׉?4ׁB!בCט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://xnYs0XbdkqhPzjYUCmQw5SMKWqXVAMHfoTLyHMZU0hUF`׉ 7cassandra://lYCp8PQv5PyN-LO-7mzZXKUQ_edD2O0L932OjbHS3wk͞`s׉ 7cassandra://7LztQHBuXnNv8G9L4RFmnvoVdrfyhorx7JcvzytXY4o-n`׉ 7cassandra://lHfzfQIyNs1bYj0rqaGMyzlZuY-g43G62MiRsgJkZgMT͠]aWOט(u׈frJנaWO} 9ׁH http://www.montananewspapers.orgׁ ׁ Ј׈EaWO׉E\DECEMBER 2021 Ghost Towns and History of Montana Newsletter From the Big Timber Pioneer Dec. 17, 1914 O N E O F T H E F E W R E M A I N I N G M O N T A N A P I O N E E R S R E L A T E S S T O R Y O F F I R S T C H R I S T M A S S P E N T I N T R E A S U R E S T A T E Accessed via: www.montananewspapers.org April 30, 1936. By Al H. Wilkins as told to Grace Stone Coates. I find it hard to memorize all the details of the past 62 years, but the old adage is very true, that it is the things that happen early in life that are riveted in one's memory, and I shall never forget our Christmas dinner of 1874. I was but a child then, only 11 or 12 years old, but it seems to me like I have always been a man, as I worked with them from early childhood and my greatest pal was my faithful father. We came across the plains from Minnesota, down the Red Lake river to old Fort Garry by flatboat, arriving where the modern city of Winnipeg now stands. Here we bought our supplies from a Hudson Bay trading post for our long, perilous journey up north, through the wilds of the Canadian territories. On the voyage down the Red river we witnessed many strange sights; the inhabitants, what few there were, were mostly Scotch half-breeds who lived on fish and wildlife; these people seldom saw any bread; they used a dip-net mostly for catching fish. We passed many of them dipping away with their nets on a long pole, saving their catch for future meals, and nearly everyone we passed would ask us for flour. Many times we noticed wild meat hanging in trees around these natives' camps; once we saw a nice deer that looked like it had just been killed. As usual this camp wanted flour, the fresh meat tempted us and we landed our boat with the intention of trading for some meat. When we got on land father asked them if they wanted to trade meat for flour. The spokesman said, “Sure look, see we have fine deer.” We were eager for a ham of this deer but one glance at close range was enough— the meat was fly-blown and in places the maggots were working in the meat. Father showed them the maggots and stated, “We don't eat those things.” ׉ 7cassandra://7LztQHBuXnNv8G9L4RFmnvoVdrfyhorx7JcvzytXY4o-n`aWOaWO(בCט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://D9WwO94FACj1mesRhIhHI6KiwNCR1oHD9a9NnlSoa6g8`׉ 7cassandra://2y01J13lK0woplqeI1PV3IHk0gIHo1SaOhTx2bgoseMͻ`s׉ 7cassandra://5hFVaeA0EabkCtsIeypybVs7WLxjZ3wuzGzw-KN-k1I)K`׉ 7cassandra://RGYT_b_BPvDPYBa34RxrFi-yBYonQX-jRWJvZxo2dFQ0l͠]aWOט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://zCJ3-WwRyLlDKEzVpU4rTu7KeTxMa6pboFSNOxkHm6w`׉ 7cassandra://liL3CHFiBWpKpqh_NvjZp6A0f7HWLS2DbKuh81jwcxA͞`s׉ 7cassandra://wQJP3dsKeF15qtJdviafnIE55j7aX1ewJO-Ycys6Sj8)e`׉ 7cassandra://hQcsJLI4rN33QifbgEPrNQOfWtKSl8ymgUoLUR7wcr4D͠]aWO׉E P a g e 2 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r The breeds all laughed and said, “Man dat be good meat, dat be tender.” The half-breeds were very much disappointed in not being able to trade us meat for flour and as we were about to push off from shore a half-breed woman came running to us with a fine catfish that she had just caught. The fish weighed 10 pounds. She begged to trade the fish for flour. We traded her 10 pounds of flour for the fish and she left wearing a smile that would never wear off. Our trail from old Fort Garry was over a prairie country with lakes and rivers at intervals, with now and then a low range of mountains to cross. We were fortunate in striking the Canadian Northwest Mounted Police on their way to the northern part of the Canadian