The Trio
at Rainy Mountain
Fºº
Young Women Among
Blanket Indians





(AIM-DE-co)
MARYETTA. J. REESIDE






YOUNG WOMEN AMONG
BLAN KET INDIANS
THE TRIO AT RAINY MOUNTAIN
MARY G. BURDETTE
FOR THE WOMEN'S BAPTIST HOME MISSION SOCIETY, 21.11 INDIANA
AVENUE, CHICAGO
R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
1895


I.
INTRODUCTION.
The Kiowas.
The Kiowas belonged to the Shoshone family of
Indians who formerly ranged over vast regions of the
Southwest as far as California. The government made
its first treaty with them in 1853, another in 1856, and
in 1869 the “Medicine Lodge Treaty,” in accordance
with which the Kiowas agreed to make their abode in
the southwest portion of the Indian Territory, the govern-
ment stipulating to furnish them rations for twenty-
seven years, or until 1896. The Kiowas have been more
intractable than any other tribe of the Southwest except
the Apaches.
* º: * º: º:
These Kiowas are the aristocracy of the Indian tribes
of that region. They are a stalwart race. They are like
the typical noble red men of the olden time. They still
prefer the tepee to the frame house. According to a census
taken in 1892, the Kiowas numbered 1,014 souls—much
less than formerly. Diseases have decimated their ranks.
º: * - * * *
Mission work of a somewhat desultory character has
been going on among them for several years. Baptists
have done something, also Presbyterians and Methodists,
the latter from Anadarko as their base of operations.
Lone Wolf, Comalty and Big Tree wanted missions right
where their people lived. So urgent and touching was
Lone Wolf's appeal that the American Baptist Home
Mission Society determined to undertake the work. Bro.
3
4.
G. W. Hicks, highly esteemed by these Indians, was
eager to go to this field. Accordingly he was appointed
at one point and Rev. A. A. Bosten at another point.
At present Bro. Hicks has charge of the Missions at
Rainy Mountain and Elk Creek, where chapels have been
built—the one at Rainy Mountain by the Women's
Baptist Home Mission Society of Chicago, and the one at
Elk Creek (in part) by contributions of the Women's
Home Mission Circles of the Dayton Association, Ohio. –
Hon. 7. J. Morgan in the //ome Mission Monthly, June,
189/.
Christian Women Wanted.
In a letter written in September, 1889, Mrs. Kate
Ellett Murrow gives an account of a Caddo and Wichita
camp meeting near Anadarko, O. T., and refers to the
attendance of some Comanche and ſowa Indians; she
speaks of them as wilder than any other tribes in the
territory, alludes to the fact that there were no mission-
aries among them, and states that they were then asking
for gospel teachers and schools.
In her address at the annual meeting of the Women's
Baptist Home Mission Society, held in Chicago in May,
1890, Mrs Murrow thus mentioned the opening of Lone
Wolf Mission on the Kiowa Reservation: “Two noble
workers, Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster, are conducting a school
in a tent, living in the midst of the Kiowas, teaching them
and leading them toward Christianity and civilization.
The Kiowas have settled about the school, and the teachers
have gained their respect and love.”
In December, 1891, Mrs. Murrow wrote: “ The
Blanket Indians of Oklahoma are begging for help.
They want Christian women to go into the homes and
teach the women all manner of things. They wish them
taught the ways of white women.”


5
When this letter was shown to Maryetta J. Reeside,
then a student in the Baptist Missionary Training School,
she exclaimed: “O, Miss Burdette, that is my call !
You'll send me, will you not?”
The appointment was made shortly after by the Ex-
ecutive Board of the Women's Baptist Home Mission
Society, and the action communicated to Mrs. Murrow,
who wrote:
“We thank God for this answer to our prayers.
We hope and pray that God will abundantly prepare this
young woman for her work and prepare the people to
receive her. We hope that she is not too young.”
The next matter of importance was the selection of a
suitable associate for Miss Reeside, and never was there
a kinder dispensation of Providence than that which
placed her hand in that of Lauretta Ballew, who had had
several years of experience among the Caddos and Wichi-
tas, and had come sufficiently in contact with the Kiowas
to be greatly interested in them.
Pending the arrival of Miss Reeside, Mr. and Mrs.
Murrow, Mr. Hicks and Miss Ballew visited the Kiowas
in April, 1892. From the letter reporting the trip we cull
the following:
“The weather was chilly and it was quite uncomfort-
able riding over the prairie. Our dinner was eaten be-
side a stream, and six o'clock found us at the camp of
Big Tree, a Kiowa chief. Big Tree and family were not
at home, but several other families were, and a large
camp of Indian soldiers was near. We thanked the Lord
for an empty house. It had been built by one of the In-
dians, but was not occupied for the reason, as he expressed
it, Me no like him; me no sleep like tepee." It was a
rude house, but far better for us than being out of doors.
“We could not have a meeting on Saturday as we had

6
no interpreter. Miss Ballew and I did what we could
among the women and children. How we longed to talk
to them in their own language I will be so glad when
Miss Reeside is here.
“On Sunday the missionaries were able to do some
teaching, one of the Indian soldiers interpreting. The
people seemed pleased when Mrs. Murrow told them of
the anticipated coming of Miss Reeside.”
With this brief statement by way of introduction, we
commend the chapters that follow to the earnest attention
of the reader, and venture to express the hope that of
readers there may be many thousands, especially among
the Christian women and girls of America, and that as
many as read may be stirred to do what they can toward
the evangelization and consequent civilization of these
copper-hued North Americans, the original possessors of
the land we now proudly call “Our Country.”

II.
MARYETTA. J. REESIDE.
Children say to her “I love you,” and older people
“There is something in your face that makes me trust
you.” Such is part of the testimony that came to the
corresponding secretary of the Women's Baptist Home
Mission Society concerning the qualifications of Maryetta
J. Reeside when she applied for membership in the
Baptist Missionary Training School.
When asked to state reasons for believing that God
had chosen her for missionary service, she replied: “Life
to me seems solemn. I dare not idle away my time, waste
my talents, or live at selfish ease, when I hear the cry
from Macedonia, Come over and help us.’ My services
may be poor, but I promise that they shall be faithful. I
hope they may be accepted, for even the cup of cold water
in His Name is not valueless, and I shall endeavor to so
labor as to win from the Lord the verdict, She hath done
what she could.” ”
In reply to the question, “Are you courageous under
difficulties and hopeful under discouragements?” she
wrote, “I am naturally of a cheerful disposition, and
have learned to endure as seeing Him who is invisible.”
Later, but before entering the school, she wrote: “I
think I ought to tell you that I want to go to the Indians.
If God will let me I want to go to those in paint and
blankets, and to so tell them of Jesus that I may see them,
clothed and in their right minds, sitting at His feet.”
In the early spring of 1892 there came to the Women's
7
8
Baptist Home Mission Society an earnest appeal for mis-
sionaries to labor among the Kiowas, with special refer.
ence to teaching and training the women. Maryetta J.
Reeside and Lauretta Ballew were commissioned for the
Rainy Mountain District, where Chief Big Tree had
pitched his tents. We will let Miss Reeside tell of the
beginning of the work. En route to her field she attended
the Choctaw and Chickasaw Baptist Indian Association,
and thus describes the journey and the picture on the
Camp Grounds.
On August 31st, 1892, Mr. and Mrs. Murrow and I
started for the Choctaw and Chickasaw Association, which
was held with the Stony Creek Church, about three miles
from Red Oak. We took the afternoon train from Atoka,
and stayed all night at South McAlester
We left for Red Oak in the morning, and at all the
stations delegates joined our company. There were many
Indians, with great bundles of bright quilts and blankets;
also a number of white people.
When we reached Red Oak, we found Indians waiting
with wagons to take us to the church, whose membership
is composed entirely of full blood Indians.
Our wagon had no top, and chairs had been placed in
it. The first part of the journey was over a smooth
prairie road, but it soon led into timber land and became
very rough. The horses plunged on as though they were
accustomed to stop at nothing; into ruts and over humps
we went, now up on one side now on the other, then
through a creek where the water came up to the hubs of
the wheels. I can assure you it took some determination
and action to keep ourselves from parting company with
our chairs.
But what a picture we saw when we reached the camp


