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. In continuing his search for a place in which to hold worship, William learned that a Roman Catholic priest, Father Van Gorp, was conducting a service in a saloon near by. He sought him out and was received cordially. On hearing the desire of the newcomer, the priest assured him that he could have the room as soon as his service was concluded, for he intended to take passage on a boat which was to leave the Fort in a few hours. It was at that afternoon meeting of his first day in Fort Benton that William Van Orsdel received the name of Brother Van. There was a frankness and kindness in the young man’s manner toward these strangers before him. The years of unselfish service for others, and his conviction regarding the work he must do in the West had developed a magnetic personality. The rough and hearty frontier people were keen judges of character. They saw at once in the stranger, who had come among them so naturally and courageously, a sincere, helpful spirit. “Brother” was just the word that described him. “Van” was as much of that lengthy and dignified name of his as they felt that they could take the trouble to say. So, with the good-natured bluntness of the West, “Brother Van” he became. It now rarely occurs to any of his friends and neighbors that he has any other name. They would probably assure you, if you were to raise the question with them, that he was christened “Brother Van.” Crowded in the saloon on that afternoon were the steamboat officers, roustabouts, freighters, cowboys, Indians, and settlers, making a strange audience for the young missionary’s first Montana sermon. He would talk for a while, and then, when the attention wavered, he would sing the songs that some of them had heard back East before they had come under the hardening influences of the rough western life. Brother Van asked if they would like an evening service and received an eager request for one. The news of the arrival of this tenderfoot and of his message and singing had traveled fast; so in the evening a larger congregation gathered. Again he gave the message that many of them had been missing in a long period of separation from church life, and again hearts were stirred, as for the first time in years the uncertain voices tried to follow the singing of the gospel songs which had been sung “back home.”