Old Missoula

The following article “Journalistic Journeying,” recounts a Weekly Missoulian reporter’s Bitter Root buggy trip in the fall of 1887, from Missoula to Sweathouse Creek, near Victor, Mt. The Bitter Root railroad was being built at the time. Duane Armstrong, owner of the Missoula newspaper for nine years, had recently suffered an illness that caused him to retire from actively running the paper. He had been ill for at least a year prior to that. Early in the following year, 1888, a few months after this article, Duane Armstrong was taken to Montana’s insane asylum, and the paper was sold to another party, Henry Spaulding. Armstrong died at Warm Springs in 1890. During this period, (1887 – 1888), publishing the newspaper was handled by various people, including Duane Armstrong’s brother, John Armstrong, and others. Although it was never acknowledged, Charles Schafft also likely assisted in printing the paper during this period. He already had some experience in the newspaper business earlier at Fort Benton. Schafft’s “Four mile” articles were subsequently printed by the Weekly Missoulian paper during this period. Mention of Billy Boyle and Tom Turner, proprietors of Four Mile (Fort Missoula) saloons, also occurred in other Schafft articles. Although unattributed, Charles Schafft was also very likely the author of the article below:

Journalistic Journeying

[ Weekly Missoulian 10/7/1887]
The soft airs of September were greatly to the liking of ye humble scribe last week as we rode across the flat south of town and along the new line of railroad. Right on the start we noticed improvements to keep step with the car bells, and find W. E. Douglas has built himself a brand new house on the Cave ranch, which lies a short distance this side of the fort. Not far from here was a spur of track which was occupied by the boarding cars, and near Boyles the road takes its way down to the Bitter Root river, where work is being hastened as much as possible. The bridge will be completed about the middle of this month.
The wagon road led us in a different direction about this time, and we stopped old Crazy Horse (record 2:57 1/2) in front of the café of Comrade Tom Turner, and were warmly grasped by his outstretched left hand (Tom has no right hand). From here, after exchanging the compliments of the season and partaking of a bottle of pop, we proceeded on our way rejoicing and ascended the steep declivity leading to the ford. While making the ascent we have time to admire the fine view, and look across the river where we see the stream. We could see Henry Dunchen’s place, the late Ed. Hayes’ orchard and residence, and Bass’ saw mill. On this side of the river, near the bridge, Henry Buckhouse is building a new house.
Over the hills to the ford of the Bitter Root the road is very good, and the beautiful stream never looked prettier or clearer than on the day when we crossed it. My companion [William B. “Jawbone” Smith] remarked that one time he came to the crossing at this place and found three ladies (mentioning their names) fording the river with their shoes and stockings in one hand and their skirts in the other.
The new railroad fairly spreads over the forty acres which belonged to the late Ike Solomon, and the Ten Mile House Hotel [Lolo] is vacant and needs repair.
Southward we pass the beautiful residences of James H. Mills, F. H. Gilbert, Fred Kegler and S. M. Fawsett, and then pass James Conlon’s place, which we come to soon after leaving the wooded Lou Lou. A score of other good friends live near here, but a little off the road.
The stretch of country near the ranch of Sam Maclay is particularly fine, and then we come to McClain’s. The three McClain brothers, J. P [Perry]., Tom and Shelt., have all very fine ranches, the two former being located right on the road, their big barns being indicative of just what they are – big farmers. J. P., especially, might be mentioned as a large farmer, having somewhere between 600 and 1,000 acres under fence and cultivation.
The route over another hill leads us past Conniff’s, formerly known as Brown the Buttermaker’s, and then Carlton P. O., where Postmaster Young deals out the letters and newspapers to his neighbors.
The next place is that of Robt. Carlton, who came to this country as poor as any of us, but who now has 320 acres of No. 1 land and 10 children, and we here remark on the wonderful productiveness of the Bitter Root valley.
The next place is that of Mr. Dixon, who has a fine place, and who got it by hard work, the piles of boulders giving evidence of labor. But Mr. Dixon is now in a fix to make a little money.
Wm. Ahren, we believe, lives on the next place on the side hill, and has good land and lots of water running on the bench.
We come now to the Wagner boys’ ranches, Joe, Isadore and Sebastian. These properties were owned by the Bucks of Stevensville a number of years ago, and some say this is where Amos and Henry and Fred got their start and the capital on which they have made so much more money. The Wagners are thrifty Germans and good citizens.
Leaving the Wagners we ride through the woods and soon arrive at One Horse which is a store and stopping place for teamsters kept by Robert Linder, known the whole length of the valley as “Uncle Bob,” and a bird in any country. He has 320 acres of particularly fine garden and meadow land, and a bank account to correspond. He’ll get along.
Across One Horse creek we come to the place of Robt. Childs, who has fine improvements on 300 acres of choice land, and for which he was recently offered $9,000.
The neighboring ranch south is owned by James Duffy, a splendid place, the owner of which is a fine illustration of the saying we once heard a friend repeat, “There’s lots of men in the Bitter Root valley would have starved if it wasn’t for their wives.”
And now, we are not quite sure, but we are of the impression that the next farm is Mrs. Mason’s, where the renowned butter is made, and then we come to Mrs. John L. Sweeney’s, nee Rodgers, place. This lady has a beautiful place, with fine improvements, and a garden onto which the water runs down hill plenty, and it is a good enough place for a home for anybody.
Strangers have moved into some of the places along here since we first knew the line of road, and we are not sure as to who lives on the ranches, but we do know that Laurence Parker, the tailor in Missoula, has a fine farm along this locality for which he paid $1,500 several years ago.
And then we come to the fine farms of Lawrence Levy [Lavy], better known as “Larry the Piper.” Larry has meadows galore, and his wife is a worker from way back, and in the early days used to make cheese for which she got dollars that came pretty smooth.