Territories. This expedition made it much safer for us. We had some trouble with Indians before we struck the Mounted Police and some after we left them. When we got to the west fork of the Milk river we crossed it and I remember that father said, “Well my son, we are back on American soil once more.” Our way so far was crowned with success. Although we were not traveling by railroad, auto-mobile or airplane, we were traveling f.o.b. covered wagon, with a large team of mules for motor power, the last 500 miles of our route being through a great wild country, many times traveling through a massive herd of buffalo from daylight till dark, with plenty of antelope and deer just out of gunshot range. We were now back in the good old U. S. A. again, but it was a wild west at that early date; the Indians those days were prosperous, rich with ponies and buffalo robes, while beaver and small furs were plentiful in all the mountain streams. The last camp before reaching Fort Benton was at the Twenty-four Mile Springs. It was early when we arrived, but it was the only water for a long distance, so we concluded to camp there for the night. It was our habit to camp on high ground and we did so here, but when we took our team down to the spring for water we noticed plenty of fresh pony and moccasin tracks around the spring. Father was worried and did not like the idea of staying there for the night. While we were talking the matter over we heard a horse nicker just over the hill. This made us feel rather chilly, as we thought we were being followed by hostile Indians. We hurried back to our wagon to make the best of it. Just then a horseman came in sight and we could see he was not a redskin. Just then a familiar sound came to my ear—the creaking of Red River carts. This was a great relief. By this time the horseman had reached us and we found it to be a big family of half-breeds by the name of Pilkey, who had been to Fort Benton trading furs for supplies. We had met these people before during our short stay at Fort Walsh. We spent a pleasant night with them, sitting around a buffalo chip fire, telling stories and eating good pancakes and buffalo meat cooked in a Dutch oven. This was great life for a youngster like me. The old women and girls seemed to take to me and I thought they were, alright too. The next morning when we got up Al H. Wilkins and his father, D.G. Wilkins who came across the plains to Montana from Minnesota in 1874, Courtesy of The Mountaineer ׉ 7cassandra://5hFVaeA0EabkCtsIeypybVs7WLxjZ3wuzGzw-KN-k1I)K`aWO׉E P a g e 3 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r we found the camp all astir and old man Pilkey waiting by our wagon to invite us to have breakfast with them. We accepted the invitation, taking a small box of soda crackers with us. The crackers were greatly enjoyed by the half-breeds. The morning meal was composed of pancakes, buffalo meat and pemakin. These people were a little above the common half- breeds. There were about 25 people in this camp, all relatives. This was an ideal camping place for hunters, the luxurious buffalo grass was knee high as far as the eye could reach, and its red tops would wave with the slightest breeze. These springs being the only good water for 12 miles one way and 20 the other, it was a great watering place for buffalo and antelope. Before we broke camp that morning many buffalo and antelope were gathering around the springs for water. This was truly the hunter's paradise. where they could sit and wait for the game to come to them. We pulled out late that morning for Fort Benton, which was only Fort Benton during the early days, showing the store of T.C. Power and Brother, Courtesy of The Montana State University Library. 