that on the label?” It was “Anheuser-Busch,” but I could get neither of them to pronounce it.  I turned up one of the bottles and put it to my lips and told them that it was beer, and that I could take an oath that it was.  Grogan threw up his hands saying:  “Now, Mother Nation, if you get me into trouble I will do something desperate.”  I had visited this man Grogan in jail about a year before this, where he was put for getting drunk and fighting.  I said:  “I do not wish to get either of you in trouble, but want to get you out.”  I had my Bible with me and I opened it to several passages where drink was condemned, and told them where it would lead.  I told them I would not speak of this to anyone.  When I said I would not “tell on them” the look of gladness on their faces was pitiful to see.

I said, I am going to pray God to have mercy on you.  Kneel down, like two obedient little children—­they knelt—­some may smile at this, but I was deeply affected and felt a compassion and tenderness toward these poor men, whom the devil was leading captive at his will.  That prayer I offered, was heard.

In one week from that time this man Grogan came to my house; one Sunday morning, and fell down at my feet crying and wringing his hands, saying:  “Oh!  Mrs. Nation I am going to hell, but it is not your fault and I came to ask you to pray for me.”  He was in great agony of soul.  He had been drinking until he was almost crazy.  He left in about half an hour, saying he “was going to hell,” but I told him, no; to have faith in God and He would save him.

This was the last I saw of him, but I heard afterwards that he had a small store in Wichita and was living in the rear of it with his family.  The person that told me of him, said that he asked Mr. Grogan if he sold liquor.  His answer was:  “No, I got enough of that in Medicine Lodge.”  This Mr. Smith became a wreck for a time, and lost his business in Sharon.  After I came out of jail in Wichita the third time, I met a man on the street and he made himself known as the Smith of Sharon.  He looked quite well and said he had quit drinking entirely and was a real estate dealer in Wichita.

I soon heard of its being told around in Medicine Lodge that I drank beer in a dive.  So I went to Hank O’Bryan’s restaurant and said:  “Some of these jointists are telling that I drank in a dive.  Now if it comes to the ears of the public, I will have to go on the witness stand and tell where I drank beer.”  Hank turned pale, looked comical and I never heard any more of that.

There was a saloon keeper in Kiowa, named “Billy” Morris and living with him as his wife was a girl whose name was Cora Bennett.  This poor girl had been living an irregular life, but was true to this man, who had promised her time after time to marry her, but was only deceiving her.  She entered his bar room one day and told him he must fulfill his promise to her now, or she would kill him.  He