Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 3

HOT TELEPHONE JOBS
By Leon L. Lake
(Retired 1951)

"We'll hook bleeders onto our two Montana Power lines which parallel that 110,000 voltage transmission line between Kings Hill and Two Dot, and you boys will place your two copper-clad wires on the opposite side of the four-pin crossarms. Now, as soon as your two wires are stretched in for tying down you will immediately ground each wire at the beginning and end of stretching spans."

"Now our two metallic wires carry 4,000 volts of induction from the high line and even with bleeders attached to our wires, you had best avoid coming in contact with those lines if you wish to keep out of trouble. However, in case you should contact one or both of our wires, you'll probably get knocked off the pole and you may get badly burned," so said Mr. Fritz, Montana Power patrolman in his final briefing at Kings Hill just prior to our first day's work on a thirty mile telephone project in the fall of 1926. Needless to say that it looked like a ticklish and hazardous job to a bunch of us Rangers on the old Jefferson Forest (now Lewis and Clark).

In the earlier days of the Forest Service there was never sufficient money appropriated to accomplish urgent jobs; therefore, quite often Rangers were detailed from a forest to make up a crew for telephone construction, road and trail work, insect control, tree planting, or new Ranger Station buildings. Timber cruising was often done by Rangers' crews.

Our crew on this specific telephone job consisted of all the old Jefferson Rangers, as follows: R.E. Dickinson, Foreman; Jack DeGroat, Bob Gray, all now deceased; D.C. Morrison Sr., Stacey Eckert and myself. Mr. Fritz (I do not remember his first name) was assigned by Montana Power to keep us in line about getting careless; also, to hook transformers as bleeders on their two wires as a safety precaution. DeGroat, Morrison and Eckert were the linemen while Bob Gray and I strung wire and insulators and Dickinson did the hauling of telephone supplies and supervised the job.

This Montana Power line paralleled the high line, with about thirty-five feet between; it crossed canyons and went over rough country. I would hook on to the ends of two copper wires and start down into a canyon. I also carried a pack of insulators, two for each pole. After going about one fourth mile, Bob Gray would hook onto the same wires and give me a lift. On one particular occasion we had to go up the other side of the canyon in order to connect up with the other wires. This meant heavy pulling and we had to get right down and grab logs, rocks, and what-not to obtain enough slack to connect up with sleeves. In so doing, I pulled one wire to the top of the crossarms on a couple of poles, one wire going over the top next to one of Montana Power's lines. Fortunately it did not contact their line, or it is possible this story would not have been written.

When about half done with the project, Morrison came down with a bad case of hemorrhoids and was unable to climb so I was assigned to hanging wires over crossarms. Quite often temporary ties were used to hold the wires down in low places, also over high places. This expedited stretching spans for the linemen. Bob Gray and Dickinson did the stringing of wire and distribution of insulators from then on.

As soon as our two lines were stretched, leaving proper slack between pole spans, ground wires were connected in order that the linemen might work between grounds for better safety precaution. Many a time as I carried two wires up a pole I could feel little red-hot needles sticking through my skin. It gave one a jittery feeling and this induction was much worse on wet days.

Dickinson moved our camp as the work progressed. We also had a cook and good grub and that meant half the battle.

While the poles were quite uniform in height, they were hard as flint from having been treated with arsenic preservative. Hooks just simply would not penetrate more than 1/4 to 1/2 inch. All in all, this was not a kid's job by any means, but as time went on we all became more confident. It took over 30 days to complete the job in late October and were we glad to see the end at the Musselshell Ranger Station, at which place John P. Bonham resided.

Back up on Kings Hill, Mr. Fritz had told us that our No. 10 copperclad would not stand the winter strain and, sure enough, before spring it went out. About 5 miles of this line had to be replaced with No. 8 copper and this ended the trouble for a long time.

In the spring of 1927 another telephone crew was assembled at the Belt Creek Ranger Station with the following Rangers participating: R.E. Dickinson, Foreman, Jack DeGroat, Stacey Eckert, David Lake and myself. Dickinson briefed us as follows: "Boys, we are instructed to string and stretch two No. 12 galvanized iron wires on Mountain States poles from this Belt Creek Ranger Station to Neihart, a distance of about 10 miles. We are going to dismantle the old line on the opposite side of the canyon and transfer it over to Mountain States poles. Now, their poles are graded from a 25' standard to 45' and 55' in order to hold their lines on uniform grade. We will use the only open two outside pins. As we approach the Neihart Mines we will cross a medium hot transmission line. You have all been through telephone schools, now watch your step."