The flat over to the east Levy’s is mostly meadow land, growing the finest kind of hay, and here James Lubay has built an elegant residence, which will compare favorably with any in the valley.
Through the woods we pass places the owners of which are strangers to us, and then arrive at Bass’ hill, from which point the scene is indeed charming, and from where we see the railroad graders at work on the flat near the banks of the green and clear stream. The contractors will have to handle a lot of dirt before the grade at this point is completed, but some wiseacre has said that “Money makes the mare go,” and it is true in regard to railroads.
Across the flat we pass on [toward] the old bridge. Keeping the right hand road, the fine residence of Hon. F. C. Ives is most noticeable, and clear back in the mountains we see Bass Brothers’ famous ranch, where fruits and flowers abound like in a fairy land.
Along the bench overlooking the river we can see the farms which lie on the east side of the valley, and then we arrive at the Stevensville bridge. This structure is new to us, having been built since we were last here. It must have cost the county considerable Kold Kash , for after crossing the trusses, a long, expensive and circuitous apron leads the way across the low land toward Fort Owen. The bridge must be a mile from town and perhaps more.
We found Stevensville doing more business than ever before, more stores too, but underlying this fact seemed an unsettled feeling that reminds one of the saying that “All is not gold that glitters.” The merchants of the town will never be able to handle grain, or, for that matter, do business and compete with men having stores and warehouses and elevators right at the station. These are our convictions, which we deal out as sparingly as possible to our readers and try still to keep within bounds of truth, for we love the truth better even than the village of which we write. Space in this article will not admit of mention of all the old time friends we met here. We called at the office of the Northwest Tribune and had a pleasant talk with its editor, and were well pleased with his neat rooms and material.
The next day we recrossed the river at the bridge, went past Ives’ saw mill, where there is quite a settlement, and then up the valley, passing neat log cabins and splendid hay lands.
New locations and homes have been made on what is known as Indian Prairie, some of the natives still residing here, and who can blame them for wanting to remain when their lands are so lovely?
Now we come to the Sweathouse farming region, so prolific in producing onions, squashes, pumpkins, spuds and melons, to say nothing of the fruit. Pigs in the clover! Fat cattle stand eyeing us!
Abe Mittower’s farm is along here. Abe is six feet something in his stockings and a bachelor, and a splendid chance for a hardy female who wants a share of the good things in life, an interest in a good ranch, dwellings and out buildings, and a good square man.
E. T. Buker lives further up on the other side of the road. He has good location , and recently disposed of a ten acre lot to his brother Anderson, well known as the supreme court of Stevensville.
Oscar Clark is next and owns one of the best ranches on the creek and has good improvements.
Turning up the creek we pass Frank Tudor’s farm, and a better claim we would not pray for unless it was Curlew [mining] stock.
Turn up the creek road we find new cabins on claims which contain very little available land but the right-users expect to make a killing some day with their garden spots.
The Blake ranch is then passed, and we can see where he has a new home going up, and then Ed Brearcliff’s, formerly a county commissioner. Ed has a new house completed and fine fields, and here we saw more pigs in the clover.
A melon patch, nutmegs, water melons, long slim fellows known as New Banana musk melons grow great in a field belonging to Wm. N. Smith, a gentleman and well fixed, with one of the coziest houses and plenty of improvements, not to speak of another ranch he has at the head of Sweathouse valley.
We then arrived at our destination, the ranch formerly owned by Mr. C. A. Ballard, a gentleman who recently lost his wife, of whom he was very fond, and who, after her demise, sold the place to E. L. Hackett. It did not seem like home to Mr. Ballard any more and, as his health is not very good, he wanted to go east where he will place his little girl in school.
To hold a public auction of Ballard’s personal property was the object of our friend’s visit and a large number of the citizens of Sweathouse creek and vicinity were gathered there to witness the sale. Mr. Hackett bought a good deal of the property as he proposes to make it his home and he had use for it. The property brought all the owner could reasonably expect. Milk cows of fair proportions brought good, round prices, one of them with her calf bringing $55. The rustling butcher of Stevensville, S. F. Mason, was on hand and bought four head of cattle to cut up for his customers. He does not confine himself to Stevensville, but goes out on the highways and sells fresh meat to the farmers, making regular visits to Sweathouse creek and several other localities.
Mr. Hackett is a bachelor and miner and occupies a cabin adjacent to the Ballard residence, where the latch string is always out. Of course he could not feed all the visitors, but the auctioneer and the writer were told they could get in at the spread. The dinner was fine, the menu being oyster soup and spring chicken cooked a la – well rolled in flour and smothered in bacon grease, with all the delicacies of the season? John Landrum and A. S. Blake were the honorable gentlemen that served up the meal and with our stomach so well treated we did indeed feel thrice happy.
Said Mr. Laundrum: “Over there, just beyond the orchard, years ago when I lived on the place, I paced off an acre of ground and planted it in potatoes. From that one acre I cleaned up 480 bushels of potatoes.” Six good citizens came forward, without any solicitation on our part, and subscribed their names to the Missoulian’s list. Among these were S. Kuhn George Meeser, the builder of a number of good houses in the vicinity of Victor, and Joseph Chase. The last mentioned gentleman we met on our way home, he having a load of new goods for the M. M. Co.’s store at Victor.
We will spare our readers a further account of this journey, suffice it to say that we met many old friends, of whom we would be pleased to speak, but that space will not admit.
The above article appeared in The Missoulian on October7, 1887.

Note:

The writer’s companion on this trip, William B. “Jawbone” Smith, was a larger-than-life Missoula figure who was also a professional auctioneer and horse trainer. More on him later!