WHILE danger of the Indian attacks was still hanging over Bannack and the other settlements, new orders came to William Van Orsdel. AConference in session at St.Louis had heard an account of the young missionary’s work; and these wise men seeing how rapidly Montana was developing made plans for the extension of the work of the church in new fields. Their maps showed them a great unsettled section beyond the mountains known as the Bitter Root Valley. It would be a hard piece of work and no tenderfoot could be sent to open up that section. There was but one man for the new frontier, and obediently, Brother Van took a last look at the tiny church just dedicated and bade farewell to the people of Bannack.

The ride before the missionary covered a distance of about one hundred and fifty miles through the country where the Indians were carrying on their warfare with the soldiers. The trail which he followed was the very one taken by Lewis and Clark in September, 1805, on their way to the Pacific Coast. The explorers had been most hospitably received by the Indians, whom they found encamped at Ross Hole. They greeted the “white gods” with all the awe of their simple natures and a feast and formal council was held in their honor. They called the newcomers “So-Yap-Po,” meaning “the crowned ones,” because they wore round hats or caps.

As Brother Van and his pony traveled through the historic country, sometimes the long grass would reach to the horse’s head on each side of the trail; then stretches of barren and rocky ground with patches of sage brush would be reached, and again they would come suddenly to steep-banked creeks hidden in the tall grass. The road led up through the pass, now called Gibbon Pass, but the tragic encounter which gave it that name had but recently taken place.

When Chief Joseph, the leader of the Nez PercÉs Indians, fully realized that the United States troops had been sent to drive him and his band from their valley, he determined to migrate to Canada. The troops were in hot pursuit, and finding all direct routes cut off, the Indians came east through Lo Lo Pass into Montana. At Stevensville they paid for all supplies purchased and gave notice that all that they wanted was to go on their journey unmolested. When the soldiers in search of assembled Indians heard at Stevensville about Chief Joseph’s party, they gave chase and a number of residents of the place joined them.

The Indians camped at Big Hole and the soldiers, under command of General Gibbon, suddenly found themselves close to the camp one night. They could hear the sound of Indian voices; so one of the soldiers climbed a tree and was horrified to see a great many camp-fires burning. Precautions were taken at once and no camp-fires were kindled by the white troops. Hard bread had to be their only fare, a not very substantial food for their need in the fighting on the following eventful day, August9, 1877.

When dawn was beginning to push back the shadows of the night, an Indian herder came out to look after the ponies; he stumbled over the waiting soldiers. The alarm was given immediately and the herder was shot and killed. Instantly all was in confusion. Braves forgot their guns and fled; ponies broke bounds and ran wild; dogs barked; but the Indians reformed rapidly and the battle was on. It lasted all day and the Indians fought like demons. They captured the only cannon and two thousand rounds of ammunition. They set fire to the grass in which the troops had hid so that the soldiers were nearly suffocated at first, but the wind changed and the smoke blew in the red men’s faces. The troops were cheered by this turn in their favor, and fought bravely and desperately, although they had been so long without proper food or sleep.

Suddenly the firing ceased. Acaptured man had told the Indians that more “walking soldiers” were coming. Fearing to be utterly destroyed the Indians fled, leaving eighty-nine dead men on the battle-field. Chief Joseph was compelled to surrender when only eighty miles from the Dominion line where strategic measures were used. In his desperate attempt for freedom, and by the record of his later life, he gained the high esteem of the United States government for his lofty character. His people had honorable intentions but they found it hard to submit to the conquering white man.

As Brother Van reached Big Hole on his way to Missoula a scene of horror greeted his eyes. The bodies of the lately fallen heroes had been hurriedly buried, for another Indian attack was impending. Astorm had followed which made the earth so soft that the prowling wild beasts of the plains had exhumed the bodies of the brave men and were devouring them. The missionary halted in his journey and sent a messenger to Fort Missoula, which was then in course of erection. From there a company of men was sent immediately to care for the bodies, which were taken back to the church for a public funeral. So Brother Van came for his first service in the new district into a scene of sorrow and distress. Hearts were tender over the loss of these men and to the waiting people he spoke words of comfort as he committed the bodies to the earth. After scenes of terror and bereavement it is not surprising that a great revival followed, and the new preacher was again able to find “first members” for “first churches” in that great section where the dread of the Indians’ fury was always present.

Missoula was the center chosen for the frontier district where Brother Van was to preach and teach the people. Its name in the Indian language means “a place of fear” or “at the stream of surprise or ambush.” The town, which is near the mouth of Hell Gate Canyon, is now a great distributing point for a farming region and is the site of the State university. The little church in the settlement of Missoula had been built by Brother Van’s friend, Dr.Iliff, who had been stationed there previously for a short period.