Well, the toughest part of this job was climbing those high poles and reaching those two outside pins. Jack DeGroat and Eckert started out as linemen until Eckert hit some high poles, and right then he "flunked out" as a climber. Then DeGroat came down with lumbago. I gave him hot towel and analgesic balm treatments and they brought him out of it, so he and I finished the climber's job.

There were times when up on a 45' pole I could look down over a cliff and see just where one would land and stay put if he indulged in anything but extreme caution. Knowing this I slammed my spurs in a little deeper and strained all the harder to reach those outside pins and make the proper ties. I am only 5'7" and oftentimes my safety belt and spurs would be only 12" apart on the pole. One had occasion to remember all his safety rules on this job, but, glory be, we finished the project without any accidents.

After being transferred to the Philipsburg and Boulder Districts of the Deerlodge Forest, and later on over to the Kootenai Forest, I fell heir to a good many other telephone jobs, each one having its own peculiar characteristics, comprised of lookout installations, Ranger Station wiring, as well as switchboards, and I enjoyed the work.

Now the times have changed to a point whereby a Ranger has access to radio, microwave, and walkie-talkies for communication. Telephone lines are almost a thing of the past so I guess after all is said and done, I was born too soon.

Horse Roundup Days on the Old Jefferson Forest

In the fall of 1928, after the big horse roundup was over, we found it necessary to transfer the remaining 60 head of unredeemed "broomtails" to a new pasture that had been leased until time for the drive to Martinsdale where the sale would be held.

Clarence Settles, now deceased, my wife and I formulated a plan to drive this bunch of cayuses about two miles across the open range; my wife would stay with her horse near the gate of the new pasture where she could head off the horses from going around the fence. Well, Settles opened up the gate to take the lead in trying to keep the wild bunch from splitting off from the others, he having the fastest saddle horse, and I was to whip up the drags at the tail end.

We started out and it went fairly well for about 200 yards, but for the life of me I could not whip up those drags with the lead; as a result the wild bunch split up in three groups. Settles kept in the lead of about 30 head of the wild horses while I let the drags go and took after the middle bunch of "broomtails" that were plenty fast for my horse. Well, sir, the last I saw of Settles and his bunch they were going over a hill "hell bent for breakfast."

My bunch took off down a timbered coulee but by riding like hell and cutting around a neck of timber I finally succeeded in heading them off and back around to the new pasture gate where my wife helped cut them into the field. My saddle horse was spent so I grabbed the other one and started back after the drags, and by the time they were rounded up and in the pasture here came Settles with his 30 head of wild mares and mustangs. He had run them until they were winded and into a rimrock where he quickly cut into the lead, and back they came as if it was a made-to-order movie, and through the gate they went. His saddle horse was about done and my two horses were already spent. This all happened within about one hour and I can truthfully say that it was about the fastest ride I ever had in my whole life. While those wild horses were getting away I had visions of losing the whole works, and what with a horse sale advertised thirty days hence at Martinsdale, it certainly looked as if I was going to be on the spot for sure.

This wild ride to change horse pastures all came about as a result of the new Regulation T-12, and it is believed this was the first horse roundup ever staged in Region 1. I was assigned to the Castle Mts. district on the old Jefferson Forest, on which a considerable number of wild horses were grazing in trespass yearlong. Adolph Weholt came down from Great Falls to help get everything under way for the roundup.

Clarence Settles, an old horse wrangler who had oodles of experience with wild horses in the early days and who was still quite active at the age of 70, had been hired to assist.

We leased an abandoned ranch inside the Forest for our headquarters and started to work gathering a total of 185 head of horses, of which forty or more were rounded up the second and third time after being redeemed by their owners. The District contained a number of unfenced privately owned sections, besides several thousand acres of patented mining claims on which we could not legally touch any trespass horses. It was, therefore, a ticklish job, moreover one had to know land lines in a fairly accurate manner.

As soon as a bunch of horses were gathered we had to work them over in a stock corral, taking descriptions of each horse, recording brands, etc. Oftentimes we had to front-foot and throw a number of them. They were then hog-tied and brands were sheared. Here at this ranch we had no chutes so old-time methods had to be used.

