He was sent to preach in Placerville, popularly called in the old days, “Hangtown.”  It was then a lively and populous place.  The mines were rich, and gold-dust was abundant as good behavior was scarce.  The one church in the town was a “union church,” and it was occupied by Sanders and a preacher of another sect on alternate Sundays.  All went well for many months, and if there were no sinners converted in that camp, the few saints were at peace.  It so happened that Sanders was called away for a week or two, and on his return he found that a new preacher had been sent to the place, and that he had made an appointment to preach on his (Sanders’s) regular day.  Having no notion of yielding his rights, Sanders also inserted a notice in the papers of the town that he would preach at the same time and place.  The thing was talked about in the town and vicinity, and there was a buzz of excitement.  The miners, always ready for a sensation, became interested, and when Sunday came the church could not hold the crowd.  The strange preacher arrived first, entered the pulpit, knelt a few moments in silent devotion, according to custom, and then sat and surveyed the audience which was surveying him with curious interest.  He was a tall, fine-looking man, almost the equal of Sanders in height, and superior to him in height.  He was a Kentuckian originally, but went from Ohio to California, and was a full-grown man, of the best Western physical type.  In a little while Sanders entered the church, made his way through the dense crowd, ascended the pulpit, cast a sharp glance at the intruder, and sat down.  There was a dead silence.  The two preachers gazed at the congregation; the congregation gazed at the preachers.  A pin might have been heard to fall.  Sanders was as imperturbable as a statue, but his lips were pressed together tightly, and there was a blaze in his eyes.  The strange preacher showed signs of nervousness, moving his hands and feet, and turning this way and that in his seat.  It was within five minutes of the time for opening the service.  The stranger rose, and was in the act of taking hold of the Bible that lay on the cushion in front of him, when Sanders rose to his full height, stepped in front of him, and darting lightning from his eyes as he looked him full in the face, said: 

“I preach here today, sir!”

That settled it.  There was no mistaking that look or tone.  The tall stranger muttered an inarticulate protest and subsided.  Sanders proceeded with the service, making no allusion to the difficulty until it was ended.  Then he proposed a meeting of the citizens the next evening to adjudicate the case.  The proposal was acceded to.  The church was again crowded; and though ecclesiastically Sanders was in the minority, with the genuine love for fair-play which is a trait of Anglo-Saxon character, he was sustained by an overwhelming majority.  It is likely, too, that his plucky bearing the, day before made him some votes.  A preacher who would fight for his rights suited those wild fellows better than one who would assert a claim that he would not enforce.  Sanders preached to larger audiences after this episode in his “Hangtown” pastorate.