24 miles away. We arrived at the old historic post about 5, o'clock that afternoon and sold furs, that we had traded for from different tribes of Indians, to T. C. Power & Brother. We loafed around the Fort a few days to get acquainted with the people and the resources of the territory. Father had promised Colonel Walsh, commander of the Canadian Mounted Police, to return and help get out logs to build Fort Walsh on the North fork of Milk river, so we bought a new supply of grub and returned to the police headquarters, where we got out logs to build that historic fort. Later we returned with other Americans to Fort Benton. By this time in the fall it was quiet around the post; the steamboat that had been plying the old Missouri during the high water season had tied up for the season, on account of insufficient water. One day we drove down to the Nicholson trading post, close to the mouth of the Marias river, to some buffalo meat, and to my surprise, before we left father bought the trading post and all the ponies Nicholson had. It was arranged that we were to have possession of the post in 30 days. We returned to Fort Benton, father got out logs and built a house at Fort Benton while he was waiting on the trading post and I hired out to the Tingley Brothers to punch cows, and ride the range. Here is where I learned to sit the wild mustang and here is where I got my leather on some that I didn't sit. I worked for the Tingleys for two months and then joined father at the trading post for the winter. When I arrived at the post I found a fairly strong fort; there was the George Majors' bull outfit with six nine-yoke bull teams camped in one of our cabins; and the late Coatesworth and Keyster with four nine-yoke bull teams occupying another cabin; in all of them there were about 12 bull-whackers whose job it was to ride around and see that the cattle were on good range and got water when there was no snow on the ground. As I have stated, there was plenty of good range ׉ 7cassandra://wQJP3dsKeF15qtJdviafnIE55j7aX1ewJO-Ycys6Sj8)e`aWOaWO(בCט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://aSzQNcgGvicBhIuyCvokRBqbt-JWd_ZUWmSJeOjqU9I`׉ 7cassandra://DSdP0XqEAfT9-zqgqOMcxhumF8CVTKKd3SQCqGlSIqI;`s׉ 7cassandra://WBbUf6vLuwcsaFKb0h-EDgOeeVe-SRem-GnOQpV4NWA*`׉ 7cassandra://YLvUiL4dHA6RfSUUo7AiKSFbkNyTyp0MEV8Qq8qgETU<͠]aWOט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://fkdP4bjyfzvojL5CuAcB4uxYj2uLrXSBna6t4JCOb9w2`׉ 7cassandra://Y50dSjN1ABA3mCWZRUL8UZeXClXVLhqW5yM4jhmLLlY͗`s׉ 7cassandra://SBk3IOmrRUyf96Ety-XxvAaxF5UZzKnhu7vWg1ym-IA(`׉ 7cassandra://N0zQkDdiiLjhPXfY7OlAGj5uAYTF0JZsbcy_iQs7j4ES`͠]aWOנaWO^9׉Hhttps://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.montananewspapers.org%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR2-UXStAiq54E82lwuhmV3oDrSpyJ_DQw5e07Kw2JBvQTasZK0VOCnQ2bU&h=AT0wuGeWGdH-IiTjgvsN-IkZG5BpZQxjha1S4_ykVu7ROobmORs_EGxCLp5KyHnegAW04COIHYgVLiJwChYr0E5RqnvN72_kb160NGlILdi3JjqGׁ ׁ rנaWOāc9ׁH http://www.montananewspapers.orgׁ ׁ Ј׉E P a g e 4 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r those days and freighters looked more for a sheltered range for their stock than anything else. Besides the bull-whackers we had 15 or 20 men helping us in the post all winter. Their part of the work was to kill buffalo for wolf bait, poison the meat and keep the dead wolves skinned. In all there were about 30 men in the post all winter. About all the amusement the men had those days was gambling. After supper they would start to playing poker; some would be playing cards on the tables; some on the dirt floor; and some playing in the bunks on the wall. As Christmas drew near father asked all the men to furnish something to help make Christmas a merry one. Long before Christmas the men tried to outdo each other in collecting such good things as the country did afford. We had one large living room in the post, this room as near as I can remember was about 20 feet wide by 30 feet long. It had a large fireplace in one side that would burn cordwood. This made it the attractive gathering place of the