The gumbo was still sticky and tough from the rains of the previous days, and it was apparent from the first that there was to be a hard journey ahead. The five army mules drawing the wagon objected to the heavy traveling of the unbroken roads, and caused delays by their “objections.” The driver’s patience at last was exhausted, and in true western style he spoke to the errant beasts. Then he remembered that there was a preacher in the wagon, and apologized for the language he had used. Brother Van showed himself to be a very human missionary, for he laughingly replied, “Why, bless your soul, you express my sentiments exactly, though I can’t approve of your language.” Before dark a severe thunderstorm overtook the travelers, and the only shelter they could find was a lonely, deserted cabin. Here they spent the night, making the best of such comforts as were found in the government wagon. The coyotes sang a lonely song, and the prairie-dogs, their only neighbors, made vigorous protests against the intruders. This was the initiation of the tenderfoot preacher into the joys of overland journeying. On the next day they reached Sun River where no church or schoolhouse existed; so again a place for Sunday service was sought, and a Christian home was found which was opened gladly for this unaccustomed use. Riders were sent out to all the settlements within reach, with the result that on the following day a fine congregation gathered in the frontier cabin. Carelessness about habits of prayer and worship was common among these lonely people of the opening West. Brother Van’s tender songs and warning words brought a genuine response from them. After the service the travelers pushed on so that they might reach Fort Shaw by evening. At this place also, Brother Van immediately set about making arrangements to preach; and within a short time he had the soldiers of the garrison gathered about him, talking to them in a manly, helpful way that won their interest and their respect. Tarrying but a day at Fort Shaw, he traveled with several companions north to the town of Chouteau, which was on the Teton River, and fifteen miles from the base of the Rocky Mountains. He hastened then to the Indian agency near there where the Blackfeet were settled. This tribe had migrated from Canada to the prairies of Montana, and it is interesting to know that they had been first called “Blackfeet” by the Flatheads and Shoshones, for when they had come to the end of their long journey, their moccasins were travel-stained and black.