Harry and Tom initiated daily special meetings for the Indian children. They left the station early each morning, crossed the river on horses, then rode another four miles to the village. The trip home at night was long. By the time they reached the bank of the Red River opposite the compound, it was very late, and they would stand in the dark at the riverside, cup their hands, and call across: “He-yo, Siiiiilver!” If the wind was blowing the right way, Millie and Betty would realize it was time to get something ready for the hungry men. Now that the barracks had become a kind of recreation and meeting place for the Indians on Saturday night, Chief Manoel would come, drink the sweet black coffee, enjoy the prestige and attention shown him, then go home. He showed no interest in the welfare of his soul. He had never listened to preaching. Why should he, of course? He was the chief. Let others listen to him! “We’ll see you tomorrow at the meeting, Captain,” the missionaries would say when he left their house on Saturday night. He always replied, “I’ll be there.” But he never was. One Saturday night, having enjoyed his coffee, the company, and the missionaries’ hospitality, he rose to go. “See you tomorrow in the meeting, Captain,” reminded Harry. “Yes, of course, I’ll be there.” “Listen, Captain! You’ve told me that before. If you don’t come to church tomorrow to the meeting when the bell rings, I’m going to your home after you. How about that?”
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