in the hot spring at the foot of the hill
for varying periods, before the laying on of hands, and these also,
crippled, or rigid with troubles' of the bone, announced that they were
healed.

People flocked from other towns, and though, to some who had been cured,
their pains and sickness returned, there were a few who bore perfect
evidence to his teaching and healing, and followed him, "converted and
consecrated," as though he were a new Messiah. In this corner of the
West was such a revival as none could remember--not even those who
had been to camp meetings in the East in their youth, and had seen the
Spirit descend upon hundreds and draw them to the anxious seat.

Then came the great sensation--the Faith Healer converted Laura Sloly.
Upon which Jansen drew its breath painfully; for, while it was willing
to bend to the inspiration of the moment, and to be swept on a tide of
excitement into that enchanted field called Imagination, it wanted
to preserve its institutions--and Laura Sloly had come to be an
institution. Jansen had always plumed itself, and smiled, when she
passed; and even now the most sentimentally religious of them inwardly
anticipated the time when the town would return to its normal condition;
and that condition would not be normal if there were any change in
Laura Sloly. It mattered little whether most people were changed or not
because one state of their minds could not be less or more interesting
than another; but a change in Laura. Sloly could not be for the better.

Her father had come to the West in the early days, and had prospered
by degrees until a town grew up beside his ranch; and though he did not
acquire as much permanent wealth from this golden chance as might have
been expected, and lost much he did make by speculation, still he had
his rich ranch left, and it, and he, and Laura were part of the history
of Jansen. Laura had been born at Jansen before even it had a name.
Next to her father she was the oldest inhabitant, and she had a prestige
which was given to no one else.

Everything had conspired to make her a figure of moment and interest.
She was handsome in almost a mannish sort of way, being of such height
and straightness, and her brown eyes had a depth and fire in which
more than a few men had drowned themselves. Also, once she had saved
a settlement by riding ahead of a marauding Indian band to warn their
intended victims, and had averted another tragedy of pioneer life.
Pio