which pulled out immediately for Idaho.

The arrested men were taken from the cars at Boise, placed behind the walls of the state prison for safekeeping, and charged with the murder of the former governor. Expert and experienced legal counsel was retained for the prosecution of the case, among them Steunenberg's cherished friend, William E. Borah, who by this time had been elected to a seat in the national Senate. He delayed to assume his new responsibilities in Washington, however, until the close of the trial. The parties for the defense were busy also. They hired America's outstanding criminal lawyer, Clarence Darrow, on their staff. More than two hundred men were subpoenaed for jury service. More than fifteen court days were passed in questioning and cross-questioning, challenging and counter-challenging, before a jury of twelve was finally selected.

The hot summer days of 1907 dragged along. Three months were consumed in the trial. Day after day throngs crowded the courtroom to see and hear the star witness. Not until it came from Harry Orchard's lips did the world know the cause of the explosion in San Francisco that nearly killed Fred Bradley. Not until then was found the sawed-off shotgun that he hid under the sidewalk near the Steunenberg home. He told, too, how he had placed the deadly bomb in the railroad station and jerked the string that set off the explosion that night in Independence, Colorado, when fourteen men were slain.

Day after day, week after week, Orchard told his story with steady voice. Consistently he stayed by his story in spite of the violent efforts of the defense attorneys to unnerve and confuse him. He admitted he was responsible for the death of at least twenty of his fellow men.

After the trial, Orchard said, "God helped me to tell the truth the first time, and since it was the truth I never needed to worry about my testimony."

Those two young lawyers, William Borah, and Clarence Darrow, made national reputations for themselves, each in his own way. The sarcasm, skill, wit, and sudden bursts of oratory they cast at each other across that courtroom have seldom been equaled in American courts. Judge Fremont Wood presided over the trial. His was a difficult assignment, but he distinguished himself for his knowledge of legal procedure and his fair play.

As the trial wore on it became plain that other witnesses would be needed to corroborate the testimony of the star witness, who had turned state's evidence and was withholding nothing. In the sheriff of Baker, Oregon, a brave and fearless lawman, the authorities found the testimony they needed. Over the years he had often had occasion to observe and oppose the operations of certain lawless circles. He had gathered much evidence, and was not afraid to testify. But one day as he was leaving his home on his way to the court, he was ambushed, shot, and killed in his own front yard.

The detailed confession of Harry Orchard was beyond challenge. His accurate descriptions of the many crimes in which he had played the major roll dovetailed into the record. Time, places, and events fitted with the history; but that was not enough. These men were on trial for their lives. Idaho law requires that the accused cannot be convicted on the testimony of an accomplice unless there are others to corroborate his story. With the Oregon sheriff dead, the prosecutors searched diligently but unsuccessfully for another witness. There was not another voice that dared to join with the state's star witness in clearing up the bloody history. Consequently the three accused men were eventually set at liberty.

Harry Orchard was sentenced to be hanged. However, in recognition of the valuable service rendered by his detailed and unshaken confession, the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. During the early autumn days of 1907 the converted criminal was placed behind the walls of the Idaho state penitentiary.

CHAPTER XIII

"The Greatest of These Is Love"

SHUT away from the rest of the world by high stone walls and iron bars, Orchard devoted himself to deeper study of the word of God and to a clearer understanding of His will for man.

During the next two years he grew in spiritual understanding and in faith in his Maker. He found that a greater love came to him as he repented of his sins. Thoughtfully he pondered over Steps to Christ and the Bible, as well as copies of the Signs of the Times, which were sent by the former governor's wife. Who are these Adventists, anyway? Are they people who keep Saturday for Sunday? Such questions went through the prisoner's mind. Diligent Bible study by Orchard failed to produce any hint of Scriptural authority for Sunday keeping. From encyclopedias and histories, the earnest searcher found that which others have often been surprised to find: that in the early centuries of the gospel dispensation the great apostasy adopted many of the religious customs of the pagans, accepting them into the church as commands of God.

Since a Sabbath-keeping family was involved in the tragedy, it was only natural that Adventist people in general were interested in the story. Outstanding among these was Dr. J. E. Froom of Boise. He took a deep personal interest in Orchard, and by his wise counsel and encouragement helped the prisoner over many a rough spot in his experience. Pastor W. W. Steward, of the Boise Seventh-day Adventist church, also befriended the convict and was a frequent caller at the prison.

