But we must end our enumeration of the steps to atheism. Every one will confess that the steps mentioned issue in atheism. These steps show that at its origin, atheism is not quite so respectable as some would have us believe. It is not the child of pure intellect and science. On the contrary, in a multitude of instances, its parentage is low and disreputable. A sot, a libertine, a rebel to reason, truth, faith, can be an atheist; never a man of reason or of faith. There is, therefore, in atheism, nothing to be proud of. A witty French lady said, to a would-be gentleman, who in her presence paraded his ungodliness, "You are not alone, sir, in your way of thinking; my dog is also an atheist."

As long as reason remains no one can prove that there is no God. Hence, according to Scripture, it is only the fool that can say there is no God, and even if he says so, he says it in his heart, not in his head or mind, for the mind of itself can never come to that degree of madness. There are, indeed, many moral atheists, that is to say, men who without any reason, and solely from pas'sion, from the desire that there should be no God, say there is no God. Hence a good confession is often the greatest destroyer of atheism. And it is a thing those afflicted with should hastily put away from them. It can lead only to hell, though even there the doctrine is not fashionable.

Should any one, who chances to read these pages, have taken any of the foregoing steps, let him withdraw on the instant. The grandest honor for man on this earth, or anywhere else, is to be- . lieve, love, and serve God.

L

THE PURSUIT OF "JOSEPH."

ATE in the fall of 1876 a band of the Nez Percé Indians, on their way from their homes west of the mountains to the "Buffalo country," stopped for a day or two at the post of Fort Shaw. The various bands inhabiting the western part of Montana and Eastern Idaho have been accustomed, for many years, to make this trip for procuring supplies of buffalo meat. Coming east in the fall, they remain amongst the buffalo during the winter, and return to the west in the spring. This visit was, therefore, no novelty to the garrison of Fort Shaw, and derived its interest from future events, for the Chief of the band was the since celebrated "Looking Glass."

To

The chiefs called upon the commanding officer, as usual, were kindly received and supplied with some necessary provisions, which, singular to say, they never asked for, but always took. They were invited to give us an exhibition of a sham battle. this they consented, and, at the hour appointed, the whole garrison turned out, when the distant shots and loud yells of the warriors were heard as they approached the post from their camp down the river. Firing their pieces in the air and uttering their peculiar yells, they approached the post in a motley crowd, their horses prancing, their drums beating and their gay, painted feathers fluttering in the breeze. After marching in this fashion entirely around the garrison, to show off their gay trappings and hideously painted faces, they assembled for the fight on the prairie outside the post. Dividing into two parties, they went through the manœuvres of a supposed conflict, charging and firing at each other, advancing and retreating, tumbling from their horses to simulate the killed and wounded, and now and then dismounting to fight on foot, when they jumped about like so many capering monkeys, all the time uttering the most frightful yells. The whole thing was looked upon by the spectators as a most ridiculous farce, and the remark was frequently heard, “If they do not fight better than that when they get into a real battle, they will not do much harm to the enemy." Many of those looking on, had occasion afterwards to recall this reflection, and an incident of the sham battle, regarded as peculiarly farcical at the time, was strongly impressed upon our minds by after events. During a pause in the conflict, the halfbreed interpreter approached me and asked for some rags. On inquiring as to what he wanted with them, he said "to make a fire." I suggested a handful of hay. This was obtained, and when the battle recommenced, an Indian, crawling up towards the opposition

party, deposited his hay, and with a match set it on fire. The wind. being favorable, the smoke was carried into the faces of the enemy, and behind it the now victorious party charged forward with loud yells, and drove their enemy from the field in wild confusion, and thus ended the fight. This incident, derisively looked upon as child's play at the time, many of us had occasion afterwards to recall under more serious circumstances.

In the following June, reports began to reach us of hostilities. having broken out among the Nez Percés, west of the mountains. The region where the first conflicts between the troops and the Indians took place, is not only west of the main divide of the Rocky Mountains, but west of the Bitter Root range, a high, rugged range, running north and south, over which passes, for nearly one hundred miles, a rough, difficult mountain trail, known as the "Lon Lon" pass, the trail entering the Bitter Root valley a few miles above the town of Missoula, Montana Territory. The difficulties of the trail are graphically described in the journal of Lewis and Clarke, who passed over it seventy-one years ago, and named the stream issuing from it to the eastward," Traveller's Rest Creek ;" for here their expedition rested one day before encountering the perils of the trail, after their trip down the Bitter Root, by them named Clarke's River.

Early in June two small companies of infantry had been sent from Fort Shaw, to establish a post near the town of Missoula, and between that place and the mouth of "Traveller's Rest Creek," or Lon Lon Fork. This was the only post in Western Montana, and the nearest one to the scene of hostilities.

To meet any emergency in Montana, the number of troops available was very small, for all the cavalry, comprising one half the strength in the Territory, had early in the spring been ordered for service down the Yellowstone River. This left for our sole dependence ten companies of infantry, occupying five different posts and scattered for a distance, north and south, of some 250 miles, with the outlying post near Missoula, nearly that distance to the westward.

