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by T om Watson, Jr.
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FROM TH E MISSIONARY EXPLOITS OF DR. T . J. BACH
“ flH , it’s always first class when w you don’t expect anything bet ter,” said T. J. Bach to Hermano Renaldo with a laugh. He was sad dling up the mule which was to take him from the remote Tachira capital of San Cristobal across the Zumba- dor Mountain to Merida. “ Verdad, but I’m not so sure our Pedro is even a first-class mule,” Renaldo chuckled. Then, becoming serious, “And that mountain trail is treacherous. You have heard all the stories about bandits in that re gion—so you’d do well to travel as fast as possible.” “ But you and your dear esposa will be praying for me,” Bach said as if to remind him. “ Every step of the way,” replied the Venezuelan believer. “Now you must be on your way before the sun comes over the mountain top. The wife is coming now with your arepas and your canteen.” Then the three knelt and commit ted themselves, the day, the work, and the long journey to the Lord after which the mule with his wiry little rider moved northward through the town and toward the mountain trail beyond. Brother Bach was singing a hymn at the top of his voice when he be came aware that, some distance be hind, another mule and rider were following him. Much preferring, un der the circumstances, to travel alone, he spurred his mule on and determined to outdistance the un welcome fellow traveler. It did not take long to recognize, however, that the other rider was gaining ground. “He had a better and a faster mule than I had. And on the straight places in the trail I could tell that he was coming closer.” He related later when he realized that the other rider meant to overtake him, the lit tle Dane knew he was in for trouble.
“When I got a good look at him over my shoulder,” Brother Bach continued the story, “ I saw that in his belt he had a revolver on one side and a dagger on the other. It wasn’t hard to see that I was now in a dif ficult situation.” It was then about nine o’clock in the morning, and the trail lay di rectly through the pass atop Zum- bador Mountain—probably the least likely place to meet another traveler who might help. “ So I got the idea,” Brother Bach said, “ that I would treat him to something to eat. I dis mounted, and by the time he caught up with me I had out the hard corn bread we called arepas and some dried fish Dona Elise had been kind enough to give me—God bless her. ‘Good day,’ I said as cheerfully as I could while he got off his mule and led him directly over to the place where I was standing. ‘How about joining me in a little something to eat?’ “We ate,” Brother Bach continued, “but there wasn’t much conversa tion because we weren’t interested in the same thing. When we had fin ished and the arepas and fish were all gone, I said very pleasantly, ‘Now we have eaten and I will go this way and you will go that way.’ But I could see that the bad man was not going to be agreeable any longer. “He walked toward me, taking out his revolver as he came. I can still see the hard look in his face! Point ing the gun at me with his finger on the trigger, he said, ‘Do you have any American gold?’ “ I placed my hand in my pocket, almost hoping I would have some money to give to him so he would put the revolver back into his belt and go on his way—but I had none. The only thing I had in my pocket was a Gospel of Luke in Spanish. When I pulled out that little book
and no money, I saw that his face darkened and his finger tightened on the trigger. ‘O Father, help me now!’ I prayed aloud in Danish. And then my heart stopped its pounding when I realized that in my hand I had no money, but I did have the Word of God and that was enough. Suddenly my fear was gone. I received such an infilling of the blessed Holy Spirit that I was completely at peace. If the bandit had released his bullet I would have been the happiest Christian who ever died! But he didn’t, and I held out to him the Gospel of Luke. “ ‘If you can read this you will find something better than gold,’ I said to him. ‘This is La Palabra de Dios.’ “He accepted it with suspicion and began to turn the pages with the hand that held the revolver. In a few minutes that hand and the revolver began to tremble. He put it back into his belt, buttoned his coat, and walked right up to me. “ Then he gave me the biggest and the best hug I have ever had! “ ‘Thank you — you are a good man,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much. Yes, you are right. Now that we have eaten, you will go this way and I will go that.’ “And he mounted his mule and went, with his revolver and his dag ger—and also with the Sword of the Spirit—tucked tightly in his belt. “Yes, as Hermano Renaldo had warned, I did not reach Merida without getting acquainted with those Zumbador bandits. But I did reach there safely, and I thank God for that!” Th is article is condensed from the biography, " T . J. Bach, a Voice for Missions” by To m Watson Jr., pub lished by Moody Press, Chicago, $3.50.
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THE KING'S BUSINESS
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