y
prisoner. There were Billy George, the tribal judge; and Hubert
Tetoby, the assistant blacksmith, as well as others of local
importance. To add to the excitement of the evening, it was the night
before ration day at the Agency, when all the Indians from the entire
Reservation were present--fifteen hundred of them--for their share.
It was a wild time--the raw blanketed man was there for a Saturnalia.
He knew no law but his desires. The unprotected young woman had no
security from him. Indeed, while we were gathering in the mission
house for this service, I noticed a slight stirring at my feet, and
looked, and there was Mary, a young widow, who had scuttled in silent
as a partridge and was snuggling down on the floor just back of my
feet, successful in getting away from some red Lothario who had
pursued her to the door.

The service began. I preached from the words of Martha to Mary, "The
Master is come and is calling for thee." It was an attempt to show
that Jesus needs us as living agents to work with him. Mr. Hays, I
suppose, and always have believed, translated to Pat in Nez Perce what
I said. Pat in turn interpreted to the assembled band of mixed
Indians. To be sure, I understood not a thing either said: but when I
looked at the earnest, love-ridden, and sweat-covered face of the
yearning Nez Perce, I believed that what he was saying was all I said
and more. And Pat--he was a sight! Had his hands been tied, I really
believed he could not have expressed himself at all. He is about six
feet six in his moccasins, and those long arms accompanied the lengthy
guttural expressions in an intensely effective manner. At the close of
the three-cornered sermon the question was asked, "How many of you
from this time forward are willing to follow Jesus and be known as his
assistants?" Among the most prominent and enthusiastic replies that
came were those of Hubert Tetoby, Billy George, _and Pat Tyhee, the
heathen interpreter_. Looking me straight in the eyes, swerving
neither to the one side nor the other, these madly-in-earnest men of
the mountains held their hands up high as they could reach them. And
in six weeks from that date there was a Presbyterian church there
composed of sixty-five members, of whom only one, the teacher, Miss
Frost, was white; and Pat Tyhee was made one of the elders. There had
been no Christians there at all before those meetings. It was an
Indian Pentecost.

THREE YEARS AFTER