CHAPTER ONE
A STAGECOACH STATION
As another winter surrendered to the warmth of mid-April, a violent wind swept the
Montana Territory. Its hurricane force tossed trees and bushes back and forth like rooted
whips.
Setting their faces against the mighty mid-April wind, herds of wild buffalo stood as
patiently as if time were on their side. They couldn`t know that it wasn`t. The southern
herds were almost gone, and the hunters were coming north for the last extravagant kill.
Blackfeet Indians half-heartedly joked that this might be the wind to blow the white man
away. But they knew it couldn`t. Already defeated by small pox and gunfire, they had seen
the whites coming since long before the Civil War. When the bloody war was over, the
Blackfeet saw their buffalo slaughtered by an increasing swarm of hunters. Worse, a
growing army of white settlers was following in the hunter`s bloody wake.
In a tiny frontier outpost of only seventeen whites, few complained about the powerful
April wind. They knew that it would last a day or two, maybe three or four, and be gone.
Their biggest worry was always money.
Their lives and shacks were scattered loosely around a small, stout stagecoach station
located only a couple miles outside a rugged wall of mountains. What little they saw of
money came from strangers who were on their way to somewhere else.
A stagecoach company had built the station midway between two frontier boomtowns. Once
the station was built, and daily stages started arriving and departing, the tiny community
grew up around it. The lives of everyone in the little outpost were driven by the
station`s daily routine.
Late every evening, when the sun was settling behind the nearby mountains, a southbound
stagecoach arrived from the boisterous steamboat port at Fort Benton. People in the tiny
outpost called it "the Benton stage." Most of its freight, mail, and passengers
were headed for the booming gold town at Last Chance Gulch.
Day after day, season after season, most of its passengers were men. Many of the men had
come upriver on steamboats for the first time, hoping to strike it rich in the Montana
Territory.
Late every same evening, a northbound stage arrived from Last Chance Gulch. People in the
little settlement called it "the Gulch stage." Most of its cargo and passengers
were destined for Fort Benton and beyond.
On that stage too, the passengers were mostly men. Many of them were leaving the Montana
Territory with broken dreams, but others were leaving with the riches they`d hoped to
get.
The two daily stages usually arrived within an hour of each other. On days when both
arriving stages were overloaded, the number of strangers in the little outpost matched or
exceeded the seventeen who lived there. But the station had only bunks enough inside to
offer sleeping space for eight. Any other men had to sleep on the station`s dirt floor in
bad weather, or outside on the ground in good.
Any women but whores found places to sleep in the few local families` shacks. Any whores
had to make whatever arrangements they could.
Four of the eleven local men made a little money tending the teams of horses for the
incoming and outgoing stages. Every evening, they unharnessed tired horses from arriving
stages and released them into the corrals around the station. Every morning, they put the
rested horses to harness for the stages` departure. Every summer, these men cut meadow
grasses to keep as hay. Every winter, they sold it to the stage company for its horses.
They also made a little money cutting and selling firewood for heating the little station
during winter months.
Several of the local men hunted the prairies for antelope, buffalo, deer, elk, mountain
sheep, and prairie grouse for meat. They also went into the nearby mountains to hunt bear,
deer, elk, mountain sheep, and mountain grouse. In winter, when hides were prime, they
trapped beaver, marten, mink, wolverine and wolves for furs. Most days, in all seasons,
they had something to load on the stages destined for one or both of the insatiable
boomtowns.
Three of the four local women shared the work and profit of cooking meals for the daily
arrival of strangers. In summers, the three tended their gardens and small flocks of
chickens, turkeys, and ducks. Looking ahead to winter, they made sausage from meat their
men brought home from the nearby mountains and plains.
Like the men, the little outpost`s women gathered firewood, but mostly for their personal
use. As the years went by, men and women alike had to wander farther from the station to
find the wood they needed. Their children thus grew up with stories of how things used to
be.
Even the children helped bring in precious money. Boys helped their fathers collect
firewood. Girls helped their mothers tend gardens and poultry.
Once old enough, a child could catch wild trout and whitefish from the clear, bright
stream that ran through the tiny outpost. Older children followed the stream to where it
emptied into the big, nearby river. As the years went by, and fewer fish survived in the
stream, the older children only fished in the river.
Older children also helped their mothers smoke the fish. Besides making good food for the
people of the outpost, smoked trout and whitefish made good fodder for sale to the daily
flow of strangers.
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