It was at this time that a war party of Crees came to us. Fortunately there were quite a number of Stonies camped beside the Mission at this time. It was in the evening, as Francis and myself were working the whip-saw for all it was worth, in order to finish our number of planks for the day, that these fellows, some thirty in number, filed into our clearing. As the Stonies did not look upon them with favor, Fox, their leader, an old acquaintance of mine, brought the entire party of warriors into our house. Fortunately our one room was a big one, and in the interests of peace and the future of our work it was better to put up with a crowd for one night than to have turned them out, though the Stonies would have stood by us in such a case. We told them plainly, though, that we would have no nonsense this time; they might stay with us for the night, but I would issue ammunition to to the Stonies, and have them guard the place all the time that they were with us, and if they attempted to play any tricks their own lives would be the forfeit.
Fox protested against any evil intention on their part. He said they were tired and hungry, and were on their way back home, disappointed in their attempt to make a foray against the Blackfeet. Said he, "Let us stay with you one night, John, and we will leave quietly in the morning." We therefore sheltered and fed them and guarded them from the Stonies, who very naturally were resentful of the conduct of the Crees at different times in the past. However, old Mark took charge of the watch, and assured me that it would be all right. I have no doubt that some of those men for the first time listened to the Gospel message sung and spoken in the language wherein they were born.
We entertained our guests as best we could, and spent the long evening by the light of our big chimney fire, opening to their minds visions of peace and predicting to them the near approach of the time when they should go to war no more. During the evening an old warrior, who had evidently been listening to what we had to say in an unbelieving mood, said, "You white men think you are very wise; now I will give you something to count which you will never be able to find out." "Well, let us have it," I said, when I saw that the crowd was interested in the matter. So the old fellow propounded his great puzzle. Said he, "There were seven buffalo bulls. Each had two horns and two eyes and one tail, and each foot had a split hoof, and above the hoof were two little horns. Now, for the seven bulls what was the whole number?" and the painted warrior gave a contemptuous grin, as if to say, "There, take that for your boasted wisdom to grapple with." I mentally worked out the simple question, and quickly gave him the number, and then Fox laughed and said, "Did I not tell you you could not catch John? He is very much wiser than we are." But the old man, being much more obtuse and ignorant than Indians generally are, would not believe that I had answered his question, so he got a small pole and faced it on all sides with his knife. Then he took a piece of charcoal and began laboriously to make marks for the horns and eyes and tail, etc., of the bull. But his companions chafed him so unmercifully that he was soon lost in his calculations and gave up in chagrin.
This incident gave me a chance to enlarge on the benefit of schools and of education. I told that old mathematician that the little boys and girls in our schools would laugh at such a simple question as he gave; that the white men went on into millions upon millions in their calculations. Fox then said, "We are worse than children in all these matters, and we are foolish to gainsay the white man. But I believe John when he says that what has been possible to the white man is also possible to us Indians, for I notice that in some things our minds are quicker than those of most white men. But as for John, you cannot play with him; he is both white man and Indian put together." I warmly protested that I was but a child in wisdom; that I was learning about the Indians every day, and wanted to be their friend in truth.
Early next morning the party took their departure, and Mark and I saw them off some distance on their road, for it was hard to restrain some of the more turbulent and revengeful of the Stonies—they had too many old scores to wipe out.
Winter was now upon us, and our people scattered in quest of food and furs, so that by the first of December Francis and myself and our families were the only ones left at the Mission. At times the solitude was oppressive, and would have been much worse but that we were constantly busy hunting and fishing, taking out timber, gathering in firewood, etc. Breaking in dogs also took some time, for the old stock was about used up. Old Draffan and his contemporaries were gone, either dead or now too old for hard service.
About the middle of December Francis and I started out towards the plains with dog-trains. My object was two-fold—to visit the people, if I could find any, and also to try and obtain some provisions. We were growing tired of fish. We had about a foot of snow to break on the trail, and were glad towards the close of the third day to find the track of a solitary hunter, which we followed into his camp. Here we found Samson and old Paul and other of our own people, all very glad to see us, but, like ourselves, on "short commons." The buffalo were far out, and these people were barely existing on an occasional deer and a few porcupines. But, fortunately for us, someone had run across a deer and killed him just before we arrived in camp, and we feasted with the rest on good fat meat. It was a rare treat to taste some fatty substance once more.
We held a meeting that night and another the next morning, and then went on, taking Samson with us, hoping to find some food. But after three days' steady travel all we got was a starving bull, which made both dogs and men sick, so we concluded to separate, Samson to strike straight for camp, and we for home. Snow had deepened, our dogs, like ourselves, were hungry and tired, and the miles seemed longer than usual, so that it was midnight on the fourth day on the home stretch before we reached the lake, glad enough to settle down again even to fish diet.
Christmas of 1864 came, but no Santa Claus for any of our party. However, my frugal wife managed to contrive a plum-pudding, and our little company enjoyed immensely such a delightful break in the monotony of our daily fare.
During the holidays I started alone for Edmonton, and there found my brother-in-law Hardisty from the Mountain House. He accompanied me to Victoria, where we spent New Year's day with father and mother and the rest of our family. We found that at Edmonton and Victoria there was the same scarcity of food as with us. The buffalo were as yet far out, and the Indians were between us and them, and in a semi-starving condition. Moreover, the winter was a hard one, the snow deep and the cold intense.