9
ground, about the little church house of rough, unpainted
boards, beside which was a high pole with a great bell at
the top. It was a beautiful spot; down the hill Stony
creek from which the church is named babbled over its
rocky bed; the mountains rose with a protecting look, and
over all was the soft blue sky.
A large arbor had been made, in which the meetings
were to be held. Its pillars were young trees, and it was
thatched with boughs of oak and maple. The Indians
had gone into camp, and provided for our entertainment.
There were about seven camps, each with its fire, whose
smoke curled through the warm, bright sunshine. Huge
iron kettles were upon the fires, and men and women were
busy with the cooking. They had built light structures
of boards and logs. Here were cook stoves, pails, dishes
and kitchen utensils, also tables where we were to eat.
Near each of these, four posts, seven or eight feet high,
were erected, with trimmed branches roofing them, and
upon these great sides of beef were lying, which young
men with long, sharp knives were busily stripping and
cutting. Conestoga wagons stood about ; bright bed
clothing hung from the branches of the trees; all about
were horses grazing, and saddles and bridles hanging.
The dark-skinned women in bright clothing were mov-
ing about; some had gold hoops in their ears. The little
black-eyed children played upon the ground, building
houses with stones or blocks of kindling wood, or rolling
over and over with the puppies. All day people came in
wagons and upon horseback, some of the Indians riding
one hundred and twenty miles. That night there must
have been about five hundred people in camp. The Indian
women spread beds for us upon the floor of the church-
house, which had been scrubbed as clean as possible.
Two bedsteads were set up, having been brought in
10
wagons from some Indian home. The Indians and the
men slept out of doors and we women in the beds on the
floor. I woke in the night and saw the starlight through
the windows and the camp fires burning, and heard the
tinkle of the bells on the ponies, to keep them from
wandering away. When the sun came over the mountain,
the big bell was rung, and after we had dressed and
washed at the creek, we all gathered in the arbor for
prayer. The birds in the branches above our heads
sang joyfully to their Maker while we all knelt, and
prayers and hymns in Choctaw and in English arose to
our Father. After this we had breakfast, and how good
these meals tasted. The meat cooked in iron kettles
was tender and sweet; then there was “tofulla,” or corn
pounded in a mortar, then a mixture of corn meal and
beans wrapped in corn husks and cooked, besides black
coffee without milk. All was as clean as anyone could
wish. At other times we had chicken, pork and parched
COrn.
When we came away after our four days in camp, with
the memory of their earnest prayers and beautiful hymns,
of their generosity in killing for us their best beeves and
pigs and chickens, of spreading their best quilts and ruffled
pillow cases for our use, of the quilt they made and sold,
giving the money to the Lord and the quilt to a poor, sick
Indian–I say, when I thought of all this and that thirty
years before these Indians were wild like those to whom
I am going, I wondered how anyone could say that there
was no use in trying to help an Indian, and that they al-
most doubted whether one could be converted. Yet those
things have been said in the East. “Oh ye of little faith.
wherefore did ye doubt?” And as I go to the unculti
wated field, I wonder if I shall have faith enough to work
earnestly, trusting to God that after years will bring the


11
harvest that this work has. But the Master's words come
to me: “According to thy faith, be it unto thee.” “ said
I not unto thee that if thou wouldst believe, thou shouldst
see the glory of God?” “All things are possible to him
that believeth.” Lord, increase our faith. Let us increase
our works.

III.
IN KIOWA CAMPS.
A month later there comes to us this note of joy:
I am very happy, for I am assured that the desire,
the constraint laid upon me to go to the Indians was no
“fancy,” but the Spirit of God speaking to me. We
came to Minco, where they told me to take my last look
at a railroad. We drove twenty-five miles to the mission,
near Anadarko, where Mr. and Mrs. Hicks live, and Mr.
and Mrs. Perkins are close by at their school. All about
in the distance are the “tepees” of the Indians, and no
white people live nearer than the agency, three miles
away. The country is beautiful—broad, rolling prairie
land, with foot-hills in the distance and a little timber;
from some points Mt. Scott can be seen looming up
sombre and blue. They say it is a healthy country, too.
After we had rested a day, we made a long trip through
the camps of the wild Indians. A prairie schooner was
filled with bedding, a tent and provisions. Mr. and Mrs.
Murrow, Mrs. Reynolds from Boston, Mr. and Mrs. Per
kins, Mr. Hicks, Miss Ballew and I formed the party.
There had been an appointment made with Lone Wolf,
and we met him and Big Trce with an Indian interpreter
at a place about twenty miles from here. The wagon
sheet was taken off and spread upon the ground under a
big tree; upon this we spread our table cloth and placed
our dinner. Blankets were put around for us to sit on,
and we gathered to eat, the chiefs bowing their heads with
us while the blessing was asked, and sharing our meal.
12

13
Mr. Murrow, who is, as Lone Wolf expressed it, “long
time my friend,” explained to the two chiefs and several
other Indians who had gathered there, what he wished to
do for them and what the Christian people who sent us
out wished us to do for them. That they wanted to
teach them of Jesus, to give them schools and churches,
so that the red people need not be behind the white peo-
ple, but that they might go side by side. He assured them
he wanted no land or money from the Indians, but only to
help them. He introduced Miss Ballew, whom many of
them knew, and me, telling them he did not ask them to
give us any money for helping their women and children,
but that he did ask them to take care of us and protect us
from harm or danger, and when we should visit their
camps he asked them to give us something to eat and a
place to sleep.
Lone Wolf replied through the interpreter how glad he
was to see us, and how he thanked us for the good words;
that it seemed to him like the summer time when every.
thing is pleasant and birds sing, and the flowers come,
all is green, all is beautiful. He was so glad he had
come. He thanked us. His people needed to be helped.
The white people were so many, so strong, so wise, the
Indians were afraid of them. Some of the white people
were bad, some were good. Jesus people were good peo-
ple; he could trust the Christians. He was very anxious
for us to visit his camp and meet his people. Mr. Mur-
row promised we would come the next day.
We made part of the journey that day and camped
out that night. Before going to rest we stood around
the camp-fire, sang a hymn, and each repeated a verse
of Scripture. Then prayer was offered for God’s bless-
ing upon our work for these Indian people. I lay in
the tent but I could not sleep for a long while, for my
14
heart was yearning over these people. The night wind
moaned through the trees and my heart moaned with it.
The scenes of the day came back to me. I saw again
their earnest faces and heard their voices plead: “We are
ignorant, we are like blind men. Tell us right. Tell us
the right road. Show us Jesus' road.” And I said, “Oh,
Thou my Guide, who dost bear the wound prints in Thy
hands and feet, I will follow thee through toil, loneliness
and privation, if Thou will permit me to lead these souls
to Thee, who art the Way, the Truth and the Life.”
The next day we reached Lone Wolf's camp. A great
circle had been made on the ground Lone Wolf, Big
Tree, Stumbling Bear and Poor Buffalo, all Kiowa chiefs,
were there with men, women and children. I wish you
could have seen the picture – all were arrayed in their best
moccasins, bright blankets, beads and ornaments, with
painted faces and hair wrapped and twisted in a fantastic
manner. Some of the young women had their wrists cov-
ered with metal bands and many rings in their ears. The
little children were truly picturesque with their shell and
elk tooth ornamented jackets. All listened with great
attention while Mr. Murrow preached Jesus and the sim-
ple story of the Cross. We prayed and sang, and after-
wards we women said a few words to our red brothers
and sisters. Then all the chiefs spoke. I cannot remem
ber what each said separately, but I took down some re-
marks to this effect: “We thank you for these good
words. We will try to put in our hearts all these good
things. We hear these good words and I like to hear it,
and I tell you something and then you can carry it and
let know your people. I trust the Christian people. They
more got kind hearts. I am happy. We have talk to the
Great Spirit. I don’t know, something true, but I just
worship. I see the earth, the trees, the sky, I know some


