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About The Dillon Examiner (Dillon, Mont.) 1891-1962 | View This Issue
The Dillon Examiner (Dillon, Mont.), 03 Dec. 1941, located at <http://montananewspapers.org/lccn/sn85053034/1941-12-03/ed-1/seq-7/>, image provided by MONTANA NEWSPAPERS, Montana Historical Society, Helena, Montana.
? - - Æ ” ■ f : , ' ^ 1 '•, \.r'v ,« V, DILLON EXAMINER / CREAT FICHTINC PROWESS SHOWN BY CRAZY HORSE GREAT OGLALA CAVALRY LEADER BEAT CROOK TO PAVE W AY FOR CUSTER'S DEFEAT He wasn’t the smartest chief who ever lived, nor did his opinion relative to other things than war carry any great weight in council, but when it came to the business of fighting— when the chips were down and bullets flew and arrows whined through the air—Crazy Horse took a back seat for no Indian who ever lived. As a warrior he was supreme, a cavalry leader almost unbeatable. No less an authority than Gen. Nelson E. Miles dubbed him \the personification of savage ferocity.\ Compared to Sitting Bull as an or ator he was a mere babbling infant. He could never have engineered the masterful retreat of the Nez Perce upon which hinged the fame of Chief Joseph, and he lacked the all-round sagacity of his fellow Oglala chief, Red Cloud. But in dishing out destruction he was the peer of all three. Sitting Bull, while a pretty fair warrior in his own right, was a better strategist than fighter, and the same applies to Jos eph and Red Cloud. None possessed the killer instinct that blazed in the breast of Crazy Horse. In Many Notable Fights This Oglala Sioux chief participated in many notable brushes with the whites. He participated in the Fetter- man massacre at Fort Phil Kearney, in which not a white man survived, He probably likewise was on hand at the Wagon Box fight, which saw the flower of Red Cloud’s army repulsed by a handful of whites equipped with new breach-loading rifles. And he likewise was a leading spirit in the annihilation of Custer’s command on the Little Big Horn. It was in this latter campaign that he exhibited his true prowess. In fact, had it not been for him, the Seventh cavalry might have been augmented on that fateful June day by a force ’of more than 1,000 soldiers under Gen. George Crook, and this might well have meant the defeat of the Sioux. But the general had been taken care of a few days earlier by Crazy Horse, and Crook, it might well be added, was no novice at Indian fighting, in fact, Gen. Phil Sheridan, who had supervision at that time of all military operations in the territory bordering on the Missouri extending westward to the Rocky mountains, considered him the best in the business. Crook had dealt vigorously with the Apaches when President Grant, in 1869, sent him to Arizona to stop their reign of terror there and in New Mexico. From Arizona he was trans ferred to the command of the Platte, with headquarters at Omaha, and he was there in 1816 when the campaign against the Sioux was undertaken. As a soldier he was considered the last word. Of him it was said by the Apaches that he was more Indian than they, proving that in all the fine arts of plainscraft that had made the Apaches the wonder of their day, Crook was master. But this time it was the Sioux under Crazy Horse whom Crook was dealing with, not the Apaches, and the result was entirely different. A Formidable Force Crook started from Fort Fetterman on March 1, 1876 against the Indians. The expedition consisted of 10 full troops of cavalry and 2 companies of infantry. There were likewise 86 mule wagons, 4 ambulances loaded with forage and a pack train of 400 mules. It was one of the stoutest organiza tions of fighting men ever to go out after Indians. But the campaign was a fiasco of the first water. A division of six cav alry troops under Colonel Reynolds attacked an Indian village of some 105 lodges under Crazy Horse only to be driven back. The retreat continued even after Reynolds’ command Joined the main force under Crook. The gen eral and his formidable force were eventually forced to returh to winter quarters at Fort Fetterman. After this debacle a broader plan of action was decided upon. Accord ingly the Yellowstone expedition was planned. The orders were for three distinct columns of troops—one from Dakota, one from Montana and one from Wy oming. The Dakota and Montana col umns were under the command of Gen. Alfred H. Terry and the Wyo ming column under General Crook. Terry’s command numbered about 1,450 men; the column under Crook about 1,050. His force was subsequently in creased by the addition of some 260 Shoshone and Crow scouts. Crook again started from Fort Fet terman, this time on May 26, 1876, almost exactly a month prior to Cus ter’s defeat. And on June 17 he again met the Indians under Crazy Horse. He never got through to help Terry and Custer put the anticipated squeeze on the Sioux. Crazy Horse stopped him cold. He was eliminated entirely from the Little Big Horn fight which occurred eight days