post. Christmas eve the good things began to be piled up in the living room. I have not seen such an odd collection before or since. There was canned fruit of all available kinds; nuts and candy that only cost a dollar a pound; smoking and chewing tobacco; choice pieces of prime wild meat; whisky by the gallon; and to top it all off with, W. O. Dexter sent to Helena and had Nick Kessler send us a five-gallon keg of beer. The beer cost about $7.50 and it cost $5.00 to ship it down f.o.b. stage. Several of the Grosventre Indian chiefs had noticed our accumulation coming in and were anxious to get in on it. As they were the principal tribe we traded with, father invited about a dozen of them to have dinner with us Christmas day and they were with us early and late. More Indians came during the day to trade furs for Indian trinkets, blankets and tobacco. In all we had about 30 redskins for dinner. Early Christmas morning preparations were started for a big feed. One-half of a fat yearling buffalo was stretched across the big fireplace and anchored just right about the fire to barbecue. The late W. O. Dexter was detailed as fireman and chief cook; the late Antelope Charley was elected assistant cook and watchman to see that the Indians didn't steal half of our good stuff. All hands had baked a lot of sourdough bread for the great event. Dexter was the pastry cook also. He made three of what he called duffs—I will try and describe the way they were made, in case some readers wish to make one. He first placed a liberal amount of buffalo fat in a large Dutch oven, then a layer of dampened stale bread, then a layer of dried apples, one more layer of bread, several slices of sow-belly, then more courses of apples and bread, and on top more sow-belly, then the cover was put on and the Dutch oven was placed on good hot coals and live coals heaped on the grooved lid; let cook for one hour. When dinner was ready late Christmas day, we hardly knew how to arrange things so the crowd could all eat at once. We finally stretched out two large wagon covers on the living room floor; threw a few sticks of cordwood in the center on which to place the barbecued meat and strung out the other edibles each way on the center of the canvas. When all was ready Dexter stepped to the door, let a war-whoop out of him that would wake the dead and yelled: “Soup is on, ׉ 7cassandra://WBbUf6vLuwcsaFKb0h-EDgOeeVe-SRem-GnOQpV4NWA*`aWO׉E P a g e 5 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r come and get it.” The crowd all filed in orderly and were seated around on the dirt floor at the edge of the canvas. The most of the eating was done with fingers as we were short of forks. I will try and quote the bill of fare as near as I remember: Prime barbecued buffalo meat, pork and beans, canned peaches, canned pears, dried applesauce, Dexter's de-lay duff, syrup, tea, bread, soda crackers, candy, nuts, beer and whisky for the white men, but no whisky for the red-men. Indians are all crazy for whisky. One of these young bucks insisted on having some of the whisky so some of the men played a trick on him—knowing that these Indians had never tasted beer. One of the men pointed to the beer keg and asked the buck if he wanted some, the redskin said he did. The man poured out a tincup full of beer and handed it to him; another one of the men sprang to his feet and pretended he was going to stop the buck from having it; the redskin in his eagerness to drink it at one gulp, got the strong foam up his nose and nearly strangled to death. He threw the cup and part of the beer on the floor and told the other Indians he was poisoned. He was finally induced to sit down and finish his dinner, but was very sulky over the joke. It was a sight to see all those men feeding themselves in any way they could get to it; part of the redskins ate with their hunting knives only. This was a real frontier scene and a