Each day I worked up cost keeping records of all expenses, since invariably after being notified, owners would appear to redeem their horses. If prices became too high a few owners would leave their horses until day of sale, hoping to buy them back at reduced bids. One owner left about 30 head this way.

One day in November, Settles went home to vote at White Sulphur Springs, as I had already done. Adolph Weholt was left in charge of the horses, but the next morning he found 20 head missing. He immediately came over to the Four Mile Ranger Station and asked if we had seen any horse thieves. Settles said in riding over that at about two miles distant he could see someone driving a bunch of horses, but did not know who it was.

We soon discovered that the Charley Smith and Sons horses were missing and it began to look as if we might be in for some severe trouble. For over 10 years the Forest Service had been having grazing trespass troubles with Charley Smith, trespass case after case, which finally resulted in an injunction taken against Smith in Federal Court and a lien filed against his land. After one year the lien and judgment had to be satisfied, resulting in the U.S. Marshall serving papers on Charley Smith, and he was ordered to vacate the land. However, he was still residing upon the land at the time the horses were stolen out of the pasture by his sons. In fact, I believe Smith still had a year to redeem his land.

Adolph Weholt returned to Four Mile Ranger Station on his way to Great Falls, and upon arriving he phoned me to go up and take those Smith horses back to our impounding pasture. I refused to do so without written instructions, believing that it would now have to come about from Federal Court. It ran along another week or so and Supervisor W.B. Willey (now deceased) called up and demanded that I go and get those Smith horses. I refused again for the same reason, asking him to get a writ of replevin out of Federal Court. He stated that this would take quite awhile and as the date of the sale was drawing near, we should try and get those horses as soon as possible and for me to watch those special-use pastures fenced in with the Smith land which I promised to do. However, those horses never got off the Smith land. With the thought in mind of trying to avoid a gun battle with Smith and his sons, I figured it out that we could not legally take those horses without some writ out of Federal Court.

Finally Glenn Smith of R-1 Range Management dropped into the Supervisor's Office at Great Falls. Mr. Willey called up at once and asked me to contact the Smiths and see if they would pay the redemption fees on their horses up to the date they were taken out illegally. This took quite a lot of maneuvering but it was finally accomplished without further drastic action.

It might be of interest to add that upon instructions from Supervisor Willey we wore guns while conducting this roundup. It seems that down in Colorado some Rangers had been shot and killed by angry stockmen while handling trespass horses rounded up under the new Regulation T-12; therefore the wearing of a six-gun saved a lot of heated arguments.

The horse sale was set for December 4, 1928, as I remember it, to be held in the stockyards at Martinsdale, Montana. The time was drawing near for the overland drive, a distance of about 25 miles. I hired two cowboys to assist Ranger John P. Bonham (now 92 years of age, at White Sulphur Springs), Clarence Settles and myself. We had several miles of open range to cross before coming to the county road. Settles and Bonham took the lead, one cowboy on each flank, and I brought up the rear. In this way we could hold down the wild bunch and keep up the drags. In fact, in this manner these 60 head of horses could have been trailed to any place in the State. I have known Settles to bring in 10 or 15 head of wild horses all alone without losing any of them, and right here I want to say that I learned a lot about handling wild horses which came in handy later on. As soon as we struck good fenced lanes the two cowboys, whose names I do not remember, were dropped off and we went on to Martinsdale without any hair-raising mishaps.

The next day a bad snowstorm set in so we bought a load of hay and fed the horses. Several of them with blotched brands had been advertised "Looks like this —;" therefore, in order to give a clear bill of sale we found it necessary to catch and throw a few in order to clip the brands once more. Bonham and Settles did the front-footing, the former seldom missing a throw and almost invariably catching both front feet, while Settles usually came up with one foot. However, he was slightly handicapped, having lost several fingers from taking dallies around the horn of the saddle. I had thought that I was pretty good with a rope, but both of these boys had me beat a mile.

The weather dawned fair and chilly for the big horse sale in the stockyards at Martinsdale before a crowd of more than 500 people. It seems that this roundup and horse sale had gotten into Associated Press news, hence a number of out-of-county horsemen were there, including representatives of Hanson Packing Company of Butte; also my brother, now ex-ranger David Lake of Judith Gap, who's still living. W.B. Willey, Forest Supervisor of the old Jefferson was auctioneer, and I acted as clerk and secretary of the auction. Several stock inspectors, state senators and influential stockmen were present. Mr. Willey announced the number of minutes left in which to redeem horses prior to start of sale. One was redeemed at a price of about $30.00, as I remember it.

