The Old Schism Trail
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Once there was a mighty herd of cattle on its way to market. A giant roundup had produced an aggregation of strong, healthy animals that were being pushed, with much happy uproar, along the trail. Each evening the herd was bedded down within earshot of a warm, convivial campfire. Unity and harmony prevailed. Then one day a band of marauding Indians made off with a large part of the herd. Some other cattle became lost when several of the drovers took a wrong turn. One or two were barbequed. A few died of starvation when poor pastures were all that were available.
A shoot-out between drovers caught a number of cattle in a cross-fire and they expired bloodily. A small herd was last seen scuttling over a distant hill with the cowboy who absconded with them. Bad water got a few. One day the herd got frightened (it was never quite discovered what frightened them) and stampeded, trampling many of its number. Many of the younger animals perished in this particular incident. Today one can see along that trail the evidence of disaster. Bleached skeletons mark the route, the skulls grinning diabolically at the joke of annihilation. For only a few trail-worn skinny animals finally arrived at the trail's end. The rest were lost or dead. It's a sad tale.
Nothing is sadder than the tragedies that have beset religious people. Influential men have used their power to drive wedges, shattering community. Vendettas have spread animosity. Ignor-
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