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
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