Brother Van

by Stella Wyatt Brummitt

A friendship seemed to spring up between the white man and his red companions as they proceeded. The first camp was made and on the next day they were setting forth again when the boy, Good Rider, spied some deer in the distance and asked the loan of a gun that he might bring fresh meat for their evening meal. Walmesley, the Canadian traveler, promptly loaned him his gun and the boy went on his quest for meat. Spoo Pee, the Indian brave, now took his own gun and shot the white man. He threw the body on the muddy bank of the Cut Bank River along which they had been riding.

With the fine horses in their possession, the two Indians came to Fort Shaw, a Piegan Agency, where Major Young was in charge. They remained over night and then went on. These visitors caused much comment at theagency. Curiosity was aroused because the horses which they were driving were much finer than red men usually had. They were well kept and well fed. The second cause for speculation was that the dog which had come with them stayed behind after the departure of the Indians. An Indian’s dog is most faithful. He follows in spite of hunger, distance, or hardships, but here was a dog which preferred the agency to the master.

One day a traveler appeared who reported finding the body of a white man on the bank of the Cut Bank River. The Major sent a party to investigate. Among them was the agency doctor. As the body was examined, the doctor noticed a peculiar scar on the heel of the victim, and he exclaimed, “I went swimming with a man once who had a scar exactly like that one. The man’s name was Walmesley.” Detectives were put on the case; Spoo Pee was overtaken, and with the boy, Good Rider, was put into jail. The agency doctor, Major Young, and his daughter became the chief witnesses.

Miss Young describes the journey to courtin the thirty-below-zero weather. As she was almost ready to start for Helena, an old, dirty squaw came to see her, and throwing her arms around Miss Young’s neck, implored her to save her boy. This was Good Rider’s mother. The woman was unwashed and disheveled, because it was the custom of the tribe that no ordinary practise of cleanliness should be observed when an individual was in trouble. Miss Young brought Good Rider back to his mother but Spoo Pee was committed to prison. From the day of his sentence to jail no word or sound passed Spoo Pee’s lips for twenty years. After a few years he was considered a harmless lunatic and moved, first to Michigan, and then to an asylum in Washington.

One day a party of western visitors came into the corridors of the asylum. A woman of the party, Mrs. Ella Clark, observed the pathetic, blank face of Spoo Pee, and began to speak in an Indian language. The prisoner observed her with something akin to interest. Failing to secure a clearer response from him, the woman began to croon an Indian lullaby. She sang as a mother to a child. A look ofdazed intelligence appeared on the face of the prisoner. Eagerly Mrs. Clark ceased her singing and began to speak to him. She told of tribal wars and conquests. She repeated traditions held most sacred. The attendants and keepers watched her efforts interestedly. At last from Spoo Pee’s long sealed lips there broke an Indian word. The kindly woman’s victory was complete, and with tears flowing unchecked, Mrs. Clark told the Indian of his people.

She explained to the keeper the reason that the deed had been committed; how Spoo Pee had returned to his village on that dreadful day and had found the women all slain. The prisoner told of his strange vow and of the long silent years. Spoo Pee was pardoned and he returned to his tribe but only sorrow was his lot. New and strange customs had arisen since he had gone away. His family had become scattered. He could not learn the new ways, and he pined for the friends who had gone. In two years the broken spirit of the red man went to its long rest.

It was this revengeful warrior that BrotherVan had met at the river crossing, but danger held no terrors for him, and that night in the coulee, near the scene of the tragic murder of the Canadian prospector, he took the saddle from his pony, pillowed his head on it, and slept peacefully with the stars smiling down on him. God’s protection was with the man who had a vision of the life of peace and righteousness which could come to the West only through the gospel that it was his privilege to preach.

The Epworth Piegan Mission is ministering to these Indians to-day under the leadership of one of Brother Van’s “boys,” Rev. A. W. Hammer, who, with his talented wife, is continuing the service begun many years ago. Mr. Hammer is peculiarly fitted for this task because he knows the habits and language of the people. He was but a youth when he went west to the plains of Texas as a cowboy in 1877. Later he came to Montana and worked on a ranch not far from Chinook. He craved the opportunity to enjoy the finer pleasures of life, and when a literary society was started at Chinook, he rode in from the ranch to attend it.

One night the meeting place was deserted.Everybody was at the revival meeting. Taking his pal with him, Hammer went to have some fun. They sat on the back seat and made flippant remarks about the meeting, but confessed to each other that they liked the preacher’s singing. The next night found them on that same back seat. A change came to young Hammer in this meeting and he altered his manner of life. He joined the church and took charge of the Sunday-school. He was later given a preacher’s license. Then he began to want an education that he might work for his Master more acceptably. He attended school and college and went back to the range to ride and to serve as a shepherd of people, instead of as a cowboy. His life exemplifies the ideal missionary to the Indians.

In Brother Van’s new district were the famous great falls of the Missouri, which Lewis and Clarke had heard roaring in the distance as they pushed across the plains. Perplexed as to the cause of the strange sound that rolled to them over the lifeless prairies, they traveled seven miles before they reached the spot where the great river takes its tremendousplunge. The magnitude of the falls astonished them beyond measure. The largest falls were given separate names later and became known as Great Falls, Rainbow Falls, and Crooked Falls. It is claimed by local residents that the water in Crooked Falls runs in every direction, even upstream. Great power-plants are built along the river at this point, and they produce power second only to Niagara.