15
body must have made them. We don't know about it, but
you know about the Christ. We wish you to tell the Great
Spirit for us, for you are more His children and He listen
more to you. We want the women to come up to their
white sisters and learn the right. I believe these young
people study about it now. We are like in the dark, but
these words are like a light to us good words. Some of
us too old in body, but we not too old in soul. I have
seen Indian church. I can see that every Sunday there
are Indians there, and they must be hungry to hear some
good thing. We want a church, too. We give you the
place. We can't say the place to-day. Comaltee is not
here, and we might not agree. But we will talk and let
you know the place.”
IV.
THE FIRST REPORT.
Our work among the Kiowas began in November,
1892. The following May, 1893, at the Annual Meeting
of the Women's Baptist Home Mission Society, held in
Denver, Miss Reeside told of
First Fruits Among Kiowas.
I bring you greetings from the camps of the Kiowa
and Comanche Indians; from the “ curling smoke of wig-
where many of the inhabitants are “painted like
the leaves of autumn; ” from the beautiful land of broad,
rolling prairie, swelling and rising into lofty hills, all cov-
ered with the abundant grass.
-- -
Walns,
In places one's eyes can take in miles; in others, bold
mountains of rock rise grim and solemn from the sur-
rounding level. All is as nature left it; there are few
marks of man’s hands. The streams have no bridges;
houses and fences are scarce, as the country is not yet open
to white people.
I joined my companion, Miss Ballew, a few miles from
Anadarko, which is an Indian agency about twenty-five
miles from the railroad. Miss Ballew had lived several
years among the Wichita Indians and I found in her a
brave and competent companion.
Mr. Murrow held a council with the chiefs, telling
them we were to be their missionaries and teach their
women and children. And so, putting on thick, plain
clothing, such as could not be damaged by the brambles

16
E IN CRADLE
KIOWA SQUAW AND PAPOOS

18
or camp-fires, and with earnest prayers in our hearts, we
began our work.
When we first visited the camps, the little children
who were playing about would run for the tepees, as
the squirrels down the trails would run for their holes,
on our approach and the women would look at us strange.
ly. By degrees they learned why we came, and when
they saw us approaching their camps on our Indian ponies
they would spread down wagon sheets and blankets, come
to shake hands with us cordially, and help us with our
horses. The children no longer ran from us, but smiled
a welcome through the red ochre which beautified their
little faces.
The camps are scattered, sometimes miles apart. We
went from one to another, taking an interpreter when we
could, carrying large colored pictures to illustrate our
simple story of Jesus and His love and death for us.
Before long we were well known in many camps and
lodges.
Some money was due the Kiowas from cattle-men who
had leased grazing land from them. The agent sent word
for them to come to Anadarko, where the payment would
be made. It was cold weather, and they sought the shel-
tered spots for camping. In the timber along the Washita
river could be found large numbers of tepees, white at the
bottom, but smoked yellow at the top where the poles
protrude. This seemed a special providence to us and the
other missionaries. A large tent was erected among them,
and we went almost every day to work with them. A
sheet iron stove heated the tent sufficiently; there were no
chairs, but blankets and canvas over the dry grass made
the floor comfortable. We had no trouble in securing
attendance. Old women, wrinkled and with skin like
parchment, came. Younger women walked long distances



19
with their babies on their backs. Many waded the stream:
some came astride ponies with one or two children behind
on the same horse, followed by a bevy of dogs.
A young Indian, who had been educated at Carlisle,
interpreted for us. He was a Christian, eager to help his
people, and his earnest tones and manner seemed to im-
press them. We began our meetings with prayer, hymns
and Bible lessons, before taking up sewing.
The women sat busily engaged in their work, the
papooses leaned against the sides of the tent in their
cradles, patiently looking at the proceedings out of their
black eyes. The children shot arrows outside the tent,
or played in one corner with the toys we kept to amuse
them. They are very bright and sweet, pick up Eng-
lish words quickly, and have learned two or three
simple hymns. Just imagine a little Indian boy swing-
ing in a grape-vine outside the tent where we have sew-
ing. He is as wild as the birds in the trees, a bunch
of whose feathers he wears tied to his scalp-lock. His
faced is smeared with red and yellow, and his only
clothing is one ragged garment and a pair of moccasins.
But listen, he is singing as he swings to and fro–you can
hear the words:
“Come to Jesus, come to Jesus,
Come to Jesus, just now.”
Inside the tent his mother is making a little pair of
blue cloth trousers under our direction, his aunt agingham
shirt, and when they start for their tepee toward evening
you would scarcely recognize the little fellow, so improved
is his appearance.
Soon the half-naked little bodies begin to be better
clad. The women also made some garments for them-
selves, but, mother-like, would rather work to have their
children comfortable. As soon as they finished garments

20
they would strip the little brown bodies and array them
afresh. But their delight was in making quilts. Great
was their surprise when they saw us stretch and fasten
a quilt-lining into a frame made of four tepee poles, sup-
ported on long, forked sticks driven into the ground.
Exclamations of wonder were heard when we spread on
the snowy cotton, and put the cover to its place. Each
woman was eager to try her hand at quilting or tacking.
After this, patch-work was in great demand. Often we
had two quilts up at the same time, with ten women work-
ing around each. At the close of the meeting we told
them all to go and eat their dinner while we ate ours.
After that they gathered again; the men came in also,
and the missionaries preached, while we women helped in
the singing and led in prayer.
The payment was delayed from week to week and the
meetings continued. On Sunday the Indians put on their
brightest blankets and ornaments, all work was laid aside,
and two meetings held, Mr. Hicks and Mr. Boston preach-
ing. Lone Wolf and others with their families drove up
as regularly as white people would go to church.
One day the minister asked if they were any present
who wanted to give their hearts to Jesus and desired our
prayers, and invited such to manifest it by coming for-
ward and kneeling. Anxiously we waited, praying in
our hearts, but no one came. The next day the invitation
was repeated, and a woman with her baby held on her back
by her blanket, and a look of longing and determination
on her face which was touching, walked forward and
knelt, forgetting that all eyes were fastened upon her;
forgetting that this was a bold step for an Indian woman
to take. As she knelt there with her hair falling about
her face, her hands covering her eyes, while the tears
trickled between her fingers, her soul was bowed before

21
her God in penitence and supplication; no other thoughts
intruded. Her frightened baby slipped to the ground,
and tugged at her blanket, crying with all the might of
its little lungs, but she took no notice, then its father,
Chief Big Tree, came and took it up. A few days later
she came of her own free will, after the meeting, to have
the interpreter tell us, “I am not afraid to follow Jesus.”
The next to come was a man, Go-te-bo, the brother
of Ome-Boke, the wife of Big Tree. He had long been
hungry to learn more about Jesus.
After this, when the invitation was given, we would
hear the jingling of ornaments as they came forward to be
prayed for. Some stopped here, but there were ten who
fully surrendered and desired to follow Jesus in baptism,
after their duty was plain to them, and they had given
testimonies–clear, simple and beautiful—of their faith in
the Son of God.
I shall never forget the scene of the baptism. It was
a clear, beautiful Sabbath. A few white people came out
from the agency, and the Indians came from miles around.
The river bank was lined with them. Painted faces looked
through the bushes; gay blankets and ornaments gleamed
amid the trees. Many sat erect upon their horses.
Many who stood there had looked upon death in
various forms; some of their hands had been red with
human blood in the old days of marauding expeditions:
now, for the first time, they witnessed the symbol of death
to the old life and resurrection to the new.
Tears stood in the eyes of many women as they saw
their people sink below the water and rise again with faces
made bright by the Holy Spirit's power.
Still the grass money was not paid and our meetings
continued. The Christians would pray in their own
language when called upon to do so. The women who
22
had only been interested in sewing for themselves at first,
were now glad to be of service to others, and would will-
ingly help the aged and those who had poor eye-sight.
Spring was coming on, the money was paid. Plows,
barbed wire and so on were issued by the government,
and they scattered to their various camping places to
begin work.
We continued to work among those in the vicinity of
Anadarko, and often drove six or eight miles to their
lodges. Besides this we made long camping trips with
Rev. G. W. Hicks, my companion's brother-in-law and an
interpreter, taking bedding, provisions and sewing mater-
ial with us, visiting the Indian camps and pitching our
tent beside their tepees.
I wish you could go upon a camping trip. We see a
cluster of tepees amid the trees over yonder. It is Chal-
an-on’s camp; we intend to spend a day there and have
meetings. The sun is going down as we reach the camp.
Some women with painted faces come out to meet us with
axes in their hands. To scalp us? Oh, no. Only to drive
our tent pegs, cut wood and make fire. We prepare and
eat supper about the camp-fire. By and by it grows so
dark we cannot distinguish the outlines of the tepees, and
their fires make them look like huge glow-worms in the
dark.
One by one the stars come out. We can hear some
Indians shaking the medicine gourd and singing in their
weird way. Then the coyotes bark in the distance and the
owls hoot in the trees.
Afraid, do you ask? No; one can lie down in perfect
peace, for the “Angel of the Lord encampeth round about,”
and these Indians love us as their own, because we are
working for them.
You may wonder how the Christians are holding out.