Through the busy years spent at Virginia City and Bannack, these two friends had met and labored frequently together. The experiences of one holiday journey which they took make a story well worth repeating. Dr.Iliff, his young bride, and Brother Van drove to Salt Lake City, where the Rocky Mountain Conference was held in 1875. Although attendance at the Conference was necessary, their journey was an outing for them and gave them an opportunity to see civilization once more. The Presiding Elder had a buggy, and in this the three friends made the memorable trip. They drove through the wide, dusty prairie and over the mountains, for they had to cross the main range of the Rockies. Each night camp was made, and the little wife officiated at the jolly supper which effaced all memory of the weary traveling.

The twilight hours were the moments when the ties of friendship were strengthened, and the youthful spirits of the campers prompted many pranks and contests. As they camped near Idaho Falls one evening the sport was to determine which could catch the largest trout. This story will never have a satisfactory ending, for, being a fish story, each caught the largest, and, of course, no bride could decide against her husband. The Sabbath days of the outing were taken by the travelers as rest days for the horses, and as refreshing times for their own souls. They reached Salt Lake City in good season, and found Bishop Haven presiding over the Conference, and Brother Van’s old friend, Chaplain McCabe, singing his way into the hearts of the people.

Conference Sunday came with a rousing sermon by the Bishop. The sermon over, these two friends felt a longing to explore. Like culprits they stole away in the afternoon and sought the great Mormon tabernacle. They gazed in wonder at the huge building with its queer arched roof which gave the whole structure the appearance of an inverted soup tureen; then they ventured farther to see how it looked on the inside. As usual the Mormons were gathering for their great Sunday service, and the two guests from Montana sat down to listen to the famous Mormon leader, Brigham Young. The building seats twelve thousand people and every seat was filled.

After hearing a sermon sharply in contrast with what they had heard from their own bishop, the curiosity of these Westerners was not satisfied, so they tarried to examine the building and its surroundings. When deepening twilight warned them that the time for departure was at hand, they sought the entrance gate, but lo, the bars were down and no watchful attendant was there, either to punish the intruders or to let them out.

Brother Van and Dr.Iliff stood and looked at each other and then at the high iron fence. Had they come from scenes of Indian troubles and the hardships of the wide plains to be daunted by such an obstacle as an iron gate? Off came preachers’ coats. Hats were flung high over the fence and two agile pioneer ministers climbed over that formidable barrier and dropped down to earth. Then coats and hats were donned, and again these inquisitive friends continued their investigating tour.

They found themselves walking along Brigham Street on which stood Amelia Palace, the residence erected for Young’s favorite wife. As they looked at the building interestedly, they saw the Mormon leader himself pacing the walk and followed by two wives. Again the spirit of adventure prompted them and they dared each other to cross the street, speak to, and shake hands with the august leader of Mormonism. No sooner said than done. In a moment the two men were bowing and introducing themselves as Methodist preachers from the West, and proffering eager hands. Brigham Young looked at them with an amused twinkle in his eyes, and cordially shook hands, saying, “Icertainly am glad to shake hands with you. Iwas a Methodist once myself!”

The friendship of these two young missionaries in the new West grew deeper and sweeter with the passing days in their work in Montana. At one time they held united revival services at Virginia City. They rode into the town unannounced and proceeded to seek a place where they might hold meetings. The old opera house was secured and there they began their preaching and singing. The people attended out of curiosity at first, but a real earnestness came with the passing days, and many were started on the way toward living a new, clean life.

Billy Blay was one of the men who left off his evil habits. The evangelists had heard of this notorious drunkard. They went to his hut with its dirt roof and floor where the poor sot was huddled in his blankets. They talked with him about other ways of living, and prayed with him. He promised to come to church, and to the amazement of the townspeople, Billy Blay not only kept his promise, but he came sober. During the services he was saved from his sins and took a fresh start in life. After realizing that his sins would be forgiven, he said, “Give me pen and paper. Iwant to write to my wife and children in Wisconsin.”

That Billy Blay could write was astonishing to the people of the town, who knew him only as a notorious drunkard. Now he wrote like an educated man. While he waited for an answer to the letter which broke a twelve years’ silence, he gave himself into the care of Brother Van and Dr.Iliff. He had great natural ability, and he spoke to others about his new experience so effectively that he was at last given an exhorter’s license and made a third member of the evangelistic group.

After a little time Billy Blay heard from his wife. She was ill, and had believed him to be dead. Money for his journey back home was raised in the two institutions of the town that knew him, the church and the saloon, and the family was reunited. This new preacher gave his life to missionary work in a logging-camp in Wisconsin, making another link in the chain of missionary endeavor which will some day bind the world in a great Christian fellowship.