dinner that anyone present would never forget. After dinner we had several horse races with the Indians and won a few bobs. Later in the day a young buck that had taken on more dinner than any three white men, offered to run a foot race with any man in the post. The match was made and the wager was the Indian's pony against three blankets. Toe -String -Joe Hanna was the man selected to run; he was very fleet on foot and won the race easily. This concluded our day's festivities, never to be forgotten. Few, if any, of these sturdy pioneers are alive today, as I was only a stripling of a boy then and the rest were middle-aged men. My father, D. G. Wilkins, passed away at Livingston, Oct. 16, 1900. He rests in Shorthill cemetery overlooking the majestic Yellowstone river; W. O. Dexter, of our post life, died at Fort Benton; Sam Duston passed on at Havre; Antelope Charley was killed by Indians at the coal banks below Fort Benton in 1875; Polete and Buckshot were killed by the Sioux on Big Sandy creek; Toe -String -Joe killed a man and left for parts unknown; George Majors passed on, I believe, at Fort Benton; the rest of our men at the old trading post I have lost track of, but hope some of them are still alive. -The Mountaineer Newspaper (Big Sandy, MT), Accessed via: www.montananewspapers.org ׉ 7cassandra://SBk3IOmrRUyf96Ety-XxvAaxF5UZzKnhu7vWg1ym-IA(`aWOaWO(בCט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://LGOeP93GwbaDvMqtqSK2urnUSEE-gvnWS5WE3RG9zQcP`׉ 7cassandra://21sIBQNH8faFprvxg-e94ATseFE_A1YCQM5fof46Okc͆`s׉ 7cassandra://mNxfH1cHgdDAWx-5IHFB43SE-ipNz1tfe16WIFMqjcY%`׉ 7cassandra://gtK3pmPmebUYNDY6mg06CsoBresrCErhvbA6OrvhSdg͠]aWOט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://bHBpi3Zhm1NdIt_8-Sk0f4lx2Ki2yoSnPKXj2oNHH8Q`׉ 7cassandra://uaI1bykrqtk0BpXcONeT3tD1uoXw9m8f-JmrVvzRNmwͥv`s׉ 7cassandra://_5wLS_NM17L31SAGCRNkVf22xKYTxXTEOrpkKvoWBXM*`׉ 7cassandra://OQ0DrGfK-8NHo6FyuGu1l7r7b3Tan5WnYNsYdgs-QiE(͠]aWOƔנaWO1?9׉H0http://ellenbaumler.blogspot.com/p/my-books.htmlGׁ ׁ rנaWOḨ9׉Hhttp://mhs.mt.gov/Gׁ ׁ rנaWOÁ9׉Hhttps://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.fortmissoulamuseum.org%2F%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR0e31MOFFjBaqnYsK8ii_j8KsvC2peSsC2Ghn4TdtQZ5wYb7SlXwJrh5_I&h=AT0-3WCNMScbvpE47kQ_ZJnXGaTcNKvH3s7qsIP7QXciiPa8w1j7ccFE8EwACJ3CQhEShmFvGiHV5ngkASV3ldQi4tAuE3H4lnsIvV66RyVZd-Gׁ ׁ rנaWOˁ9ׁH!http://www.fortmissoulamuseum.orgׁ ׁ Ј׉E P a g e 6 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r CAPTAIN JAMES WILLIAMS Pennsylvania native James Williams was the son of Irish and Welsh immigrants. The West lured him as a young man. In 1856, Williams was involved in the violent Border Wars in Kansas where he was a “Free State” man. He followed the rush to Pikes Peak in 1858 and came to Bannack with a wagon train from Denver in 1862. In the absence of a leader, the travelers elected Williams to lead the train and thereafter he was known as Captain, or Cap, for short. Cap Williams followed the rush to Alder Gulch in 1863. Then during those dark turbulent days of lawlessness, he again served as captain, this time of the vigilantes. When robberies and murders terrified citizens, Cap Williams stepped forward to lead the vigilantes in the capture and hanging of some two dozen suspected road agents during winter of 1863-1864. Montana Historical Society Photograph Archives, 945-626 Alder Gulch– 1959 by Thomas B. Brook, Courtesy of MSU Library When this work was finished, Cap married and settled down in the emerald green ranchlands of Madison County’s Ruby Valley. But in March of 1887, searchers discovered Cap’s body hidden in a thicket. The newspapers reported that Cap had laid out his mittens and scarf as a pillow. He took a fatal dose of laudanum. He lay down knowing sleep would take over and the cold winter weather would do the rest. Some speculated that Virginia City banker Henry Elling was about to foreclose