23
A few weeks before I left the field our general mission-
aries, Mr. and Mrs. Murrow, were with us, and we made
a long trip of about two hundred miles.
At the camps near Rainy Mountain we found that God
had taken away two little children. It made us sad, for
we remembered their sweet little faces and the touch of
their timid, brown fingers. The Indians' grief is dreadful
to witness, and their custom is to seize their hair and cut
it of close to the scalp with a long, sharp knife. Then
they make gash after gash upon their faces from which
the blood oozes. From their faces they go on to their
chests, arms and limbs. The blood is allowed to dry and
remain until it wears off. Deep as was their grief the
Christians did not destroy their belongings or gash their
bodies. For the first time in their lives they departed
from this custom
The other Indians told them that the Great Spirit
would be angry and punish them, but they replied the
missionaries had taught them it was wrong, and now that
they were following Jesus they must do the things which
please Him and “cut off º' the old ways.
Do you not see that Christianity will civilize them?
Very few will live in houses if they are not Christians,
because should one die in the house they would feel that
it must be burned, and it costs a great deal to build a
house in a country where lumber must be hauled forty,
fifty or sixty miles.
When they become Christians they “cut off,” as they
express it, the old superstitions.
One day Miss Ballew and I held a meeting at Sa-tan-
ta's camp. It was about five o’clock in the evening when
we started to drive to our home several miles away.
The air was soft and balmy. The young leaves seemed
to make a green mist, against which showed the delicate
24
blossoms of the red-bud bushes. The wild dove's note
was heard, all was peaceful and happy, when suddenly a
long, mournful wail fell upon our ears. When one is among
the Indians one knows that sound means the presence of
death. -
In a few moments we came upon a solitary tepee. A
woman was burning clothing and smashing cooking uten-
sils. A young man was harnessing horses.
We stopped, and not liking to pass without offering
sympathy, my companion said she would hold the horses
while I went into the tepee
I entered the small opening which serves for a door.
The fire was dead, and stretched upon the ground beside
it, wrapped in a dark blanket, was the dead form of a
woman. The mother knelt beside the body, sobbing and
wailing.
The anguish that the shadow of death brings to the
palace, the hovel, or the tepee was there. I fell upon my
knees beside the woman, and for a few moments my tears
fell with hers. Then wiping the tears and perspiration
from her face with my handkerchief, I told her by signs to
talk to Jesus in her heart.
She caught my hand and I could feel her body quiver
with her grief. So we knelt, and as I prayed her wails
grew lower.
Not until they took the tepee down to burn it, and
lifted the body into the wagon, did she release my hand.
As they disappeared in the trees, I thought of that poor
mother going for days to wail by the lonely grave, and I
said, “How they need to know of that home where there is
no death and of the way to it, which is Jesus.”


V.
PROGRESS.
Serious illness in her home called Miss Reeside from
her field, and returning after ten months' absence she thus
writes of her cordial reception and the progress of the
Indians. -
The trip from Chicago to Chicasha was very comfort-
able and without adventure. Coming through the Cher-
okee Strip, they pointed out the place where the train had
been “ held up" a few nights before and one of the train
robbers killed. When I came through the strip last,
there was not a sign of any living thing, there was noth-
ing but the bare prairie, but you remember it was opened
last September; and now the land is dotted with “home-
steads.” Some are nice frame houses, others shanties,
dug-outs, sod houses and so on.
Miss Ballew and Miss Given were at the station when
the train reached Chicasha, and we were all very happy to
see each other. After dinner we did some shopping. I
bought a bedstead and some other furniture for my room.
You would have laughed at our load. We had my trunk,
various boxes and valises, a saddle, our provision box and
on top of all a sack of chickens, each with its head stick-
ing through a hole in order to breathe. After we left
town we put on old dresses, and I donned my sombrero,
while Miss Ballew and Miss Given put on sun-bonnets.
We had gone but a few miles when a rain came up and
we were obliged to seek shelter in a log house.
When it cleared off we started again, and after going
25
26
twenty miles reached Anadarko. The first persons we
saw were Arthur Keotah, who used to interpret for us,
his wife, Tena, and two little ones. They whipped up
their horses when they saw us and came flying, and Tena
was down from the wagon and showing me the new pap-
poose in less time than I can tell you. They are living
in a little house and insisted on our staying with them.
As we had forty miles farther to go we decided to remain
over Sunday at Anadarko.
Tena and Arthur could not do enough for us. They
gave us their bed and slept on the floor in the next room.
Arthur caught fish in the river for us, cared for our horses
and helped us in every way. On Sunday we went to
church among the Wichitas in the morning, and in the
afternoon visited among the Kiowas.
On Monday morning we started for Rainy Mountain.
We could not cross the Washita river as it was high from
recent rains, and were obliged to make a long circuit, and
cross a creek which was also high. We drove down the
steep bank, but the water was so high and such a hard
crossing that Miss Ballew urged on the horses and the
first thing I knew there was a cracking sound, and the
next thing I saw the horses tearing up the bank free from
us and we were left in the water. The single tree and
some of the harness broke. Miss Ballew let go the lines
in time to avoid being pulled over the dash-board, and
escaped with a sprained finger. My trunk was about
eighteen inches in the water, while valises and other
things were floating. We threw on the bank all we
could, and Miss Ballew got ashore, caught the horses,
and fixed some branches for us to cross. Then she
mounted her horse and rode bare-back, back through the
water and on some distance to a house where white peo-
ple lived. Julia and I sat on the bank and straightened

A M. GIVEN
JULI

28
out the harness, and a few Indians gathered about to
watch the proceedings. Before long Miss Ballew returned
with the white man bringing his team, harness and tools.
He pulled out the wagon, and worked about two hours in
getting us into running order again.
We paid him and went on our way rejoicing. When
we reached Rainy Mountain, the Indians were watching
for us. Big Tree and his wife, Go-te-bo our deacon, and
others came out to give us a warm welcome. Our house
is just across the creek from their camp, and it was too
high to cross. So they took care of our team, and we
decided to take with us just such things as we would
need that night.
It was growing dark. Go-te-bo started ahead with my
valise in one hand and an axe over his shoulder, we fol-
lowing. He chopped down a tree that we might cross,
but even then it was slippery and partly under water. But
he took off his moccasins that he might stand more firmly,
and stretched out his strong hand to each of us in turn to
guide us safely over. The stars were shining overhead,
the swift water running under us, but the dark hand of
our Indian brother guided us safely, and we thought of
the verse: “And He shall give His angels charge over
thee and in their hands they shall bear thee up.” And so
we reached our little home in safety. It is a comfort-
able little house with three large rooms and a porch. Miss
Ballew painted one room inside, and Gotebo painted the
whole house outside. Near by is a field of oats and corn
which Go-te-bo planted, and a garden which Miss Ballew
taught him to make. He said he would raise the garden
things for us as well as himself, if she would show him
how. After two days, when the creek went down, they
brought over my trunk. I opened it and found the things
on top dry, but those under the tray were sopping wet and



29
the colors had run until they looke liked Easter eggs
dyed with mottled calico.
Strong Wind and his wife, both Christians, who live a
few miles down the creek, heard I had come, and came to see
me yesterday, dressed in their best. His wife threw her
arms around my neck she was so happy to see me. She
brought me a little present for myself, and some bead
work she had done, for me to send to the white sisters
who had been so kind to them. Strong Wind chopped
wood for us to cook dinner, and we all sat down feeling
very happy.
There is only one house in sight beside our beautiful
little Immanuel chapel, a mile away. There is the rolling
prairie, the mountains in the distance, the winding creek
with its border of trees. Miss Ballew has worked very
hard and needs rest, and Julia and I insist on her taking
it, and we will carry on the work while she is away. I
cannot say too much in praise of Miss Ballew. I only
wish everyone could meet her and know and appreciate
her. She is looking thin and really needs rest. Julia is
strong and well and her mother tongue has come back so
that she speaks fluently. She is a great help in every way.
Miss Ballew and Julia have taught the women many
civilized ways—how to cook, bake bread, wash, iron and
raise chickens. They often come to ask for medicine to
make the bread come up (yeast). Nor has the progress
been confined to the women. As I have already said,
Deacon Go-te-ho has an extensive garden, made under Miss
Ballew's direction, besides fields of corn, oats and wheat.
A number of little houses have taken the place of tepees,
and Indians are living in them. -
Although this improvement applies to them in general,
it is particularly true of the Christians. I know an Indian
home where they milk cows, raise crops, have a garden,
30
chickens, turkeys and pigs. The floor is scrubbed clean
and in the centre is a braided cloth mat, and on the
wall the tinware shines from being scoured in wood ashes.
I wish our friends in the East could have some idea
of this wild country and how hard it is to get around.
All the barrels they send us must be hauled from the
railroad the sixty miles just as we came, and we must
haul them or pay for having them hauled. Sometimes
it is weeks before we can get them, so tell friends not to
be discouraged if they do not hear from us quickly in re-
gard to them. The mail is brought in stages from the
railroad to a little postoffice (Oakdale) four miles away,
but when the rivers are high the stage cannot run and
we cannot get mail. It is not so convenient as trolley
cars, railroads and city facilities, but when we do receive
articles for our work we appreciate them all the more.
With much love to one and all. -


