Our first interment--Jacob's tragic death--Hostile Flatheads in quest of horses, scalps and glory--Stonies attacked by a party of Blackfeet--A hot fusilade--Mark's father is killed--Destitution prevalent--Hunting lynx--My dogs seized with distemper--All have to be shot--Another provision hunt organized--Among the buffalo--I narrowly escape being shot--Heterogeneous character of our camp--Mutual distrust and dislikes--United by fear of a common foe--The effects of Christianity. That autumn one of our best young men, Jacob by name, was killed by the Flatheads. His friends sent me word that they were bringing the body into the Mission. We dug our first grave on the hill, and there in the quiet of this "God's acre" we laid to rest the remains of the brave young fellow who had died in defence of his people. This was our first interment, in the fall of 1867, and we came here in the spring of 1865. This was significant of the migratory character of the people, as also of the healthfulness of the highland country. Our Indians had camped about twenty-five miles from the Mission, and in a comparatively wooded section, where they believed themselves in large measure exempt from attacks of the plain Indians, and had no thought of attack by warriors from the Pacific slope. However, as one told me, they had "felt someone in the vicinity," and were watching their horses closely, keeping them staked right up to camp at night. One of our people, called William One-eye, was on guard when he saw what he took to be a stranger stooping at the feet of one of the horses. He approached quietly and spoke to him, as he wanted to make sure before firing at him. But the fellow answered by shooting at him, and with so good an aim that the hall grazed William's forehead, cutting away a tuft of his hair, which was bound with ermine skin, and stunning him for an instant. Ere he could recover himself the thief jumped on the horse and dashed away at furious speed. William soon gave the alarm, but already everybody was stirring because of the shot, and now it was found that several horses were gone. The whole camp was aroused and the pursuit became general. It was in this running fight that Jacob was shot. The Stonies, on their part, killed two of the Flatheads, bringing in their horses and saddles, and the ammunition and tent which were packed on these. The marauders had come hundreds of miles through the mountains on this quest for horses, scalps and glory, and as the trails were now becoming clearly defined from almost every direction into our Mission, it looked as if we might be visited at any time by these lawless scamps.