He rode in to Santa Fe one summer day on a broken-down, sweaty nag.
All he owned was the clothes on his back and the Bible in his saddle bag.
He wore a suit of black, an old slouch hat, both so dusty and frayed.
He was an itinerant preacher man by the name of Jeremiah Slade.
Beneath his well-worn duds he wore a brace of pistols on his hips,
With the 'sinners' in towns he occasionally enjoyed a couple-a nips!
His District Superintendent took a very dim view of his associations,
Warnin' that it might lead him into very injudicious temptations!
He dismounted, hitched his hoss and brushed the dust from his suit,
And strolled to Clancy's Saloon, well-known as a house of ill-repute!
He sauntered up to the bar and pointed to a jug of whiskey on the shelf,
Sayin', "Bartend, hand me that bottle. I'll pour three-fingers fer myself!"
He leaned with his back to the bar surveyin' the riotous scene before him.
The debauchery he viewed indicated reapin' souls looked mighty grim,
But he drawed his guns and hammered the butts on the bar fer attention!
"By Gawd!" he thundered, "I intend to clean up this place is my intention!"
With that the dancin', brawlin' and gamblin' came to an abrupt cease!
"Now, I want y'all to find Jesus and give each other the kiss of peace!"
Forty-two souls searched and found Him that day in Clancy's Saloon!
He praised the Lord, sayin', "That's a purty good haul and it ain't even noon!"
The new saints were shoutin' "Hallelujah!" and he roared, "Now hold on there!
I remind y'all I don't preach fer nothin' and if'n y'all would care to share,
I'll pass the hat and as Jesus said, ''Tis better to give than to receive!"
He gave some to the bartend, sayin' "Set 'em up!" With that he took his leave!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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