VI.
LAURETTA BALLEW.
It is time to say a little more about Miss Ballew,
whose praises Miss Reeside never wearies of sounding.
She was born in the mountainous district of North
Carolina, where the people lived in a primitive way, rais-
ing sheep, carding, spinning and weaving. She went to
school daily over the rocky roads, but at an early age was
obliged to relinquish school life for the purpose of help.
ing her parents and becoming practically a second mother
to a large family of younger children, mostly boys. She
learned how to care for horses and cattle and to doctor
them when ill. She made jeans for the boys and prac-
tically carried on the farm, teaching and helping her
brothers about plowing, sowing and harvesting. She
seems to have been appreciated and loved in the commun-
ity. She was in demand for weddings—decorating the
rooms, baking and icing the cakes and doing up the
bride's dress. She watched by the beds of the sick and
the dying and dressed the bodies of the dead for the
grave. She was converted and baptized when fourteen
years of age.
Her sister Jane had gone to live with an aunt near
Muscogee, I. T. She attended the Indian university,
where she met Mr. Hicks, whom she afterward married.
When the boys were old enough to do without their
sister, Lauretta, Mrs. Hicks induced her to enter the uni-
versity. So ambitious was she to make the most of her
opportunity that she rose early and worked late; but
31

32
study and confinement told so seriously on her that she
was obliged to leave before completing the course.
She joined Mr. and Mrs. Hicks in their work among
the Wichitas, near Anadarko, receiving an appointment
as teacher from the Woman's American Baptist Home
Mission Society. A school was started among the wild
camp children. At first they had accommodations for only
day pupils, and as the parents were not themselves suffi-
ciently advanced to bring or compel their children to come
to school each day, Miss Ballew was under the necessity
of going among the camps, gathering up her pupils,
teaching them, and taking them again to their respective
homes. She would have one child before and one behind
her on the horse she rode, and would lead another horse
carrying as many children as could be crowded into the
space between its neck and its tail.
In many cases the children were in such a neglected
condition that she was obliged to shave their heads and
doctor them. This was the beginning of the school for
children of Caddos and Wichitas at Anadarko.
In October, 1892, Miss Ballew received from the
Women’s Baptist Home Mission Society an appointment
which associated her with Miss Reeside in work among
the Kiowas in the mission at Big Tree's camp on Rainy
Mountain Creek.
Miss Reeside writes: “I cannot speak in too high
praise of Miss Ballew. She is in every way suited to the
work. Her practical training and knowledge of medicine
enable her to render the most valuable assistance to the
Indians. She is a devoted student of God’s Word. In
character she is faithful, sweet, unselfish, consecrated to
the Master's work, strong, noble and lovable. We are
deeply attached to each other and work in perfect har-
mony.”

VII.
JULIA GIVEN.
One very great need in the work of Miss Reeside and
Miss Ballew was a Kiowa woman who understood English
and could interpret for them, and nothing seemed more
improbable than the securing of such a woman, for it
must be borne in mind that this tribe was but just emerg-
ing from blankets and still dwelt in tents.
Nevertheless, God, who never fails to raise up the right
worker at the right time, and who is always abundantly
able to supply every need, had for ten years been prepar-
ing a Kiowa girl for this service. Miss Reeside thus
gives us
A Bit of History
as she has it from the lips of the Indians: Twenty-four
years ago the regiments stationed at Ft. Sill were kept
active, as the Indians were going upon the warpath, com-
mitting depredations in Texas and elsewhere, and were
hated and feared by the white settlers.
One of the greatest warriors was Sa-tank, who gathered
about him a band of young and daring braves, among
whom was Big Tree, then a young man of twenty-three.
After returning from a raiding expedition in Texas
Sa-tank found a baby daughter, a few days old, at his
camp. He named the baby O-le-tay-tie, for one of the
war-trophies—the long, light hair of a white woman
whom he had just killed in Texas.
Not long after a bloody encounter ensued between Sa-
tank, his warriors and the U. S. troops. Many were
33

34
killed, among the number Sa-tank’s favorite son, a brave
and handsome young man. Sa-tank, Big Tree and others
were captured and taken to Ft. Sill, where they were kept
until the sentence of death was placed upon them by the
authorities at Washington, which was afterward changed
to that of imprisonment for life. Stripped of all weapons
and with hands chained together, the captives were taken
in a wagon, guarded in front and rear by soldiers, toward
the prison in Paris, Texas. As they crossed the first
divide after leaving Ft. Sill, the prairie rolled away in
verdant beauty, and in the distance a clear stream flowed,
bordered by trees. Sa-tank spoke in Kiowa to his fellow
prisoners: “My son, the pride of my life, has been killed
by the white men. Is my life worth living to be caged
like a bird by them in a prison? You are young, you
may be set at liberty. I am no longer young. I will
never enter their prison. Where the stream flows yonder
I will be free or I will die. They will never take me
alive across the stream. Do not fight for me. If you
fight they will kill you, too. You are young and have
your lives before you.”
After speaking thus, Sa-tank began to chant the death-
song of the Kiowas.
It will always be a mystery how Sa-tank secured and
concealed the long and deadly knife, but just before reach-
ing the stream he plunged it to the hilt into the back of
the driver. As the blood gushed out the soldiers closed
about the wagon, shots were discharged and Sa-tank sank
lifeless. His body was carried back to the fort and buried
in the soldiers' cemetery.
Many speak of Sa-tank as the bravest and fiercest of the
Kiowas.
A few years later, upon the death of his wife, his
children were sent to the Indian school at Carlisle, Pa.

35
Years have passed. The garrison is still stationed
at Ft. Sill, but the Indians now give no cause for active
service. The sun-set gun is fired as of old, and as its
echoes float across the plain and reverberate in the grim
mountains, the glow of departing day falls upon the old
fort and the grave of Sa-tank. But it reaches further and
touches with a loving light the chapels where the Crucified
One has been upheld before the hearts of these people.
Sa-tank's young warrior, Big Tree, is to-day before
you—a Christian and a deacon of the church. And Sa-
tank’s baby daughter, who was named for the hair of the
murdered white woman, is to-day our helper and inter-
preter, our faithful and well-beloved sister, Julia Given.
Behold what hath God wrought!
Oh ye of little faith, wherefore did ye doubt? Did
not our Lord Jesus say, “And I, if I be lifted up from
the earth will draw all men unto me.”
O=dle=tay-tie.
In the year eighteen hundred and seventy-two a little
Indian baby girl, named O-dle-tay-tie, was born away off
on the prairies.
The mother was very fond of her little baby, and
made a cradle for it of buckskin, which she covered
thickly with beads strung on sinew. She put the baby in
this, with its little hands by its sides, pulled the flaps of
the cradle together, and laced them with a thong of buck-
skin, so that nothing but the baby’s face showed.
She called this thing, in which she placed her papoose,
a cradle, but it was not anything like the cradles in
which white mothers put their babies.
Well, after she put the baby in, she stood the cradle
up against a tree and sat down upon the ground in front
of it, so she could look into her baby’s eyes.