This first evangelistic trip made by Brother Van and Dr.Iliff meant much to the new territory of Montana. To-day in making a trip through the same section, you would travel by rail or automobile, but everywhere you would find living monuments of the wise pioneering of these comrade missionaries. Not only new churches, new congregations, and new members, but in many cases new towns have sprung up where the partners held a first service.

The two men have always loved to recount the experiences of those days, and especially to tell about their adventure in crossing Madison River. After the meetings at Virginia City, the two evangelists had an itinerary planned ahead. One appointment was at Madison River schoolhouse. By the mail to Virginia City had come a precious package from the East for Dr.Iliff’s wife. This little woman had come to the West gladly with her earnest young husband, but the people at home had distressing thoughts about the frontier hardships that she had to endure. There were hardships certainly but of these she never complained. Now, here was a package from home!

When the evangelists got into the buggy which was to carry them to the schoolhouse, the precious bundle was carefully stowed away. They traveled to Madison River, which they had to cross, and found it in flood with the melted snow from the mountains. The old bridge had been washed away. So the two young men sat on the edge of the ruins and talked things over.

“Shall we give up the trip?” asked Dr.Iliff.

“No, we can’t do that. The people are expecting us,” said Brother Van.

“Well, let’s try to cross,” replied his chum.

In they plunged, driving the horses toward the nearest point on the opposite bank. When they were about one third of the distance across the river the buggy began to float and the horses began to swim.

“Van, can you swim?”

“Not a lick!”

“Well, you get up on the seat, take that package and keep it dry,” shouted Dr.Iliff as he jumped out.

He unfastened the horses and they swam to an island in the stream. Then he began to guide the floating buggy toward the bank. In the meantime Brother Van sat still, holding the bundle aloft that it might not be soaked. When they reached the edge of the flood in safety he deposited the bundle on the seat and climbed out into the water to help push the buggy up the steep bank. Valiantly they pushed. The buggy went up slowly and then slid back. Again they boosted and again the slippery banks failed to hold the load.

“Van, you aren’t pushing!”

“Yes, I am!”

“Well, I’m all played out. Now let us try once more. Now all together!”

They gave a mighty push and the buggy went over. But, alas! the bundle had slipped out into the water, and as they looked, it was being rapidly carried down-stream. Iliff, who was standing on the high bank, called out, “Van, you’d better get that package. It belongs to my wife.”

In the dismay of the moment, Brother Van forgot that he didn’t know how to swim. Out he struck. With mighty splashes and flounderings, he overtook the package and brought it to shore. Then those two preachers stood and looked at each other, wet to the skin, hatless and disheveled, hands torn and bleeding, sermons no longer dry, and the package seemingly ruined. In a moment they burst into boyish laughter, and all was well. While they consulted as to the next move, a ranchman came along and took them home with him. From a promiscuous jumble of clothing the preachers were outfitted. When they were dressed and came into the light of the room and beheld each other, they laughed again like truant schoolboys. They were comical figures enough in the makeshift garments of that frontier home. They went to church in those clothes, and began a revival which meant a great deal to the life of that community.

The bundle? Oh, that was a fine black silk dress. When the preachers returned to the ranchman’s home, they found their own clothes dry and in condition for wearing. The beautiful, lustrous silk found in the package was hung in rich folds about the room to dry. The water in Madison River was crystal clear and did not injure the silk, which was of good grade.

An amazing thing about this evangelistic team was that though of the East eastern, yet they won immediate favor with the people among whom they labored. The shrewd Westerners would have detected any insincerity in the missionaries, and the cowboy’s mission in life seemed to be to “shoot up” anything not genuine. It is hard for us to-day to imagine the wild and lawless life on those lonely plains of the great West. These two men, and many other pioneers for the church, carried on their ministry in the face of severe handicaps in a frontier region. The principal difficulties grew out of the isolation of the settlements, and the slow means of communication with the older parts of the country.

The Missouri River provided the natural means of access to the Northwest, and as early as 1851 fire-boats began to reach Fort Benton. For a long period only one boat a year made this hard passage; then gold was discovered, and there followed a rush of new settlers, so that in 1866, forty steamers came into the old fur-trading post. For a third of a century the stage-coach had no rival as the means of travel for passengers. One of the most famous stage lines was over Mullen’s Trail, which ran west from Fort Benton for hundreds of miles. This trail was opened through government land by Captain Mullen and his company of soldiers for the use of miners. Holliday’s Overland Stage Line played an important part in the development of the West. It ran from Atchison, Kansas, to Denver, Colorado, and to Salt Lake City, Utah, where other lines connected with it. One of these lines extended to Virginia City in what had been Brother Van’s district, and from there to Helena, a distance altogether of nineteen hundred miles, usually covered in twenty-two days.

