a tree behind our rig in order to help hold the vehicle off of the team. I cut down a tree, hauled it up with the team to the wagon and tied it fast with picket ropes, then I saw that the brake was working properly, examined the breeching, pole straps and neck yoke straps, and had Frances follow behind. At times while descending the mountain the bows of my Gospel wagon would strike the horses, and when on a favorable grade, I looked back to see where my daughter was, I saw her riding on the tree and singing at the top of her voice, "Hold the fort, for I am coming, Satan leading on". Those two miles were long, strenuous ones and by the time we reached the bottom of Dead Indian Hill it was getting late. We entered into a nice little park where there was plenty of water and grass for the horses and camped for the night. About ten o'clock my horses snorted and ran towards our sleeping tent. I knew that some wild animal had frightened them so I got up, brought the horses up and tied them to the wagon and built a fire near them‑wild animals will not go near a fire.

Next morning we drove on to the settlement containing six or eight families and a few miners. On notice the people collected at the home of Mr. Painter. I addressed those present and at the close organized a Sunday school and named it the " Entwistle Memorial School". Mrs. Painter said they belonged to the same Sunday school in Pihladelphia (sic) that Mr. Entwistle did and that they knew him well; others were there who knew him too, thus it was providential in changing our course leaving Cody.

Mr. Painter told me that he thought that it was a pack of grey timber wolves that frightened my team, for a pack inhabited that section and had killed several horses.

 Returning back from Sunlight Basin we had to pack all our things up Dead Indian Hill on horseback, making two trips, then it was all that my team could do to haul the empty wagon up the steep grade. Two years later the pastor of the church in Philadelphia came west and went with me to visit the Entwistle Sunday school and he held a service for his former members.

311

The Battle of Wounded Knee, Dec. 29, 1890.

Before the Wounded Knee fight with the Indians, I had a gentleman accompanying me from the Black Hills across the Badlands to the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation. It was dark when we reached the White River; there was no bridge and the stream was so deep the water ran into the rig while fording it. Close by I saw a light in a log house and going up to it, I saw there were forty or more Indians, painted up, sitting around a fire in the center of the room eating and telling war stories. I will never forget how frightened they were when I stepped into the room. I asked the way to Wak‑a‑pam‑a‑ne (agency). One of the group went with me to the wagon and put me on the trail. It was cloudy and very dark, so I had the man stay in the rig while I went ahead and kept the trail. Finally coming to a road I could not tell which direction to take, it was a guess any way, so following the road about three miles we arrived at the beef camp for the Indians. The parties in charge of the camp welcomed us and gave us our supper, bed and breakfast, but before leaving in the morning, they charged us to pay special attention to our own business while passing through the reservation eighteen miles to the agency, that the young Indian bucks were on the war‑path. Thanking them for their kindness we started for the agency. We passed many painted and armed warriors, I cautioned the man with me not even to say "How‑How" to them, but keep on talking to me. Shortly afterwards was the fight at "Wounded Knee".

Many years afterwards, my wife and I visited the Wounded Knee battle ground. Nearby, the government sustains a school for the Indian children and I organized a Sunday school for them there. It was "Memorial Day" and the pupils and teacher observed the day by placing flowers on the graves of the Indian warriors who were kill-