later. He was forced to return to his supply câmp on Goose creek, south of the Tongue river, and await reinforcements. He didn’t consider his force strong enough to cope with Crazy Horse. Not Outnumbered Writers in attempting to Justify Crook’s defeat have stated that the whites were greatly outnumbered, but no disparity in the numerical strength of the forcés engaged is contained in any official reports. It was, apparently, simply a case of too much fighting ability on the part of the Indians, led by audacious and blazing spirited Crazy Horse. — - ----------- ------------------------- W O N T TAKE OIL INDUSTRY Harold Ickes assured the American Petroleum institute’s 22nd annual con vention at San Francisco the govern ment had no Intention of taking over the nation’s oil industry. Read the Classified Advertisements Copyright: 1941 By News Syndicate Co.-, Inc. IN TWO PARTS—PART TWO The room was small and full of smoke, lit by green shaded lights hang ing low over the tables. Baird seemed to be known to everyone. He intro duced Didi to a bald-headed man with gimlet eyes and two soft pink chins hanging over his collar, and then to a haggard but aristocratic and strange ly beautiful middleaged woman. There was no social, conversation. They were here for business. That was painfully obvious. Didi glanced at the woman as she dealt the cards with lightning precision. Her eyes were sunk into her head and glittering as if she had a fever, a cigaret hung from the corner of her mouth and her hands were per ceptibly trembling. She was not an encouraging sight. When I ’ve won a decent sum of money, I shall keep away from this—I won’t let it get hold of me—Didi caught herself thinking. They were bidding now and she was concentrating as never before in her life. The high stakes did not frighten her, but they sharpened her sense of responsibility. The cards were so evenly divided hand after hand that the game actually constituted a true test of skill. Didi’s mind worked like an adding machine, displaying feats of memory and bringing off coups of flawless finesse with a developing power that surprised the others and thrilled herself. “I ’ i A cleaned out,” said the fat man at last, “let’s call it a day, shall we?” Didi felt almost suffocated with ex citement and they reckoned up the score and paid over the winnings. She looked cool and keen and self-pos sessed as if this were routine exper ience, but a fire seemed to consume her inside. She was shaken with pride and happiness. Her heart galloped when the banknotes were pushed to her across the baize table top. She had never seen a 100 pound note before and she had won 10 of them in an afternoon! If only she could race home and tell Jay about it. A large glossy looking man with dead black eyes and a Vandyke beard stood in their path on the way out. Baird presented him to Didi as Baron Frinck—“our genial host.” • The baron lifted Didi’s right hand to his beard in the gesture of a kiss. “A friend of Gavin’s is always wel come here,” he said pleasantly. He took a key from his waistcoat pocket and put it in her hand. “Now you can drop in any time you like.” “Thank you, I will,” she said. Add ing to herself—I ’ll keep on coming till I ’ve won 5,000 pounds and never again after that. * * * Baird had a dinner engagement in town, so Didi took the train to Black- heath and walked the short distance from the station to the house. She was in a state of incredible bliss, re lieved from the menace of JJiose un bearable bills. She would pay them all tomorrow and with the remainder open a secret banking account. That she would use to stake her play till she had won the sum she had set her heart upon. I t would last till some thing else turned up. Jay’s uncle Jason was 92. She wished the old man no harm, but it was only natural that he should die. The news vendors displayed posters giving the Albanian situation from day to day, but that meant nothing to Didi except that it kept Jay out late at nights and he was too tired to be human when he came home. The bills were paid and she had some new evening things from Paris which were pure Joy because they too, were paid for. It was too bad a girl could not have a husband who was free to go out with her so that she could be seen and admired. She said: “We’re not going to war' about that funny little patch on the map and the mock- turtle king so what’s all the excite ment about?” “Nobody’s excited darling, but it’s elementary common sense to be pre pared for trouble. Aviation has made fantastic strides since the last war. London is too vulnerable. You don’t think we ought to sit and wait till we’re bombed before we do some thing?” “I suppose not.” She was not in terested, but she might as well humor him. “What exactly are you doing?” “You’d be surprised. A great many clever and ingenious things you can read about in the papers. But we have some secrets, too. Too bad the bosses won’t be calling personally to sample our very unpleasant surprises.” Jason