The stock inspectors tried to start trouble by saying that the sale and roundup was illegal; furthermore, that anyone buying horses would have to stand an inspection at each county line, horses corralled, brands inspected, etc., before proceeding. Of course they were invoking a state law to this effect, but trying to make it as burdensome as possible. To offset such arguments, one horse owner had brought in another 20 head of wild horses for the sale. We already had about 30 head of his horses and it now looked like we were going to have a good sale. I still wore my six gun under my coat since feeling was at a high pitch. As time wore on everything calmed down when they saw we meant business.

Mr. Willey sold a few of the best and most desirable horses to local buyers and then knocked off that bunch of 30 wild ones to Hanson Packing Co. (I do not remember the price paid but they were cheap.) After our horses were sold, Mr. Willey sold the 20 head run in by a local horseman and they went to Hanson Packing Co. We heard that two big, rangy sorrels were broken stock so that was announced and they were bid in by Hanson Packing Co. for about $30.00 each. Later on I learned that Hanson Packing Co. resold them to another party who hitched them up together, but they ran away, smashed up everything in general, and broke one fellow's leg. "Unbroken outlaws," did you say?

After the sale I had a big job making out bills of sale, collecting sale receipts, and making out letters of transmittal until the wee hours of the morning. The next day was Sunday but I converted $600.00 in bank drafts and cashier's checks made payable to the District Fiscal Agent. I already had more than $400.00 in redemption fees at the Four Mile Ranger Station which had been converted into bank drafts. In summing up the sale costs and redemption receipts, this was one sale that paid out.

Settles hired out to Hanson Packing Co. and went on the overland drive with their horses to Jefferson Island, where they had a pasture. Upon his return he related how one big roan had gone through the ice in crossing the Jefferson River but, would you believe it, I picked up that same big roan the following fall in another roundup.

At a stock association meeting held at Martinsdale the following winter one local irate stockman, who was also a state senator, got up and ridiculed our way of conducting horse roundups, accused me of taking horses out of privately owned fenced lands inside and outside the Forest, all of which was not true, and finally got an item in the Helena Record Herald that I was a horse thief and rustler; furthermore, that in the early days men like me would be shot and left to die with their boots on.

Such a statement in the press, made me a little hostile and really raised my ire, but nevertheless, each fall and spring, I went ahead and rounded up more trespass horses and even caught some more owned by the same radical stockman, one of which was loco and which I was unable to corral. Later on it was taken with others to a sale at White Sulphur Springs, cut out from sale and driven with others back to its owner. That fall I ran into this locoed horse on the range and it came right for my horse, hell bent for trouble. I unlimbered my rifle and shot him, but this and other incidents would make a separate story.

In the spring of 1930 I was transferred to Philipsburg, later on to. the Boulder District of the Deerlodge Forest and from there to the Kootenai Forest on the Warland District where at each place more horse roundups were organized; also a few minor roundups were conducted on the Deer Lodge District, Deerlodge Forest, from where I retired on June 1, 1951, and quit the game.

******

In my thirty-four years of experience in the Forest Service it became a second habit of packing my six-shooter along with other camp supplies, when going out on field trips. In the early days in the 1900's and twenties I found a six-shooter excellent company when dealing with tough customers or in law enforcement cases; in fact right up in the 1940's I expected to have to defend both my assistant and myself from a demented prospector who threatened to kill a Williams and Pauly herder but that story will be related later on.

On my first district in the North Snowies of the old Jefferson Forest I had called a deputy game warden at Lewistown to help me on a game investigation case. He came out and we rode about 12 miles and stayed all night at a ranch. The next day we started out again and on the way he asked me if I had a gun. I told him no. The people we were going to investigate were tough homesteaders living on the edge of the Little Snowies where it had been reported to me that they had been killing antelope and deer for commercial purposes. Their name was Zumwalt. Oral Zumwalt, the big rodeo producer who furnishes all the stock for Montana rodeos, was a little fellow at that time. When deputy warden Jim Weaver, now deceased, found out that I did not have a gun along, he refused to go any further and promised to send me a gun as soon as he reached Lewistown. I was cautioned by him to never do any investigating of fish and game cases without having a gun along, for some of these nesters could be plenty tough.

At other times it was specifically stressed by sheriffs and other law enforcement officers (not Forest Service) that in no case should one try to search a person or premises without a gun on his person, because someday it might come in handy.