on his ranch. Others believed that his role as a vigilante weighed so heavily upon him that he could no longer live with the burden. Some however, had a different theory. Cap was a man of integrity, and he would never have willingly left his wife and seven children. Some believe that sentiments against Cap were still rife, and that he had enemies. Perhaps, they speculated, someone came along in the cold and offered him a fatal drink. A tombstone in a tiny burial ground today marks Cap’s grave. We will never know for sure what put him there. –Ellen Baumler Ellen Baumler is an award-winning author and Montana historian. A master at linking history with modern-day supernatural events, Ellen's true stories have delighted audiences across the state. She lives in Helena in a century-old house with her husband, Mark, and its resident spirits. To view and purchase Ellen’s books, visit: http://ellenbaumler.blogspot.com/p/my-books.html ׉ 7cassandra://mNxfH1cHgdDAWx-5IHFB43SE-ipNz1tfe16WIFMqjcY%`aWO׉EP a g e 7 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r ST MICHAEL’S CHURCH- The town of Hellgate was established as a trading post in 1860 along the Mullan Road. St. Michael’s church was founded there at the suggestion of Father Urban Grassi, Superior at the St. Ignatius Indian Mission. The local missionaries administered medical and surgical services in the full sense of charity, irrespective of the race, color, nationality or creed of those in need. They were greatly welcomed into Hellgate by miners and settlers from miles around. In the summer of 1863, Father Grassi sent William Claessens, a Jesuit Brother, to construct a log church with a rectory and a surrounding wooden fence. Brother Claessens was a master carpenter, and it is said that the interior of the church was built with lumber from one solitary pine tree – including the altar, pews and flooring. All were constructed without the use of nails. St. Michael’s church opened its doors in 1866 for weekly Mass and drew attendance from the local villages. Services were open to all. The first resident priest was Father Anthony Ravalli, who was known for his spiritual counseling, medical advice and treatment. Within ten years, St. Michael’s church diminished in importance. Another church was built in 1864 in the village of Frenchtown, and in 1866 the town of Hellgate nearly ceased to exist, as the population of Hellgate relocated to the newly established Missoula Mills. According to a story, in 1874 a government land surveyor found that St. Michael’s church was on the same 40 -acre tract of land as the house of early settler George White. Though the Church had the first right of entry, owing to priority of occupancy and improvements, Father Menetrey, the last serving Father at St. Michael’s, consented to White’s ownership of the land, hoping for a mutual agreement between the parties to relinquish ownership of the tract to the church. However, once the patent to the land been secured, George White forced Father Menetrey and the church off the premises. The logs that had formed the small rectory and priest house were broken down for firewood. The timbers from the church were taken down and hauled by horse and wagon to the Sisters of Providence’s new mission site at Missoula Mills. Since the local Sisters of Providence already had a small chapel, the building was reconstructed and used as a boarding school for boys, later named St. Joseph School for Boys. The building had many different uses during the Sisters of Providence’s time in Missoula, including use as an annex to a girl’s school and as an infirmary, and was eventually vacated. Most Missoulians forgot about the old St. Michael’s church building until the 1960s. Following a routine fire inspection, the Superior of the Sacred Heart Academy, Sister Anne Dolores, was informed that the old building was a “decided fire hazard.” The Sisters of Providence