Early Days in the Forest Service Volume 4

THE "BATTLE" ON BASS CREEK
By Charles H. McDonald

One of my more shaking experiences as Ranger on the Stevensville RD was the "Battle" on Bass Creek. Two half drunk loggers jumped me, and I had to shoot one of them to change their notions.

These fellows had bought the timber on an N.P. quarter section up Bass Creek, and were after rights-of-way and road to haul it out. I was able to get a right-of-way from the ranch owner, in the Government's name, providing that certain culverts, cattle guards, bridges, etc. were installed, all of which these loggers agreed to do before they started hauling logs.

Awhile afterwards the rancher came to me, saying that I'd better start action, since much of the timber had been hauled out, and but little of the agreed upon work done. I went to Elmer, one of the loggers, about it. He made fun of my concern and said it was up to his brother, Charley, so I told him I would go see his brother. While looking for Charley at a joint in Florence, I was told the two had gotten together there over a bottle, and were talking loudly about running over me when they met me again.

I called G. M. Brandborg, the Supervisor at Hamilton, and asked him to send the Sheriff down as I expected trouble. "Oh, don't worry about that," he said, "try to reason with them and I'll be down later in the day with the Sheriff." "Alright," I agreed, "but I'm taking my .45 along, as I don't intend to let them beat me up." They had a gory reputation for ganging up on those they dealt with, especially old folks, and putting them in the hospital.

I couldn't catch up with the brother, but returned later in the day with my assistant, Jim Whilt, and met the two of them in their loaded logging truck, in a narrow part of the road where I couldn't turn out. Here the road was rough and lined with large boulders. They stopped, and I stopped some thirty feet from their truck, and stepped from the pickup, leaving my .45 in its holster on the seat, butt towards the open door. We both walked to the right side of the logging truck, in which both loggers sat. I could see they had been drinking heavily, but spoke to them. The nearest one, Charley, said in a nasty tone, "Well, what's your beef today?" I replied, that I guess he knew what I was after.

Without further comment, he shouted, "yes, you chicken — son-of-a-bitch, you've asked for it, and now you'll get it," the while he was leaping from the cab, on his side, and Elmer quickly jumped out his side and ran around the front to where Jim and I stood.

I drew attention to the F.S. badge I wore, and advised them to keep their shirts on, that it was a penitentiary offense to attack a federal officer in the performance of his duty. Up to this instant I had made no threatening moves, nor raised my voice. Elmer quickly grasped my right arm, while the other grabbed my shirt and tie at my throat, clawing off my glasses, leaving long, livid scratch marks. The glasses were broken. By now, what with their screaming threats, and the final eyeglass indignity, I sensed that I had better start to defend myself or I might very well land in the hospital, the destination they said they intended for me. Just at this point Jim threw himself across the arms of the one holding my arm, and I whirled vigorously to the left, all of which threw them into a knot, and by leaving them parts of my shirt, I pulled loose and ran for the open door of the pickup.

Quickly grasping the gun butt I whipped around to see Elmer, the larger brother, with arms upraised, poised to leap at me, and only two or three jumps distant. I cocked the gun and yelled "stop." I had it centered on him, but as he took another step with no apparent hesitation, I forced myself to swing the muzzle towards his uplifted arm, and pulled the trigger.

That stopped him. Grasping his arm he started to back away shouting "Don't shoot anymore, you've hit me." I advised them both that I was arresting them. Charley dropped to the ground, grasping Jim around his legs, and peered out from behind, probably to see if I might shoot him, as well. I told him he was under arrest.

I called to Jim and between us we bound up the wounded arm, then holding him between us, drove to the Stevensville doctor's office. Here, old Doc Prince shook a pinch of sulpha powder into the wound, then bound it up again, no better job than I had done. About this time, Jim became sick and threw up. He asked me to let him go home. I phoned Brandy again and told him what had happened. Taking the wounded Elmer to my office, I had him lie down on a back room cot, with instructions to my dispatcher, Lyle Wilcox, to watch him and not let him leave.