In view of the above advice, greater protection from obnoxious moose and bear, and self protection, in case of getting hung up in a stirrup when riding broncs out in the great alone, it became a habit to see that my six-shooter was always in my chaps pocket as I started out on a field trip. It was also a must on horse roundups.

The present day Ranger personnel may feel that toting a gun along was all uncalled-for, but in the early days settlers were not very enthused about the Forest Service in general; in fact widows trying to carry on after their husband's death or others who were just plain tough and hard to get along with presented real problems. I had dealings with one or two such women who would just as soon shoot you as not. A former Lincoln County sheriff, now deceased, once told us at a law enforcement meeting that when one ran up against a tough female character who threatened to kill you, "Just treat her like you would a man."

On all horse roundups conducted in the Castle Mountains District of the old Jefferson Forest, Philipsburg, Boulder and Deer Lodge Districts of the Deerlodge Forest we carried guns and the owners of impounded stock had a tendency to soften up or reduce the abusive language just because we were armed. I doubt if the present day "scooter type" of Rangers and personnel will ever need to tote a gun. Times have changed and people are no longer belligerent toward the Forest Service policies and personnel.

When I had the Philipsburg District, Deer Lodge Forest, a tough character by the name of Jimmie Young lived on the old Page homestead on the East Fork of Rock Creek, where the East Fork Reservoir or Lake now exists. The Georgetown Stock Association kept complaining about his cattle and horses running in trespass on the Georgetown range. I went after Mr. Young, but he would not keep them off. If I remember correctly, he finally got involved in a trespass case which made him mad. One day he and I met in Philipsburg and I tried to reason with him, but to no avail. He finally threatened to kill me if I ever went out on the East Fork country. Now I never did pose as a "trigger happy" Ranger, but wasn't easily bluffed. Young made the statement that it would be easy to mistake me for a deer and to keep away from his country. Well, it meant hurling a challenge at me so I quietly told him that if he felt that way he had better do a good job with the first shot; furthermore, I always carried a gun and knew how to use it. I made many a trip over in his locality after this incident, and nothing ever happened - and he kept his stock off the range.

Over on the Boulder District we had been having a lot of trouble with the John Roftus trespass horses on the Elkhorn range. The Elkhorn Stock Association was kicking about his horses out there winter and summer. I had been trying to get him to take care of them, but due to so many intermingled patented mining claims it was a difficult problem to handle.

One day in the spring I made a hurried trip over to the Elkhorn with my horse and trailer. I unloaded my saddle horse at the mouth of Sour Dough Creek and rode across Roftus' fenced mining land and found the gate open on the northwest side. Apparently it had been open for a long time, and I found his horses out on the range off from all patented mining claims. The District had been advertised for horse roundups. It would have been a "cinch" to pick up those horses with two men but with one alone they would drift right back down the hill and into the fenced land, and if I was ever caught taking them out of private property, well, that might mean plenty of trouble; therefore, I figured to go down and get a rider to help me.

Sourdough Creek is below the old mining town of Elkhorn but somehow the grapevine gets around and as I approached the trailer there was John Roftus waiting for me on his horse. I started to dismount but in doing so I noticed Mr. Roftus uncoiling a twenty-foot blacksnake whip and stretch it out full length. I mounted my saddle horse again and passed the time of day with Roftus and with this I opened up my coat so that he could see that I was armed. He took one look at it and then recoiled his whip and we discussed the horse trespass problem. He made apologies about the gate being open and promised to go and get his horses. I warned him that if I ever caught them on the range again they would be rounded up and held for costs. I never had any more trouble from him hereafter.

On my first district in the Snowy Mountains it had been rumored that poachers were hunting in the Snowy Mt. Game Preserve, the Forest boundary being the line. This had been going on for some time, but I did not have the time to continually run down game-trespass cases, although at that time it was a major part of our duties.