As time passed, the fruits of the Spirit replaced the lusts of the flesh. In the presence of Dr. Froom and his son, LeRoy Edwin, Pastor Steward baptized Orchard and he became a member of the Boise church. Over the years this "modern miracle" has proved to be an inspiration to others. Many a soul cast down in defeat, struggling in the "slough of despond," utterly discouraged and ready to give up the struggle, has been encouraged and strengthened. The heart-warming assurance of a loving Saviour awaits the return of every prodigal. What a wonderful Saviour! What a wonderful salvation, big enough for every man, whether lie be a governor in a state house, or a convict in a prison cell.

There are those who feel bitter toward the Steunenberg family for following the forgiving Master. "How can you do it, Frank, when Governor Steunenberg was your father?" challenged an intimate friend one day. "Do you know an acquaintance of mine asked me only yesterday if you were sane?"

"How can I, a minister of the gospel, who tells others that Jesus can and does forgive sin, kneel by my bedside at night and ask my heavenly Father to forgive my sins while I cherish unforgiveness?" was my reply.

She said, "I see your point, but don't ask me to do it."

Over the years there have been many who have felt that the conversion of Harry Orchard was not genuine, that he was merely pretending goodness to gain leniency. Those who have had opportunity to be closely associated with him or who have known of his prison life are thoroughly convinced as to the genuineness of his experience. The marks of sin were chiseled deeply into that criminal face; but the promise that by beholding we become changed has been granted him in rich measure. One who visits with Orchard is now impressed with the softened features and the radiant glow of Christian living.

For years there has always been present in his little room his much-marked and well-worn Bible. One does not have to visit him long to be aware that he is familiar with its contents and loves its precious message.

At one time a fellow life-timer past eighty years of age lay dying. The warden asked if he would like a minister to call at his bedside. "No thanks, warden," the aged prisoner replied. "Just let Harry Orchard come in. He can outpray any preacher I ever knew."

For many years Orchard had charge of the prison poultry farm and hatchery. He lived in a cabin near the chicken yards in a ravine behind the penitentiary walls. In a garden plot nearby he raised vegetables for his table.

Once two trusties betrayed the confidence of the officials and robbed a service station in the vicinity of the prison. The next day an order was issued declaring that all trusties should return within the walls of the prison at night. That is, all "except Harry Orchard" to quote the order.

Early in his imprisonment it was discovered that Orchard possessed the native ability of a master craftsman. For years he operated his own small shop, and he attained great skill in constructing various types of brushes and other novelties that were sold to visitors at the prison store. Here again his Christianity was demonstrated, for he faithfully supported his wife, and educated his daughter, and regularly paid a tithe on his income.

Inquiring friends often ask, "Well, what do you talk about, anyway, when you go to visit him ?" On one of my visits the deputy warden who accompanied me demonstrated clearly by his actions that he wondered the same thing, for he watched me closely. What did we talk about? Two Christian men saved by the grace of God have much in common. Many of the incidents woven into this narrative have come from these visits. But the major part of our conversation was not of dynamite, murder, and trials; but of the matchless love of Him who has made such wonderful provision for man's salvation.

After listening intently to our conversation for some time, the deputy warden began to relax his vigil. When we both knelt to pray it was too much for the officer. He stepped from the room, leaving me alone with the prisoner. Later, as we walked about the garden, I found the deputy warden waiting there.

The last time I visited the prison and asked to see Orchard, the officer, with a wave of his hand, said, "You know where he is; go on up. Drive your car if you want to."

In 1911 Harry Orchard wrote a letter to my brother who was not at that time a Christian. In pleading with his unconverted heart, he wrote, "Let me tell you that you are standing on dizzy ground until you place your hand in the nail-pierced hand of Christ, and say, 'Lord Jesus, take me as I am and make me what I ought to be."

Who can tell of the effect of this significant plea on my brothers heart? The day came when he gave his heart to Christ.

As I write these lines, Harry Orchard is eighty-six years old and almost blind, but straight of body and in general good health.

Yes, friend, Jesus is the hero of this story. Kneeling in Gethsemane He poured out His heart to His Father. Hardened soldiers hurried Him to the judgment hail; hypocritical priests and governors scoffed, ridiculed, and persecuted Him. Then between heaven and earth He died for you and me. The tomb could not hold Him; for an angel with the authority of heaven called forth the sleeping Son.

Before He ascended to His Fathers house He left this heartening promise, "I will come again, and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also." John 74:3. Christs voice will call forth His sleeping children from their dusty beds, transformed into immortal beings who have proved themselves worthy of eternal life.

The "good and evil spirits" call. They struggle for the heart of every one of us. Have you answered the call of the Saviour and surrendered your life to Gods "greater love"? He can wonderfully change your life, as he did that of the lives of the men of this story, if you will give Him your heart.