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"I've given up agitating doesn't go, what with the courts granting injunctions and the railroads throwing money about." "Do you mean that was why the strike collapsed?" Sommers asked eagerly. "Sure!" Dresser thundered heartily. "I KNOW IT. Do you know where the leaders are? Well, one of 'em has got the finest little ranch you ever saw out in Montana.
After I had for a year been commanding the Division of the Missouri, which embraced the entire Rocky Mountain region, I found it necessary to make an inspection of the military posts in northern Utah and Montana, in order by personal observation to inform myself of their location and needs, and at the same time become acquainted with the salient geographical and topographical features of that section of my division.
Out amid the dirge of landscape, framed within the valley of the Little Big Horn, where that historic river winds its tortuous way through the sagebrush and cactus of Montana, a weather-beaten cross stands on a lonely hillside, surrounded by a cluster of white marble slabs, and all marking the final resting-place of the heroes of the Seventh United States Cavalry, who perished to a man, “in battle formation,” with their intrepid leader, Gen.
I've just got time to catch the Twentieth Century Express." LIKE a sheaf of arrows, the other telegrams sped over the country, and most of them went straight to the mark. A mining engineer in Montana got one, and pulled up stakes at once. A rising young lawyer in Minneapolis found it necessary to look up some data in the old college library.
Chief Joseph did not know about Colonel Gibbon's troops, and made camp on the Big Hole River, near the border in south-western Montana. He was preparing lodge-poles, to take to the buffalo country. Here, at dawn of August 9, Colonel Gibbon with two hundred regulars and volunteers surprised him completely. A storm of bullets swept his lodges, before his people were astir.
Let him get the boodle and hand him a sour one. Name, Steve Thompson, en route to New York. Section 5, Sleeper Tonawanda, Phoebe Snow. Brown, smooth-shaved, hand-me-down suit, cowboy hat. From Butte, Montana. Former partner, Frank Short, killed by powder explosion at Bozeman, two years ago.
Butte!" he said, with a resounding thwack on his knee. "Butte! 'Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile'!" "Right you are," said the Westerner, well pleased. "I seem to remember you, too." "I have it!" said Mitchell. "Don't remember your name but you're the very man Judge Harney pointed out to me as the unluckiest prospector in Montana.
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is very amusing. A clever realistic story of the American Cow-puncher. A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys.
The Bison Society examined various sites, and finally recommended what was regarded as an ideal location situated near Ravalli, Montana, north of the Jocko River and Northern Pacific Railway, and east of the Flathead River. The nearest stations are Ravalli and Dixon. In it the bison herd requires no winter feeding whatever.
A loop of thread weighing 0.125th of a grain caused a petiole to curve; but the stimulus was not sufficient, the loop remaining suspended, to cause a permanent flexure. If a much heavier loop be placed in the angle between the petiole and the stem, it produces no effect; whereas we have seen with Clematis montana that the angle between the stem and petiole is sensitive. Tropaeolum peregrinum.
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