The open hunting season was in effect and a heavy snowfall arrived in October. I rode over to Rock Creek from the Rogers Ranger Station, mainly on game patrol. Upon arriving at an abandoned ranch on Rock Creek, I found where some hunters had dragged down some deer out of Greenpole Canyon and loaded them on to a wagon and pulled out. I backtracked them to above the Forest boundary for about one mile and found where they had killed and dressed them out. I circled back to the boundary line and made absolutely sure that no other hunters were involved and then went back down the canyon. I approached an open meadow where the canyon forked, and decided to ride around the edge of the timber and make sure that no hunters had come in from any other source. About half-way around a rifle shot whined over my head, then another, and another. I jumped off and pulled my rifle out of its scabbard and was in the mood to return the shots as I could see two hunters standing down at the lower edge of the park about 300 yards away. I suddenly changed my mind, mounted my horse, and rode down on them in zig-zag fashion with my rifle on the ready. I hailed those fellows none too courteously, asked for their licenses, and found out they had just come in to the old abandoned ranch soon after I had left there. In due time I dropped in to their camp and learned that they had passed a wagon as they were coming up, but did not know the hunters nor see any game. The cookstove was still warm when they arrived.

By riding several miles I dropped in on the owner of the abandoned ranch. It was now about midnight, and here I stayed all night. This man happened to be over at the place when two hunters from Moore, Montana, came in with camping equipment and asked to stay there. He knew one man's name and that was enough. The next day I rode home to the Rogers Ranger Station and grabbed my "jalopy" and hit for Lewistown where the local game warden was contacted. We went over to Moore and contacted the fellows, who both owned up to killing a nice buck apiece and camping at the old ranch already mentioned. We obtained warrants of arrest and went back and served them, confiscated their bucks and took them to Lewistown for a hearing. They pleaded guilty and took the rap for $50.00 each, the judge revoking their licenses, and the game warden confiscating their game and guns.

While on the Boulder District I had numerous experiences dealing with miners, incendiary fires, game trespass cases, special-use permittees, and homesteaders. In fact, I really liked law enforcement activities. One day the supervisor at Butte called and asked me if I would investigate and make a report on the FitzWilliams homestead located in the head of the Boulder on Indian Creek. Ranger Sam Harris could not cross the continental divide to get there on account of the snow on the divide. Within a few days I went up there and covered the claim in full. It was partially fenced, with a poor shack that was uninhabitable, and no cultivation. I was forced to make an adverse report from the findings.

However, soon after we were all called to a Ranger meeting in Butte. "Chick" Joy was supervisor. It was necessary to see Mr. FitzWilliams so I got a hold of Ranger Sam Harris and we went down to see our party who lived on South Arizona Street in Butte. We found the place, went upstairs and rapped on the door. A heavy-set, middle-aged lady came to the door. We asked for Mr. FitzWilliams, and she said he was not at home in very unfriendly tones. However, as she spoke he had driven up, so she said, "There he is," and pointed.

Harris and I went back down the stairs, introduced ourselves, and he took us into his secondhand store, locked the door on the inside, and asked us what we wanted. Well, it was up to me to do the questioning, so I began to ask him about his residence on the claim, improvements, cultivation, etc. While we were discussing these matters, his wife yelled out at him, "Supper is ready. Come and get it, you SOB." Well, we decided to take leave and as the old boy took the key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and let us out, we breathed a big sigh of relief.

Later on, FitzWilliams called at my residence in Basin and tried to bargain with me about the adverse claims report. Failing in that, he spoke about hunters mistaking Forest Officers for deer in the hunting season and that it could happen to me. I told him I wasn't scared and later on went hunting near his locality. He hired an attorney to fight his case but at the hearing he never showed up and the case went by default in favor of the Forest Service.

Over on the Kootenai Forest we had a tough female character to deal with. She lived at the mouth of Dunn Creek just off the Kootenai River. She was reported to have been married four or five times, and it was alleged she had killed one husband, one or two had died mysteriously, and another had fled. She was an early day barroom type who, in her younger days, lived at Jennings, the lower port for steamboats that plied the Kootenai River from some point in Canada. These steamboats carried gold ore and other commodities for reloading on Great Northern freight cars at Jennings. No use in saying that this was a wild town in the early days. Our female character was given the nickname of "Dunn Creek Nell" and it still sticks with her. At last reports, she was still alive and living at Libby, Montana.

"Dunn Creek Nell" hated Forest Officers or any others whom she considered prowlers around her abode. She had a homestead way up Dunn Creek and reached by trail until a logging road tapped that locality. However, she lived on an old cabin at the mouth of Dunn Creek. She wanted a special-use permit for this cabin so went to the Supervisor's Office at Libby to find out about it. She always carried a big long sixshooter. She got the office force into a near panic the way she yelled and talked with profane language. The outcome of it all was that I had to go down there and check things over. She was not at home, but by running out lines we found her cabin to be on patented private land and she was so advised later on.