On the first report that the hostiles were moving eastward, one company was hastily dispatched in wagons from Fort Ellis, and after a rapid march, reached Missoula, but not until after the Indians had succeeded in passing into the Bitter Root valley. This took away every available soldier from Fort Ellis, and immediately afterwards, on the receipt of positive intelligence that the Nez Percés were moving over the Lon Lon trail, a concentration of troops at Fort Shaw from the posts of Fort Benton and Camp Baker was ordered. This concentration was effected on the 27th of July, and the following day the little force, consisting of seven

officers and seventy-six men, filed out of Fort Shaw, followed by its pack-mules, and took up its march for Missoula, 150 miles distant. As we were to march via Cadotte's Pass, and now knew its location (see last paper) we were able to strike for it in a "bee line," which in a country like this, intersected with hills and valleys, is not quite as straight as the "crow flies." Our mules, unaccustomed to packing, gave a good deal of trouble, and no one knows, except after trial, what trouble an obstinate mule can give under the pack or over it, when he puts his whole mind to it. In consequence, the first day's march was short. Several of the mules, apparently coming to the conclusion that they preferred a comfortable stable and plenty of grain at Fort Shaw, to a life in the open air and scant grass, after scattering their loads of bacon and hard tack over the prairie, galloped back to the post, and it was past midnight before they were recaptured and taken back to camp.

It was late the next day before we reached the Dearborn River, twenty-five miles distant. Here we nooned for three hours, feasting on delicious fresh trout caught from the bright, clear, cold stream, and then resumed the march towards the mountains, following the trail leading towards Cadotte's Pass. As the shadows. of approaching sunset commenced to fall across our path, we bivouacked for the night well up towards the mountains, having dispatched our little party of mounted men across the summit as an advance guard; for it was desirable to get ahead as rapidly as possible. The route up the Big Blackfoot (the Cokalahishkit of Lewis and Clarke) from Missoula and through Cadotte's Pass was the shortest and usual route followed by the Indians coming across the mountains, and if these hostiles succeeded in eluding or overpowering the small force near Missoula they would in all probability meet us somewhere on this trail. Our force being so small it was a matter of some importance that we should have early intelligence of their approach, and a choice of position to resist them.

The next morning we resumed the march, gradually rising as the trail entered the mountains, until we reached the foot of the steep hill which led up to the summit, where we encountered the snow-storm six years ago in our trip from the west, and at length, after a steep climb of a mile or more stood again upon the summit of the Rocky Mountains. There had been a slight rain the night. before and the day was cold and cloudy, so that we felt but little disposition to stay and enjoy the view which opened out to the eastward. We quickly descended the slope on the other side and halted to rest and lunch at a little clear stream, which trickled from the mountain-side towards its long voyage to the great Columbia. Our route. now lies down a pretty but narrow little

valley, shut in by dense masses of timber, which cover the hills on every side to their very summits. We noon, shortly after striking the main Blackfoot, which comes out of a deep gorge from the south, and simply out of curiosity, but with no hope of catching anything, I put my rod together and cast a fly upon the glassy surface of a deep pool close by our stopping-place. It has scarcely touched the water before, with a rush and a splash, a good-sized trout breaks the surface, seizes it, and is landed after a short struggle, a speckled beauty, on the grass; an ample "string" soon rewards a short walk along the stream. During the day we had started up along the trail numerous coveys of the beautiful blue or mountain grouse, the young of which is now just fit for the table; and, with plenty of these, and fresh trout just from the water, we had no cause to complain either of the quality or quantity of our noonday meal.

We pushed ahead in the afternoon, being anxious to get beyond the junction of our trail with that through Lewis and Clarke's Pass lest the Indians, if on the road, should give us the slip by that, route. The valley now begins to widen out more, and in search of grouse I wander from the main trail with shot-gun in hand and followed by an orderly carrying a rifle. I have just passed a little grove of green quaking asp, and am thinking of nothing in particular, when casting my eyes to the left they encountered a sight which caused me instantly to check my horse and grasp my gun. There, not fifty yards away, lies a fine young white-tailed buck, his thick velvety horns turned directly towards me and his great eyes staring as if questioning my right to intrude on his solitude. Strange to say, he makes no effort to rise, but lies there in his noonday bed looking at me. Quickly unlocking my breechloader I slip out the small shot cartridges, and seize a buckshot wire cartridge, several of which I always carry in my belt; but it is somewhat worn, and in my feverish attempt to force it in it gets jammed and the block refuses to close. I fear some sort of exclamation must have escaped me, for the deer not liking the look of affairs slowly rose to his feet and stalked off, the most beautiful and graceful animal I ever looked upon. Hastily jumping from my horse, and dropping my gun on the ground, I ran back a few paces to the orderly, took my rifle from him, slipped in a cartridge, and hastened back to my former position, just in time to catch sight of the deer slowly moving through the timber, and not yet aware of the fact that he was treading upon dangerous ground. A sharp crack of the rifle echoed through the woods, there was a hurried rush and a plunge, and the magnificent fat buck fell, almost at the feet of my orderly, shot through the heart. That night our bill of fare had broiled venison steaks added to it.