sighed. Knocked out his pipe and put away his book on velocity of explosive propelled projectiles. \Early start again. Time for bed ----- ” Didi blew up. “It’s always time for bed in this .house—or for work. What a life! It’s just the time when the night clubs are at their best and people are beginning to wake up!” Jason took her by the shoulders and hustled her before him. “They’ll wake up at the wrong time if somebody isn’t on the job to keep them from being bombed out of their beds. The trouble is, Didi, you haven’t realized yet that a soldier’s wife should be a soldier ----- ” * # * The money did not materialize. Luck turned strangely against her at the gambling club and for all her prodigies of skill and reckless daring she con tinued to lose. The danger only acted as a spur to her determination. She must have that money. Given the minimum of winning cards, she was invincible. Her luck must turn. Luck, however, broke the laws of chance and did not. \ f The baron Intercepted her and in vited her into his office one afternoon when she was leaving. His manner was smoothly sympathetic. He indi cated a deep chair which took her into a large blue leather embrace. “I hate to’ interfere between the mem bers, Mrs. Lennox, but I ’ve had several complaints. People don’t want to take any more L O. U.’s from you till these are paid.” He consulted a pad on his heavily littered desk. “The total is more than 6,000 pounds.\ Didi had the sensation of falling through bottomless space. “It can’t be all that. They can’t all be mine. You’ve made some mistake.” He picked up a bunch of chits and leafed through them. “No. They’re all yours. Small sums mount up, you know. Your signature is here on every one.\ It was probably true. She had been so mad, so heedless of the money in volved, so intent on sticking till the cards came back. But how wicked of people to take her I. O. U.'s. If they had refused she would have had to stop. Her thoughts leaped madly about like a wild bird pushed into a cage. But there was no way to go except deeper down. “Let me play again just once,” she pleaded. “I must win this time. It’s my only way out.” The baron shook his head slowly with a convincing air of regret. “ I wish I could. But it’s impossible. I ’ve al ready allowed you more leeway than is laid down in the rules of the house. But there is another way ----- “Your husband, my dear young lady. What do you women marry these rich husbands for?” “My husband isn’t rich ----- .\ Didi stopped, appalled by the sudden blaze of light on the whole peculiar ex perience. Blackmail. The people she had been playing with were accom plices of the baron's. ■ The baron’s dead eyes gave nothing of himself away, but they saw plenty. He smiled slightly as he watched emo tions race over Didi’s face, palpable as wind moving wheat. He tapped blunt white fingers monotonously on his desk. “That isn’t what I ’ve heard,” he said discarding subtlety. “But if true, all the more reason we should call a halt. When you intend to pay these debts is the issue we must settle now.” “You can’t sue me,” said Didi des perately. “Your club is illegal.” The baron’s smile widened as if she had made a joke. His unsmiling eyes above it looked uncanny. “We wouldn’t try. We never do it. We are exclusive, admitting only members of the aris tocracy. For that reason we have no trouble. There is no necessity for you to work yourself into a nervous col lapse. The affair will be amicably settled if you allow me to deal with your husband.” Didi’s heart, stopped and hung in her breast, till she felt she was going to die. She felt deadly ill when it plunged and went thumping on again. “Oh, God no! You mustn’t do that! You mustn’t do that!” \I wouldn’t want to. There’s another way ----- ” Now he leaned forward over the desk, and his eyes were not eyes at all, but the openings of tunnels down into a darkness where should have been a soul. “Your husband is a gunnery ex pert working on the air raid defenses. Am I right?” “Why y-e-s, yes he is ----- ” “Good. I have friends who would pay handsomely to know what he knows. Much more than your paltry debts. They would m%ke him the rich man you say he is not. Now you-— ” Didi managed a frightened croak. \No use. He would never tell me ----- ” “Naturally not. But he would be approached in such a way that you would be aware of it. Your part would be to influence him to act in an hv- telligent manner. Wars are the sheer est stupidity. Patriots are fools. The only people who profit are those who turn, the madness of idiots to good account for themselves. You need not answer now. Take a day to think it over. I ’ll expect you here to see me exactly at this time tomorrow.” “Thank you,” she said weakly. Didi walked up Victoria street on legs trembling as if from fever. She had left the car in a garage behind the station. Her subconsciousness led her there for she was not capable of thinking clearly about anything. She was in a daze of black „misery. Instinct formed of long habit took her safely home, for her mind was In a turmoil. Only a few weeks ago life had been as free and sweet as life could be—and fool that she was, she had not known it. If only one could turn back, she agonized, if only one could turn back. Wasteful thinking. One never could. An olive green car with an army chauffeur sitting in it was waiting at the door when she arrived, and she knew Jason was home before her. He met her in the paneled hall as she entered. “I ’m glad you’re back, Didi. I ’m going on a tour of some of the armament works to see if I can get advance deliveries on certain gun productions. Barrow first. I ’m flying up tonight.