No word from Brandy or the Sheriff. I got to thinking that maybe I should tell my story to Atty Graves, my next door neighbor, and get his advice, so I went in to see him. A few minutes later Lyle ran in to tell me that the wounded man had brushed him aside and left despite his efforts to stop him. I sent Lyle to follow and keep me informed of Elmer's movements.

Evidently, his brother Charley had tried to wheel the heavily loaded truck over that narrow road, at high speed, and in his inebriated condition, ran into a deep side ditch, over-turning the truck and spilling the logs into the adjacent field. He had then gone into Feronato's, a rancher nearby, phoned his wife to come get him, and so the two got together in a Stevensville bar, where they made plans to go to Hamilton at once for legal help. They met the Deputy Sheriff and Brandy on the way, but refused to stop and be arrested again. The Deputy Sheriff followed them to their attorney in Hamilton, and later did affect an arrest, but more of that later.

Graves prepared an affidavit and we went to the local J.P. Keith Lameroux, to secure a warrant of arrest for the two, since they had escaped from their first arrest. By this time it was late, eight or nine o'clock, and no supper, with the strain of uncertainty growing by the minute. At the J.P.'s the sheriff finally caught me on the phone, or rather Brandy did, and ordered me to come up at once, no delay. Graves then talked with the Sheriff, Fay Burrows, and told him we had a warrant ready for the arrest of the two loggers, and for hits to bring them down and all would be handled under the jurisdiction of this J.P., according to the law. He refused to do this, so Graves said, "now look here Mr. Sheriff, if you refuse to bring them down to this jurisdiction, we will have you up for false arrest."

Well, we finally agreed to come up, after Brandy got on the phone and told me to quite horsing around, that he would take care of things up there. By now Joe Canton, my son-in-law, had caught up with me, so the three of us drove to the sheriffs office, where everyone was waiting. It was decided that our warrant for the loggers would be handled first. It charged them with attacking a Forest Officer in the performance of his duty, a felony. They pleaded not guilty, and posted a cash bond of $200. When their turn came, they charged me with attack with a deadly weapon, so the judge set my bond at $500, which Brandy and Joe took care of with three property bonds.

Long about midnight, Joe, Graves and I went back to check the overturned truck. We picked up the bullet against the radiator, where it had split in striking a steel grill, after piercing the license plate located several feet above the ground.

There was no celebration this day. Later we visited with a Bass Creek farmer, who told us he had seen the tableau several seconds after he heard the shot, but that the loggers' attorney had been out to try and get him to say he had seen me shoot without provocation.

The next day Regional Forester Pete Hanson and Regional Engineer, Fred Thieme, came in to get my story. They facetiously said the only thing that appeared to be wrong was that I hadn't provided for all of this in my work plans. The pros and cons of the case differed markedly up and down the valley.

A day or so afterwards, a U.S. warrant was issued for Elmer's arrest, and he was placed in the Missoula Jail, and still later was let out on a $3000.00 bond. This took a lot of the heat off me.

A month or so later, a hearing was held in the courthouse. The loggers had two lawyers. The Assistant Solicitor from Butte handled our side.

At the hearing, Elmer testified that he was leaning, with elbow on the truck radiator, with his head in hand, just looking at me when I fired. Even his own lawyers had to laugh at the course the bullet had to make to get down through the license plate after striking him in the arm.

Well, they postponed trial until District court term, and the lawyers fought it out, with both sides accepting a draw by Christmas time. So far as I could see, the principal good resulting was that irritated folks quit inviting me to settle Government business out behind. Thereafter I was able to discuss and settle most disputes in a calm atmosphere, even though not always the most friendly.

I later heard that other Rangers had benefited to some extent - and at a Nine Mile Forest Service jumper party they had put on a show lampooning the case.