had always been good record-keepers and understood the historical significance of the building. In 1962, the Sisters of Providence worked with the Missoula Exchange Club and members of the community to move the church building back to a location just north of the old Hellgate village site. Gaspard W. Deschamps donated the land, a concrete foundation and a new shake roof. Local youth volunteered to remove the clapboard siding that had been added to cover the outdated log exterior. The building was dedicated as a historic landmark on October 21, 1962. Over the years the area of the old Hellgate village began to develop as a residential neighborhood, and contemporary buildings slowly surrounded the old church. In 1981 St. Michael’s church was moved to the Historical Museum at Fort Missoula. All the logs remain from the original building. Some logs are numbered – visible reminders of previous moves. Today, St. Michael’s church is the only remaining building from the Hellgate village. It is preserved at the Historical Museum at Fort Missoula to tell the story of one of Missoula’s earliest religious communities. You can learn more about the Historical Museum at Fort Missoula by visiting www.fortmissoulamuseum.org Photo by Jolene Ewert-Hintz ׉ 7cassandra://_5wLS_NM17L31SAGCRNkVf22xKYTxXTEOrpkKvoWBXM*`aWOaWO(בCט(u׉׉ 7cassandra://Ffsm8fTtDotMvVGMseShzKg5FrLB9YwrgNKMO7qBCYg`׉ 7cassandra://LNTXLrgW0OSp3Ub4b6gJpNCBSBdEhQmEHkHuZEGXtVE͆`s׉ 7cassandra://Sn8oNsxMr5lqbiL07RnVABjhg7w2LgnGhCSsmAAGgIc&3`׉ 7cassandra://aWXT6Yw72Bm24X1s8tz0lBg8hUMgJ8ys6Rj_6bvldWQH͠]aWO̒נaWOɁ_<9׉Hfhttp://www.montananewspapers.org/?fbclid=IwAR0SB6V-f5IJ8yCd0d59BL6-gTPNo5SOFba-HfYxKu7iIN5gcY-tuxiWEJAGׁ ׁ rנaWOρ_?9ׁH http://www.montananewspapers.orgׁ ׁ Ј׉EP a g e 8 G h o s t T o w n s a n d H i s t o r y o f M o n t a n a N e w s l e t t e r Central Hotel, Radersburg, MT- Mrs. Moffit, proprietor. One of the most essential necessities of any mining camp is that of a first class hotel, and in this respect Radersburg can show up one of the best. Mrs. Moffit, the proprietor is one of the leading spirits in her town, she believes in giving the public the best that the market affords; especially does she cater to the mining interests having a large wagon to take the men to and from the mine each day. This she does free of charge to all of her boarders and those who stop at her hotel that desire to go out to the mines. Mrs. Moffit is an ideal hostess, she is a native of Indiana, Photo Courtesy of The Townsend Star Star, May 11, 1907, accessed via www.montananewspapers.org Current Photo by Jolene Ewert-Hintz and has been in Broadwater for the past twenty years, first locating at Crow Creek. Nine years ago she took the management of the Central Hotel and under her supervision, the hotel is known for its good accommodation. In all the hotel can accommodate twenty-five people; the rooms are clean and home-like and the meals are of the very best. The rates of the Central are more than reasonable, for transients $1.50 per day, for permanent guests and mining men $1.00 per day.- The Townsend My/Donor Information: SUBSCRIBE TO THE GHOST TOWNS AND HISTORY OF MONTANA NEWSLETTER! Renewal? Y/N Send a Gift to: NAME____________________________________ NAME___________________________________ ADDRESS__________________________________ ADDRESS_________________________________ CITY______________________________________ CITY_____________________________________ STATE__________________ZIP________________STATE_________________ ZIP________________ Yearly subscriptions are $19.95 (published monthly). Please make checks payable to Ghost Towns & History of MT, LLC and send with this clipping to P.O. Box 932 Anaconda, MT 59711 ׉ 7cassandra://Sn8oNsxMr5lqbiL07RnVABjhg7w2LgnGhCSsmAAGgIc&3`aWO׈EaWOaWO(,&Ghost Towns & History of MT- Dec. 2021OGreat stories and photos about the history, ghost towns and people of Montana! afrJ±g