\ The sight of him, so real and sub stantial in his uniform, with his look of authority, integrity and race shocked Didi into immediate realiza tion of the only thing left for her to do. She opened the door into the wine and yellow Hepplewhite drawing room she had accomplished with such pride in that other life now so far away. “Come in here, Jay. There’s something awfully private I have to say to you.” He wanted to pack, to telephone, to go through some papers, to eat some dinner before he left and was con sequently in a hurry. But the look in his wife’s eyes and the desperate tone of her voice impressed him. He fol lowed her into the room, closed the door behind them and stood waiting. Didi stood before him, forcing her eyes to meet his and take whatever medicine of contempt and anger was coming to her. “I ’ve got to leave you, Jay. It’s all over. I ’ve let you down utterly. You’ll never want to see me again after this. I ’m not worth your little finger. I ’m no use to anybody ----- ” He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. “No, wait. Listen please. This is too difficult not to tell you immediately. I can’t bear the thing another minute ----- ’’ Bit by bit, in her hurrying voice, the miserable story came out. Jason let her finish, his grave face non committal, telling her nothing of what he felt. “So you see,” she finished, “I must go. And I must go now. I know how you’d feel about me spending an other night under this roof. I don’t belong here anymore. As for that ghastly debt, that isn’t yours. I ’ll find some way to pay the money ----- ’’ She put her hands to her throat and swayed slightly. Jason took her elbow and impelled her firmly to the sofa. “Let’s sit down. That’s better. Well, Didi, I honestly didn’t think you had it in you-— ” “But I didn’t either, Jay. Oh, I know I ’ve been selfish and vain and stupid. But I didn’t know I could be absolutely wicked ----- ” His face was still grave and un happy, but there was nothing in it of contempt or anger. “You misunder stand me, Didi. I mean I didn’t think you had it in you to stand and face an enemy charge. You’ve failed in love and honesty time and again, but courage redeems you greatly. Courage ydu know, is a virtue, too.” And sur prisingly he took her hands and held them as if he wanted to comfort her. Didi stared at him astounded through a blur of tears. “You mean you could—possibly—forgive me?” Now he did smile a litHe. “ I ’m afraid I ’ll have to—till 70 times 7. Not be cause I ’m any kind of a saint, but be cause I love you and my kind of love is for life. Quite illogical of course, but love isn’t a reward of merit, thank God. It’s a human magic—an inex plicable mystery. I ’ve known for a long time I couldn’t hope for even an ade quate return for my unshakable love for you, but I happen to be made that way.” Didi felt a hot wave of shame. “But I do love you,” she whispered. “I ’m changed. I ’m grown up. I feel I know what love is for the first time in my life. I can love you the way you mean —that is, if you really don’t want me to go— ” \Want you to go, Didi?” He re leased her hands and drew her into his arms against the steady loyal beat of his heart. “But never. Besides there’s a Job to be done In which only you can help me. With this high courage of yours we can catch these spies. Captain Bartlett can go north tonight. Remember what I said to you once? A woman should be a soldier to be a soldier’s wife.\ (The End) FIRST MONTANA REPORTER MIXED WITH DESPERADO SCRIBE WAS FORTUNATE THAT HIS BEST FRIEND HAD SLADE’S NUMBER Here is a new story on Tom Baker, first newswriter of Montana, who made of the Montana Post, the first newspaper to be established in Mon tana the readable publication that it was. Incidentally, it should be said that Baker was the right hand of Thomas Dlmsdalc, editor of the Post and author of the “Vigilantes of Montana.” Baker began his Journalist career on the old London Times. He was an apprentice, and one of his-duties was to take the forms off the press and wash them. One day he dropped a form of type, and the day’s work of half a dozen men was reduced to “pi” in' the twinkling of an eye. In those good old days Tom’s offense meant a whipping and he was In no mood to take his medicine. Instead he took his cap from its peg behind the door and silently