I reckon no man who lives as I do--which perhaps is my religion--will lie or cheat or steal or kill, unless it's to kill in self-defense or like I'd do if Snake Anson would ride up here now.
My religion, maybe, is love of life--wild life as it was in the beginnin'-- an' the wind that blows secrets from everywhere, an' the water that sings all day an' night, an' the stars that shine constant, an' the trees that speak somehow, an' the rocks that aren't dead.

I'm never alone here or on the trails.

There's somethin' unseen, but always with me.

An' that's It! Call it God if you like.

But what stalls me is--where was that Spirit when this earth was a ball of fiery gas?
Where will that Spirit be when all life is frozen out or burned out on this globe an' it hangs dead in space like the moon?
That time will come.
There's no waste in nature.