36
Then she took some bright red juice of berries and
rubbed over her baby’s face; when it dried, she dipped a
little stick in a mixture of bright yellow, and marked
streaks over the red. Next she tied a little bunch of
beads to a wisp of its black hair, and these hung on its
forehead.
Now, I suppose, if this had been a white baby it would
have kicked and screamed, but, being an Indian baby, it
only blinked its bright black eyes, and smiled when its
mother talked to it in a very strange-sounding language.
The mother looked at her baby and thought how sweet
and pretty it was; and what do you suppose she did next?
Why, she kissed its little mouth! Yes, the Indian mothers
kiss their children just like white mothers, for they love
them, and are very proud of them.
So the papoose leaned against the tree watching the
birds flying about, and the leaves rustling when the wind
passed through them. The mother was busy close by,
cutting some buffalo meat into long thin strips and hang-
ing them over a pole to dry.
Sometimes she would put a thick strap, which was
fastened to the cradle, around her shoulders, and carry the
baby on her back while she worked.
The papoose liked this, and when its mother stooped
over to cut wood it would seem to it that it was taking
a see-saw, and the sun would shine right into its little
face, and make it shut its little eyes tight.
So the baby grew and grew, until it was too large for
the cradle, and could toddle about and play with the other
little Indians. Soon she was a strong little girl and
could shoot arrows or ride on a horse behind her father or
mother.
One day her mother could not get up from her bed of
buffalo skins. She was very sick, so they sent for the old
E.
I
O-DLE-TAY-
Julia M. Given in Kiowa dress.

38
medicine-man. He sat in the lodge beside the sick woman,
and shook his medicine gourd or beat on his horrid sound.
ing drum, which was a skin drawn over hoops. He did
all this to frighten the bad spirits which he thought made
the woman sick, but it did no good, and the next day poor
little O-dle-ay-tie was motherless.
After that she lived in the tent of her mother's sister
and played with her little children.
One day, when she was nine years old, some kind peo-
ple came among these Indians and told them they had a
school far away in the East, and if they would let their
children go with them to that school, they would be
taught to read and write and talk English, and to work
like white people. So the Indians let some of their chil-
dren go, and because our little O-dle-tay-tie's mother was
dead they let her go too.
The children were very much frightened when they
saw the steam cars with the great engine, for they thought
it must be something alive, and the white people they saw
on the cars looked at them strangely, because their faces
were painted and they wore buckskin clothes and moccasins
and many strings of beads.
After a long journey, they reached the big school,
where they saw many Indian boys and girls who were
dressed like white people.
The school-mother took the Indian clothes from O-dle-
tay-tie, bathed her and put clothing upon her such as a
little white girl would wear. They named her Julia Given,
and before long she forgot her Indian name. Ten years
passed, and all this time Julia was learning many things.
She was taught in school the same lessons white
children learn. Then she was taught to cook and sew.
wash, iron and take care of a house. In summer, when
the school closed, she went into the country and lived

39
on a farm, where she earned some money for herself,
and also learned many things, such as raising chickens,
milking cows and making butter.
Some white women felt sorry for the poor wild Indian
women who did not know about Jesus, and after taking
the course of the Baptist Missionary Training School,
several were sent out by the Women's Baptist Home
Mission Society to the Kiowa Indians, among the very
camps where Julia played when she was a little girl.
After a year, one of these missionaries went East, ex-
pecting to stay only a short time. She had heard about
the Carlisle Indian School, and how the boys were taught
to make wagons, harnesses, etc. She needed a wagon for
her work, and thought it would be nice to buy one which
the Indian boys had made, so she visited the Carlisle
school. She was very much interested in seeing six hun-
dred young Indians from various tribes at study and at
work. She was asked to make an address to them, and
did so.
There were some Kiowas there, and they were very
anxious to hear about their people.
She was told that a Kiowa girl named Julia Given
was living with a white family, so she went to see her.
Julia was very glad to see the missionary, and to ask
about her uncle Stumbling Bear, and many of her rela-
tions. The missionary was glad to tell her that some of
her people were now following Jesus' road. She was also
glad to notice that Julia wore the little silver cross which
showed her to be a Daughter of the King.
Julia told the missionary how anxious she was to go
back and work among her people, and tell them of the
King she loved so well, and was trying to serve; but,
she added: “I have learned better ways and could never
live in an Indian tent again.”


40
The missionary longed to see this earnest young girl at
work among her people, so said to her: “Julia, how
would you like to live with me and my companion, and
work with us?” The Indian girl’s black eyes danced
for joy at the thought. The missionary wrote a long
letter to the Society. The ladies of the Board sent for
Julia, talked with her, and decided to send her with their
white missionary.
If you should pay a visit to the Indians of Oklahoma,
you would see Julia working with her white sister. She is
teaching the women better ways of living, how to sew, and
that it is better to live in a house kept nice and clean, than
a tent where the dogs can come in and lick the cooking
utensils if they feel so disposed.
But the best of all, she is teaching them of our dear
Savior.
Among the very trees and along the same streams
where her forefathers hunted buffalo and uttered war-
whoops, this Kiowa girl's voice is now telling the Gospel
of Jesus and singing of Him.
A Happy Girl.
In her last report Julia says: “If you could see me
with your two good missionaries out on the plains telling
the love of Jesus in my own language to my dark-skinned
brothers and sisters, you would say ‘you must be a happy
girl.’ I am very happy. I am, myself, learning all the
time, as well as interpreting the Gospel to my people.
When I came back to the Reservation, after ten years'
absence, I could recall only two words in my own language
And I knew that with these two words I could not tell my
people the love of Jesus. My heart ached for them, and
I longed to be able to talk to them. Go-te-bo was very
kind in trying to teach me word by word, and as I tried


41
to repeat and remember the words, I prayed to Jesus,
that He would help me to get my language back again, so
that I might use it in telling my people about Him. With
the help of Jesus and Go-te-bo, I, by and by, got back my
language and am glad that I am now able to stand by the
side of any Christian teacher and interpret the story of
Jesus' love. We have now three Indian hymns composed
by Go-te-bo, and Aim-de-co can sing them just as well as
any of us Kiowas. God bless our work and our native
landſ.”


VIII
CHAPEL IMMANUEL.
“At first we had no house of worship,” writes Miss
Reeside. “Often the boughs of trees formed the roof
under which the gospel was taught. But God does not
dwell in temples made with hands, and the story is as
powerful when told in a tepee or in the open air.” Never-
theless the need of a house was deeply felt, and in April,
1893, we read of the choosing of the site, the driving of
the stake to mark it, and the singing of a hymn and prayer
that God would grant that on this land there should be
built a house in which Indians would meet for His wor-
ship. The consecration service closed with the doxology.
One hundred and sixty acres of land were set apart for the
mission. The chapel was built mainly with money con-
tributed by children in mission bands and Sunday school
classes. It was appropriately named “Immanuel”–God
with us. The First Kiowa Baptist Church was organized
and the chapel dedicated in January 1894.
“The Indians who came to the dedication filled ten
wagons. The children were dressed in civilized clothing,
with hair nicely combed, and presented a neat appear
ance. At the close of the afternoon service four responded
to the invitation for those who desired to be prayed for to
come forward. Chief Big Tree expressed his pleasure in
the chapel which had been given them for the worship of
the Great Spirit and urged his people to make it their
home every Lord's Day.
“The young missionary men's club, Miss Schuyler's
42
CHA PEL IMMANUEL.


44
Band, in the First Baptist Church of Williamsport, Pa.,
and the boys of the Camden association, N. J., have
since contributed money to build a belfry and place in
it a bell to ring out over the prairie the summons to
the house of God. In the absence of a pastor at Im-
manuel mission, Rev. G. W. Hicks, supported by the
American Baptist Home Mission Society and pastor at the
Lone Wolf Mission on Elk Creek, has been very faithful
in coming twenty miles each alternate week to preach to
the congregation in Immanuel Chapel. At other times
the services have been conducted and the work cared for
by our missionaries and the Christian Indians. Converts
continue to be added to the church which now enrolls over
forty members.”
We quote again from Miss Reeside:
“On Sabbath mornings Indians in wagons and Indians
on horse-back are seen coming over the prairie to the
house of God. The women have prepared food at home
and brought it with them. At the close of the morning
service they kindle fires and boil coffee, spreading their
dinners under an arbor which they have made beside the
chapel.
“Although there have been difficulties to overcome and
hard things to try our mettle, the year has been rich in
blessings and full of encouragement. The people on
Rainy Mountain Creek love Immanuel chapel, their Sun-
day home, and many come long distances to attend ser-
vices. Our average attendance is fifty or sixty, and some-
times it is much larger. We, who live among these people
and mingle with them, can see how the Christians are
growing in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and
Savior, Jesus Christ. We see that the men have “cut
off’ gambling, mescal eating, etc., and that they take
pleasure in doing what will please God. They are becom-


45
ing industrious, and the gospel is lifting them up, and,
oh, if you could see our women. They are so much cleaner
than in the old days, and take so much pride in keeping
their little ones clean and well clad.