stole out of the office. He wandered down to the wharfs on the Thames, and stowed himself away on a ship, westward bound, the des tination concerning him but little, and when the pile of “pi” was discovered, Tom was rounding the white cliffs of Dover on his way to America. hurt when he emerged half -starved, from his hiding place, because a hand was needed in the ship's galley, and when he arrived in New York harbor, three weeks later, there was not a wrinkle in his anatomy, a complaisant cook and a full larder had made the trip pleasant and Tom fit. In the new world he set about ad venturing. There was employment everywhere for a man who could “set type,” and the wanderlust carried him far into thfe hinterland of this won derful country of his own discovery. In due time he arrived at work the day after he landed, on the Montana Post, and because he knew more about newspaper making than Dimsdale, the editor, or , Tilton, the owner, he be came at once the right hand of both. He helped Dimsdale to write the “Vigilantes of Montana,” a fact that few have knowledge of. When he was past 70 years of age he could still write well in the quaint newspaper phraseology of 93 years ago. He brought up a family of five boys, good printers all, and died in Helena at the home of his son, John Baker, him self a printer highly respected and esteemed in his profession. Here’s a yam that is told of Tom B&kcr • Slade, the killer, had been‘ on a wild spree in Virginia City, had shot up a saloon or two and put a neat row of bullet holes between the toes of a bunch of tenderfeet. Tom wrote the story for the Post. Slade dlsap- proved. This thing of having one’s prowess as a gunflghter exploited was not to his liking. He would teach this smart young Britisher a lesson. Per haps he would cut off his ears and carry them about in his pocket until they dried, as he had done to the ears of one Jules, who had incurred his displeasure. At any rate he gave it out cold that Baker was in for some form of punishment. Now this Slade was a terrible man, a killer with many notches on the haAdle of a gun. He had made his reputation when he w£fc$ in charge of a section of the Overland stage line, and had killed, with some measure of Justification, desperadoes who men aced the line, but the bloodlust had gotten into his head, and he was a bad hombre. There was Just one man in Virginia City who had the Indian sign on Slade. That man was Capt. James Williams, afterwards executive officer of the Vigilantes. Slade and Williams had trekked across the plains in the same wagon train. They had been rivals for the captaincy of the train and Williams had won. After Williams was elected he had gone to Slade and calmly offered to shoot it out with him, which sporting proposition the famous killer declined. Thereafter it was known that Slade was afraid of Williams. Williams was Baker’s friend. He heard of Slade’s threat to chastise Baker and when Slade came to town a few days later to do the Job W il liams was waiting for him in Baker’s office. Slade strode Into the dingy log shack that was the news room but before ho could say anything to Baker, who sat at his desk writing, Williams moved Into his line of vision and asked him what he wanted. There was a light in Williams’ eye that Slade had seen on the prairies when the captaincy of the wagon train was in question and so the desperado quickly concluded that discretion was the better part of valor. He replied that he had Just dropped in to pay his subscription to the Montana Post, and this done, he said good-day to W il liams and Baker with civility and took his departure. Slade was hanged by the Vigilantes a few weeks later, Williams officiating as Vigilante chief tain and lord high executioner. Large Timber Sale Announced in State One of the largest timber sales In Montana history was scheduled at Kalispell after timber cruisers com pleted checking stands in the reservoir area of thp proposed Hungry Horse Irrigation project, Flathead national forest officials said. They said 80,000,000 feet of timber, Including 15,000,000 feet of white pine and 65,000,000 feet of fir, spruce and larch, would be offered for bid. The sale was decided upon because of cur rent high prices for timber and timber products, and to clear the reservoir area of the salable timber in anticipa tion of the time when it would be The stowaway suffered no physical' flooded by backwaters from the dam. , l -
The Montanomal
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Montanomal
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Montanomal
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Montanomal
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Dillon Daily Tribune
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Dillon Daily Tribune
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Dillon Daily Tribune
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
The Dillon Daily Tribune
(Dillon, Mont.), December 03, 1941
