Sitting Bull’s life story has been the theme of many writers. This great warrior was a medicine-man, who preached of a happy day to come when the palefaces should all be wiped out, and the land which they had occupied should be restored to the Indians. To this end he greatly incited his people to murder and devastation, but one thing must be remembered, Sitting Bull believed firmly that the Indians were unfairly treated. He sternly declared, “God Almighty made me—God Almighty did not make me an agency Indian. I’ll fight and die fighting before any white man can make me an agency Indian.” And he did. He defied the government up to the very moment of his death in 1890; and his resistance did not end until he fell pierced by the bullets of the soldiers sent to take his person dead or alive.
Rain-in-the-Face was a warrior who had met all the tests of the exacting medicine-man, Sitting Bull. His breast had been slashed, and rawhide strips passed through it by which he was to hang until the flesh gave way. Sitting Bull was not satisfied with the test and maintainedthat the flesh had torn away too soon. Rain-in-the-Face thereupon demanded another trial, lest he spend the rest of his life despised as a squaw. So the strips were passed through the muscles of his back, and for two days he hung, taunting his torturers, jeering, and singing war songs. At last Sitting Bull was satisfied, and buffalo skulls were hung on the feet of the tortured brave so that the folds of flesh might tear away and release him. After that rather terrible test, he was counted worthy of the title of warrior. Rain-in-the-Face died at Standing Rock Agency in 1905.
The voyage in the Far West became more and more exciting as the boat proceeded. Indian camps came into view peopled so entirely by squaws and children, that it was evident that the men were out on hostile business. Great herds of buffalo and numberless droves of deer and antelope were to be seen roaming on the prairie.
Young Van Orsdel was fascinated by the novelty of it all. His high spirits, his friendliness, and his willingness to help in every way made him a general favorite, and he soon wonthe complete confidence of the captain and the roustabouts. He gave a hand at any odd job that offered, singing as he worked, and daily living out his religion of happiness and trust. When the woodchoppers were at work, he would climb to some high point where he could watch the wide prairie for the approach of Indians. In leisure moments as the boat forged ahead he sang for the crew, much to their enjoyment, for his voice was of fine quality and persuasive in tone. He became a fast friend of Jack, the cabin boy, for he helped him to wash the dishes and arrange the tables. Many were the intimate talks they had about their distant homes and friends. As a result of this new friendship Jack became a Christian, and later abandoned the river to take up the varied life of a frontier preacher. So helpful was the missionary, that by the time the journey came to its close, he was called the Sky Pilot of the expedition. He was a friend to every one, from the captain to the lowest laborer.
The voyage contained one other interesting experience. At a landing near Fort Benton, a typical plainsman clad entirely in buckskinboarded the boat, saying, “I can’t stay in this place any longer. There are too many hostile Indians.” This was Jim Dexter, who became one of Montana’s great landholders and one of its well-known pioneers. From the first moment of meeting there sprang up a warm friendship between him and William Van Orsdel. This tie grew stronger in the long years following, as in their different fields of effort they threw themselves into the task of building a commonwealth in the wilderness.
CHAPTER V
BROTHER VAN
ABOUT seven o’clock on the first day of July, 1872, a gloomy, clouded Sunday morning, the Far West drew up to the landing at Fort Benton and established the record for an up-river trip on the Missouri, seventeen days and twenty hours from Sioux City. That was an exciting Sabbath day for the settlement. The Nellie Peck arrived an hour later; while from St. Louis came the Josephine after a sixty-days’ trip.
A number of ox-trains were waiting to take the incoming freight to the towns and settlements beyond; some of these were many days distant. Wagons drawn by mules and horses were crowded around the landing, eager for what business might turn up. Cowboys, Indians, and soldiers from the Fort mixed in the crowd, making the motley assembly whichgreeted our Sky Pilot as he stepped on shore. All the white families came from the tiny shacks of the new town to join in the curious throng as it welcomed this unusual stir in the monotony of frontier life.
The tenderfoot did not know the terror of “gumbo,” but as he made his way through the streets in the rain, he found the soil sticking to his shoes in such quantities as to make walking difficult. It was God’s day, and in spite of the dismal weather, the missionary trudged through the town seeking a place to hold services. He was told that he could use the courthouse. This sounded encouraging and he turned toward the building eagerly. Disappointment was awaiting him, for it was only an adobe structure, and the rain had washed holes in the roof and walls through which muddy streams of water were pouring.