One day "Jack" Lilliveg, assistant supervisor of the Kootenai, was riding down Dunn Creek on his way to the Warland Ranger Station. The trail led fairly close to "Dunn Creek Nell's" cabin. All at once he looked up and saw a female character behind a stump with a gun leveled at him. She said to him (Jack's own story), "Don't you come any closer or I'll bore you center." Well, Jack being very coolheaded, told her who he was and where he was going, but it didn't make any difference. So he began to talk to her about guns and asked her what kind of a gun it was, advancing a little as he talked. He told her she ought to be more careful about pointing loaded guns at people, because she might accidentally kill someone. By this time he was getting rather close. He suddenly asked to see her gun as he thought perhaps he may have one like it. She gave him the gun, he looked it over, threw the shells out on the ground, mounted his horse, and told her that she would find her gun on yon stump and rode off. However, Jack went on to say that she had him guessing for a little bit.

Another episode that seemed funny to the perpetrators. Her last husband was a docile little man who was unable to hold his own or even dare to talk back to her. One day he was in a Libby barbershop getting a haircut. The barber told him that he should not take everything laying down, but to stand up to her and show her he was a man. Apparently he had been telling his troubles to the barber, who was trying to get him out of the doghouse.

They had finally convinced the husband that he should talk right up to her. Well, in stepped "Dunn Creek Nell" (I do not recall her real name) and she told her husband to do certain things and get to going. At that he stepped right up to her and said, "You are no longer going to boss me around as you have done. I'll get those things when I get ready." The story goes that she told him, "You dirty little cur, what are you up to?" and hauled off and knocked him down flat.

In 1941 and 1942 the J. Neils Lumber Company logged off Dunn Creek and built logging roads all over. They bought the timber from "Dunn Creek Nell's" homestead, part of which had been deeded to another party. The Forest Service had decided to maintain the main logging road up Dunn Creek which passed through her homestead under a reserved right-of-way. This road was under the Forest Service Road Engineering System, but "Dunn Creek Nell" had put a fence across the road and defied anyone to go beyond at the cost of getting shot.

The Supervisor's Office threw the whole case into my lap for straightening out. Karl Klehm was Supervisor and George Duvendack an assistant Supervisor, and neither one would have anything to do with it. I was told to get some action, as the road maintenance men would soon be assigned to the Warland District.

It was in September that Frank Bolles, my dispatcher and I went down to Dunn Creek to map private timber lands in cooperation with the State and also to contact "Dunn Creek Nell" about the fence. I asked Bolles to go with me that morning, but he flatly refused, so I went up to her cabin alone to shoot troubles with her. I knocked on the door, she opened it, and immediately dashed for her 30'06 rifle, threw a shell into the chamber, and laid it across the table. I asked her why the rifle, and she said that she was always prepared for action. I opened up my coat and made the statement that I always went armed also. We discussed the fence across the road, and she cussed and raved about the J. Neils Lumber Company and what thieves they were along with the forest officers who all robbed, poor widow women. Then she quoted excerpts from the Bible to prove her points. I also asked her if "someone should smite thee on one cheek, thou shalt turn the other." She cussed and said that she didn't believe in that G.D. stuff. I tried to reason with her to no avail. Finally I asked her to take a ride with me up to the homestead where we could discuss the problem on the ground. She decided to do this and took her dog and gun along. When we came to the fence she swore she would shoot the first man that tried to cross over and up the road. I tried to convince her that the Government had a road right-of-way through her homestead. I had previously checked the road to see if it followed the right-of-way survey. Well, as a last resort, I said to her now if we should have to go through here to a fire we will tear this fence down and go to the fire. She said if I catch you doing that I'll shoot every last man and roll them over the bank. "All right," I said, "if we come through here we will be armed and it might be too bad for you, but on the otherhand, if a fire is burning on your own land on which you have been paying fire protection fees knowing we cannot go further than this fence, we'll just let it burn until it reaches Forest land."

She thought a minute, and said, "Let's tear the G.D. fence out." I asked her if she meant it and she said, "Yes." We tore out the fence, and she promised no more trouble. After this she took me down to her homestead where one of her babies was buried. She became real chummy on the way back and, while I wanted to get away, she took me into her house and showed me her artistic quilts, her box of self-made poems which bordered on to the wild happenings at Jennings and steamboats. I finally got away from her, and that was the last of the troubles with "Dunn Creek Nell."