In order to secure rapid transportation for the mails, the Pony Express was established in 1861 and maintained for three years. Aband of swift riders, eighty in number, would cover the vast distances of the prairie in an incredibly short space of time. One rider, for instance, would leave Sacramento, while another rider started from St.Joseph, Missouri, at the eastern end of the route. Each would ride swiftly and as silently as possible, guarding the precious mail at all hazards, and would come, after fifteen to twenty miles of riding, to a station where a fresh horse, saddled and bridled, was held by a waiting agent. The riders were allowed two minutes for the change of horses; then on they went over the ever-widening prairie to the next station. The fastest time in which a piece of mail was ever carried was seven days and seventeen minutes.

Sometimes the station was found to be but a smoking pile of ruins, and sometimes, alas, the station-keeper would be discovered scalped by wandering Indians. It is said that only one package was lost in the three years that the Pony Express was operated. This happened when the rider was killed after being robbed. Another time, the faithful pony came in along with the package bound safely to the saddle; his rider had been killed as he rode.

Omaha was the nearest railroad station, and to reach this distant city meant a hard journey for the miner who had made his “pile” and wished to go back home. Gold dust was the only money and it was weighed and taken at its weight’s value. The traveler could go on horseback or wagon to Fort Benton and then take passage on a steamboat to Sioux City, Iowa. Another method of travel was to follow the trail on horseback to Salt Lake City, and take the train or the stage-coach from there. The cost of the latter mode of travel can be estimated when it is known that the sending of a letter in that way cost two dollars and a half. All travel was dangerous, for with the finding of gold, desperate men had come west, who robbed and killed for the wealth so hazardously secured by the miners. Hold-ups were regular occurrences, particularly between Bannack and Virginia City, a distance of seventy miles.

Miners who had spent months of hard labor in the accumulation of a few hundred dollars were never heard of again after starting from a mine to a distant home eastward. Men were robbed in camp, daily and nightly. Gambling and all forms of evil abounded. Many of the men who disappeared were found to have been shot ruthlessly. The nature of the country, with its canyons, gulches, and mountain passes, was especially adapted to this means of highway robbery. The unpeopled distances between the mining camps also helped the lawless element to do their bloody work. Nowhere else on the face of the earth, nor at any period since men became civilized, have murder, robbery, and social vice presented such an organized front.

The young territory determined to stop this trade of stage-robbing and formed a protecting band called the “Vigilantes.” The name is associated with some of the bloodiest episodes of frontier days. In the absence of any other protection, the Vigilantes took law into their own hands, and dealt sternly with the highway robber and murderer. Between December, 1863, and February, 1864, twenty-four “road agents” were hanged by the Vigilantes for their crimes against the miners. Two years later, one million and five hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold was taken from Helena to Fort Benton unmolested.

The early Vigilantes were the best and most intelligent men in the mining section. They saw that in the absence of all law they must become a law unto themselves, or submit to the bloody code of the desperadoes by whom they were surrounded. They entered on their work without knowing how soon they might have to encounter a force greater than their own. They did their work swiftly and efficiently as relentlessly they followed the offender. Little mercy was meted out to the guilty men, and many a lonely tree on the plains held ghastly reminders of the swift vengeance which overtook the robbers. The Vigilantes hung many a hardened sinner, giving him first an opportunity to make his peace with God.

Little by little a change was being wrought in the territory, and the missionaries were helping to bring about a condition of law and order. In this period of transformation, Brother Van was “hail fellow well met” with the people. One gambler said, “Ilike that old scout, he plays fair.” His singing helped him to win them, for he would stand on the hillside and sing, “Shall we Gather at the River,” or “Over and Over,” and the miners, gamblers, and settlers would come to the service.

Arriving at a typical mining camp one day, the scout-preacher took possession of a new building for a service. It proved to be a saloon such as he had borrowed before. It was an ordinary occurrence for lights to be snuffed out by bullets in a meeting that did not meet with approval from the men, but they did not put out the lights when Brother Van spoke. They liked his simple, sweet message, and, above all, they liked his singing. The song “The Gospel Train is coming” particularly pleased them, for the railroad language held new and fascinating words in a community which was just growing accustomed to the railroad. One of the men said to the preacher, “If you will sing that song to-morrow night, I’ll bring forty men to hear you.”

“All right, that’s a bargain,” said the singer.

This man was a leader of the gang. He had a hurdy-gurdy which made his saloon especially attractive. On the next night forty grizzled men marched in and took their seats. No lights were put out. No disturbance was made by the forty who had reserved seats, but something did happen: that “hurdy-gurdy” man got on board of the “Gospel Train” and brought along a number of his comrades.