IX.
KIO WA DEACONS.
In March, 1895, four deacons were elected and to each
was given a specific work.
Sane-co sweeps the chapel and keeps it in order.
Go-te-bo visits the sick and reports such cases to the
missionaries.
Chal-an-one is usher and finds seats for the people,
while Big Tree, who is too heavy for active service, but
gifted in speaking, assists in the meetings. Each is most
faithful in his service.
Sane=co.
Three years ago Deacon Sane-co wore a blanket and
long hair decked with feathers and beads; his face orna-
mented with rings, stripes and bars of most brilliant
colors. But now he is a new man in Christ Jesus. He
dresses in civilized clothing, and his long hair, shorn by
Miss Ballew, is hanging upon her wall as a trophy of
victory. He does not forget his duty as deacon. He has
learned to wield the broom with proficiency. I wish you
could see him sweep the chapel, polish the benches, pro-
vide water for the thirsty Indians, and look after the
comfort of those who come to church.
We have a beautiful communion set and celebrate the
Lord's supper once every month. How we realize the
words: “ This is my blood of the new testament, which
is shed for many for the remission of sins,” when we re-
member that the brown hand holding out the cup to us
has been stained with human blood.
4t

47
- Go-te=bo.
Go-te-bo, who was formerly a great warrior and has
many a time danced and sung around the ghastly trophies
brought home from the war-path, has composed six hymns
in the Kiowa language. These hymns are full of Gospel
truths. His wife is almost blind, but says, although blind
in her body she thanks God she is not blind in her heart,
but that the eyes of her heart are beholding Jesus, her
Savior.
Chal-an=one.
There are among the Kiowas about ten medicine men.
The medicine or charms have been handed down from
generation to generation and are said to have come down
from the Great Spirit. Scalp-locks and other bloody
trophies are included in the medicine. The medicine man
is considered to have great power and is worshipped as
being able to drive away evil spirits, sickness and other
calamities. Gifts of horses, eagle feather fans and other
costly things are often presented to the “medicine,” and
accepted by the medicine-man.
Such a one was formerly Chal-an-one, now one of our
deacons. He says when the missionaries first came he
laughed at them and would not believe in the white man's
God, but little by little the words of Jesus were thrown
around him as a rope is thrown around a wild horse, and
he was captured. He found that Jesus was not alone the
white man's God, but the Savior of mankind and the
One for whom his heart had been hungry all his life. He
heard recently of a mescal feast and dance to be held
among the camps on the Washita river, and his heart was
stirred to go and speak of Jesus and his love. He rode
along, thinking of what he should say. Before reaching
the camps he fell upon his knees amid the prairie grass
and lifted his voice in supplication to his God to give him



48
strength to speak for Him. He then mounted his horse
and rode into camp where the festivities were in progress.
He could hear the taunts of the Indians who were ridicul-
ing him for having given up his place as medicine man
and brave and become a Christian.
The head man of the dance took him aside and begged
him to go away and not cause tumult at the feast. Chal-
an-one spoke to him of Jesus, of what He had done to
redeem the souls of His children, and begged him to help
his people find the true road and not lead them astray on
a wrong path. It must have been the Holy Spirit who
spoke through him, for the Indian said: “You are right,
your words are good, I will stop this crazy way. I will
send the people to their homes.”
Mescal is a dried flower which they eat and which acts
similarly to opium, causing them to see visions. These
they claim to be revelations from the Great Spirit and
Jesus. Mescal was introduced among the Indians by
white people, as was also gambling and whiskey. Is it
not a disgrace that those of a race who have had the Light
so long will for the sake of money take to their red broth-
ers that which they know will injure them body and soul?
X.
THE WOMEN'S MISSIONARY SOCIETY.
“We have a missionary society among the women com-
posed of fifteen members. The first year $31 was raised
by making and selling quilts. We meet once in two
weeks and work all day for Jesus. These missionary
quilts we sell for the very small price of one dollar to
enable the Indians to purchase them. They have quite a
reputation, and we usually have orders ahead for several.
At our first annual meeting we elected officers for the
ensuing year. Ome-boke, the wife of Chief Big Tree, is
president. She appoints and leads the meetings. Tah-
gah is vice-president. Pe-ah-mah is treasurer and guards
the money in a buckskin bag. Be-ah-tahn-ty is secretary,
and I wish you could see the joy in her face as she brings
up the book in which I write the minutes to be read and
interpreted.
Our president started to a meeting one day, but before
she reached the appointed camp she found the creek had
become swollen in the night, and she feared she could not
cross it. But remembering that the president should be
at her post, she fastened her baby, my little name-sake,
securely on her back and waded the stream breast high.
A woman once came to a meeting bringing her four chil-
dren on one horse—one in her lap, two astride behind,
and the fourth tied in a piece of tent cloth and hung at
the side. This woman is of our own people and race–
who was captured by the Indians when a tiny baby and
raised among them. She does not know a word of



49

50
our language, but in spite of her Indian dress and long,
loose hair, it is clearly seen that she is a white woman.
I met one of these Christian women at the trading-post.
She showed me twenty-five cents which she had tied in
one corner of her shawl. She said the coffee and sugar
were calling to it, but she tied it up tight so it could not
get out, because she had promised it to Jesus. As I looked
at the small amount of bacon and flour she had bought, I
thought surely the Lord would bless the gift.”
1. Lauretta Ballew.2. Julia Given.3. Maryetta J. Reeside.
saev v ING MEETING – MISSION A RIES AND KIOWA WOMEN AND CHILDREN.



XI.
OME-BOKE.
“Ome-boke is the wife of Chief Big Tree, and presi-
dent of the Women's Missionary Society, and the first
Kiowa convert. Let me tell you what her name signifies
and how I found out about it.
Last January the Indians went to Anadarko, 40 miles
from our Mission, to receive a payment of pasture money.
The weather was very mild. Pastor and Mrs. Hicks took
their two little children and a large tent, and camped
among the Indians near the agency in order to hold
meetings.
Miss Ballew remained at home, with a little fourteen
year old boy to look after the cow and chickens, while
Julia Given, our interpreter, and I joined Mr. and Mrs.
Hicks and camped with them. At this time the weather
was like October, but, as it often happens, a “ norther”
came with tremendous wind and biting cold, the ice a foot
thick and the snow piled about in drifts. I assure you it
was an experience to be storm-stayed in the midst of a large
encampment of Indians, with no shelter but a tent, strain-
ing under the fierce wind and threatening to go over. No
way of heating and cooking but a sheet-iron stove. But
we were there and determined to make the best of it.
When the storm abated we held meetings as usual—sew-
ing meetings in the mornings and preaching in the after
noons. Julia and I stood it very well, but our hearts
ached for poor Mrs. Hicks and her little ones. The baby
52
53
fell over a box and scratched its face, and next it fell
against the stove and scorched off one side of its hair.
The weather moderated somewhat, but the roads were
still unbroken and unfit to travel. We had no trouble
to secure attendance as the Indians were all about us.
We helped the women make garments and quilts, and
talked to them as they worked. There were six con-
versions. -
At the end of the third week Mrs. Hicks’ children
were taken ill with heavy cold, and the baby grew so
ill that they decided to take her to the Wichita Mission
where the doctor could attend her. Julia and I were
anxious to return to Miss Ballew, who had been so long
alone. A number of Christian Indians decided to return
to their homes near Rainy Mountain, and we decided to
go with them. Chief Big Tree and his wife assured us
there was plenty of room for us in their tepee, as no one
occupied it but themselves.
I wish you could have seen the procession crossing the
snow-covered plains—the wagons packed as only Indians
know how to pack them with tepee poles on the sides.
One pack horse, which would persist in straying off,
was being constantly chased by a young Indian on horse
back.
The progress was slow, as the roads were heavy and
crossings extremely bad. We could not make the journey
in one day, so went into camp about four o’clock in a
sheltered place among the timber beside a creek.
While the men attended to the horses, the women
cleared away the snow with hoes, built fires, and set the
tepee poles.
Ome-boke spread our quilts beside the fire, and told
me to rest, and hold the baby while she and Julia went
for wood and prepared supper.