The last incident of what could have been serious trouble occurred in 1946, as I remember it, on the Deer Lodge District of the Deerlodge Forest. An old prospector by the name of Graupner lived on Pikes Peak Creek. He had numerous mining claims located up and down the creek and even high on the mountains. He lived alone and kept everyone from going up above his place. The road up there wasn't much better than a trail or better for a jeep. Up above his place a band of sheep were routed in each summer on a deferred and rotation plan of use. The unit had about ten days feed with a water project lower on the mountain. Rangers in the past had plenty of trouble with Graupner so they built a fence below the troughs to keep the sheep off from a ditch line lower down. Each year the Williams and Pauly outfit was blackmailed into paying money to Graupner before the sheep went on this particular unit of feed. He finally kept raising his price and threatened to kill their herder and camptender if he didn't come across.

Graupner's last letter was turned over to me since Mr. Pauly emphatically stated that unless something was done the sheep would not go on to that unit of feed. This would shorten the season causing the sheep to go off early. Mr. Pauly said he was tired of paying blackmail money for something the old prospector did not own. (None of his claims were patented.)

Now to go through the regular channels of solving this problem would have taken a long time, possibly into Federal court, and that could have taken several years.

It had finally come to a showdown. One day in August, my assistant, Douglas C. Morrison Jr. (now in charge of wildlife in the Regional Office at Prescott, Arizona), and I took our horses and went down to Pikes Peak Creek and camped. We had surveys to make for posting water appropriation notices on our range water projects. We rode up to the Graupner country, posted a notice on the spring, checked on his ditch which he claimed the sheep polluted so that he was unable to use the water for domestic purposes. We found the ditch ended under the ridge and the water ran out into the windfalls.

Graupner was on the roof of his cabin as we approached. He usually would come out of his cabin with a rifle in his hand and always acted as if he might take a shot at you. We passed the time of day with him and asked if he would come down as we wanted to talk to him. He finally came down and in a better spirit than usual. I opened up the matter about his ditch line, the sheep grazing that unit, and the fence and watering problem, as they all affected him. We asked him where he got his water supply and he pointed to Pikes Peak Creek so Doug went down and got a drink and put two bottles of beer in the water.

Graupner pointed out a few of his claim lines, springs appropriated, and we looked at his ores. Doug went after the beer (I had always known a prospector's failing) and we offered him a bottle. I asked him if we would repair the fence under the water troughs would he leave the sheep and the herder alone? He said yes, if they would keep the sheep off from his ditch line. I offered him the job of repairing the fence as it was down in bad shape. He refused the job: I asked him would he sign a contract about the whole deal I had made. He said yes, so I wrote it up, he signed it, and Morrison signed as a witness.

Now we went up there expecting trouble and we were "loaded for bear." Doug wore his gun in a holster on the outside and mine was in my chaps pocket under the flap. Graupner saw Doug's gun and started to make a grab for it and Doug not knowing what else to do let him take it out of the holster. As I saw this play, I quietly dropped my hand to the handle of my gun whereupon Graupner said I have a gun just like this one and in the house he went and soon returned with it. He and Doug compared guns and the situation looked even worse. Finally, our business done, I said to Doug, "Let's go, it looks like rain." I mounted my horse and rode off about fifty feet and waited for Doug. He took the sign and as he passed by I yelled, "Kick that horse in the slats and let's get out of here" as we waved back towards our demented man Graupner.

After this incident, I cautioned Doug to never let anyone take a gun from his holster; better yet, take it out, extract the shells, and hand it over to the party to see. If Graupner had been in a vicious state of mind we might have had plenty of trouble. Afterwards he came in my office to chat with me. In all probability he had gone into the Supervisor's Office at Butte and related his troubles. Suffice it to say that I never had any more trouble with friend Graupner, now deceased.

In summing up-these incidents connected with Forest Service activities, I do not wish to appear as a "hard-boiled" gun-toting ex-Ranger. Neither do I wish to recommend the same procedure for present-day Rangers. Practically all the old tough characters have either become incapacitated or have died off leaving a better quality of citizens to deal with. However, in the course of events, it seemed to be my lot to come in contact with the tough cases; furthermore, I do not remember one such case that was ever appealed to a higher office.

L. L. Lake working on a black bear rug. "Taxidermy and photography are my hobbies."