54
As she reached above her head to pin the tepee cover
together with the wooden pins, the loose sleeves of her
Indian dress fell back, and I noticed her brown, muscular
arms were covered to the shoulders with great scars,
where she had gashed herself in former years, and that
on each hand a joint of a finger was missing. A vision
came to my mind of little, lonely graves on the hill-side
near Rainy Mountain, and as I looked into the bright eyes
of my little name-sake, Maryetta Big Tree, I prayed that
her life might be spared.
Ome-boke is very neat and particular about her work,
and can bake excellent biscuit in an iron skillet with a lid
set in the ashes. Soon we were enjoying our supper of beef,
coffee and biscuit around the camp-fire.
After supper, the Chief began to tell me of the old
days among the Indians: “Now, Aim-de-co, I will tell
you about Ome-boke's name. When she was a little girl
the Indians were wild. The Kiowas had many ponies, and
the Pawnee Indians only a few. The Pawnees would come
down to the Kiowa country to steal horses. Each Pawnee
would kill a coyote and take its skin. These they would
draw over their head and shoulders, and imitate the cry
of the coyotes as they crept on hands and knees among
the herd of horses.” Here Big Tree pulled a handful of
dry prairie grass which was under the quilts to make the
beds soft, and holding it up illustrated the way in which
the Pawnees peeped above the grass, and as he did so he
uttered the peculiar cry of the coyotes.
The wierd cry and his gleaming eyes were touches
which helped me to picture the savages of old.
... One time,” he continued, “it was cold like it is now.
The Kiowas heard the coyotes cry and saw them skulking
among the ponies. They did not pay much attention, as
they thought the starved coyotes were looking for some
weak pony to attack.
55
“Suddenly each supposed coyote leaped upon a pony
and became a desperate Indian, whose only thought was
to get away with the horse he rode.
“The Kiowas mounted horses and gave chase. Just
before reaching the Washita river they overtook the
Pawnees, whose only hope of escape lay in crossing the
river on the ice. Some crossed in safety, but the ice was
not thick enough to bear the weight of so many, and
crushed.
“One Pawnee sank with his horse through the ice, but
reappeared at the surface. Each time he came up a
Kiowa stood ready to thrust him back until he finally
drowned.”
From this incident the Kiowa named his little girl
Ome-boke—“head coming through the water.”
The Chief spoke of the blessedness and peace of
Jesus' way, prayer was offered in Kiowa, the fire cov-
ered, and we lay down to sleep with the stars shedding
their light through the lodge-poles, and the angel of the
Lord camped round about us.



XII.
SICKNESS AND DEATH.
“The Indians are very superstitious about death. To
carry home a little dead baby and keep it over night,
make a little coffin and line it with white muslim, and then
conduct funeral service at the grave next day is only one
of the many practical things a missionary is called upon
to do. Watch the mother as she holds the little coffin in
her arms and presses her lips to the small dead face, rock-
ing to and fro and moaning, and between the moans ex-
pressing her gratitude for the kindness of the missionaries
to the tiny white-robed form. See the other woman as
she lays the little cold hand in the warm chubby hand of
her only baby and tells it with tears in her eyes that its
little brothers and sisters, who have gone to Jesus, are
greeting the little spirit which has just entered the beau-
tiful home. If you could see these things you would say
that the hearts of these Indian women are as warm and
loving and tender as those of their white sisters. Last
autumn they brought to our home a boy who was very ill.
He had been away to school for many years, and in his
weak condition could not endure the hardships of camp-
life. His aunt and uncle stayed with us to wait upon him.
It was before the parsonage was completed, and we were
living in a house which we rented from an Indian.
Although Christians, this Indian family could not endure
the thought of having a death occur in their house, for it
has been the Indian custom to burn everything connected
with a death. They asked us to send him away, saying
56
57
some evil might befall us or them if he should die in the
house. We assured them we had no fear of death and
read them the words of the Master: “I was an hungered
and ye gave me meat. I was thirsty and ye gave me
drank, a stranger and ye took me in; sick and in prison
and ye visited me.” And assured them that in minister-
ing to this His little one, it would be done unto Jesus, and
if they sent him away it would be the same as sending
away Jesus. When we had finished they said: “Forgive
us and ask God to forgive us. It is the evil one who put
these bad thoughts into our hearts. Let the boy stay in
our house, he is welcome.”
Some days afterwards when they stood by his bedside
and saw the look of glory upon his face as he stretched
his hands upward toward his waiting Saviour and told
them he was going to Jesus, they felt the joy of having
ministered in His name.” -
Are They Kind?
“The lessons we have taught of helping one another
have not been lost. When the parsonage was completed
and we decided to move, two Indian women offered to
help us. They came early with their wagons and lifted
stoves and heavy trunks, drove their loaded wagons two
miles to the mission and then returned for more. I once
borrowed a pair of horses and buggy to drive to Cloud
Chief, a little town, fifteen miles away, to buy some med-
icine. I brought back a few pounds of bacon to the In-
dian who had done me the favor. He thanked me and
said: “You need not have done that; I did not expect
anything. When your little sister grows up she will not
pay me when she uses the horses and buggy. You are
my daughter, too, and when you wish to use anything
that I have you are welcome to do so.’”




58
Will They Work?
“I never knew a lazy Indian woman, for it has always
been their place to do the work. Some of the men are
lazy, just as some of the white men are, but a great many
are industrious.
This spring they ploughed and planted, going in the
field early and staying until sun-set. Big Tree had some
land turned and began to plant his corn. The fierce sun
beat upon him as he wearily plodded over the rough
ground. He was not able to endure it, but, not discour-
aged, he mounted his horse and dropped the corn while
some one followed and covered it. The men would be
glad of civilized clothing. Many would give up Indian
clothes if they had others to put on. They can work so
much better in these than when cumbered with a
blanket or sheet, with a gee-cloth trailing upon the ground
and fringes floating from various parts of their anatomy.
One young man, who is not a Christian but whose parents
are, asked them to kneel and pray before he went into the
field to work. He has the best corn in the vicinity. An-
other young man, who has a fine field of corn, says it
makes his heart sing to see it growing. When the agent
sent word for the Indians to go to Anadarko and receive
a payment of pasture money, this young man was sorry
to get the message, and said he would rather stay and
work.
XIII.
THE CAMP MEETING.
“We held a camp meeting the last week in June, which
was attended by Indians from various parts of the Reser-
vation. The government rations amount to a mere pit-
tance, and all knew that some means must be provided.
The two little Kiowa churches raised $102, which was
expended in beef, flour and coffee to help feed the four
hundred and fifty Indians who attended the meetings.
The Indian sisters of the Missionary Society voted to give
the contents of their treasury (eleven dollars) to the cause.
- A woman thirty-four years old, saving to buy a sewing
machine, brought three dollars. One woman held a dol-
lar in her brown palm, and said: “I give it in the name
of Jesus, and pray Him to use it to bring some soul to
Him.” Can you picture her joy later when the “some
soul” proved to be her own husband, who had once
threatened to punish her for becoming a Christian. The
encampment made a beautiful scene. In the center was
a large arbor which the Christians had built. Yes, the
missionaries had a part in it, too, for we could strip the
bark from the willow branches and prepare it for tying
the green roof together; we could carry armfuls of green
branches to cover the arbor. Under this arbor the meet-
ings were held. Around it clustered eighty-five white
camps, each with its small arbor for cooking purposes.
This spot beside Rainy Mountain was a favorite place in
the old times for sun dances and war councils. Now a
portion of God's Israel set up their standards upon it.

59

60
The pillar of fire was not visible to our eyes, but the
mighty power of the Spirit of God was felt. Under the
green arbor Mr. Hicks preached the word. Hymns and
prayers in Kiowa and English ascended. Under the gay
blankets hearts stirred at the sound of the Gospel, and
asked “What must I do to be saved?” On the last day
of the meeting there were eight who said, “Lord, I be-
lieve.” Four were men and four were women. One of
the women is the oldest among the Kiowas. No one
knows her age. They only say, “She is old, heap old.”
Leaning upon her staff she says that her heart believes in
Jesus, she trusts Him to save her. She wishes to obey
His commands, so that she may see Him when the little
time that is left for her on this earth is over. Dear old
woman. In years past she has painted her sons for the
war-path, and those feet, tottering to the baptismal water,
have left their imprint in blood from her gashed flesh as
she mourned for her slain braves. But her garments are
washed in the blood of the Lamb, her feet shall stand in
the Holy City, and her eyes shall see the King in his
beauty.
Is it Anything to You ?
Mission work among the Indians means privation,
hardships, endurance for Jesus' sake; but these are not
worthy to be compared to the joy of pointing the souls to
the “Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the
World.”
Oh, my friends, do you not wish a part in this work?
Will you not help us? Will you not remember your red
brothers and sisters, and, looking up into the face of the
Master, who lived and toiled and died for you and for
them, say with a sincere heart: “Lord, what wilt thou
have me to do?”
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