The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume], May 04, 1934, Page PAGE FIVE, Image 5

About The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
Friday, May 4, 1934.
Love of Same Indian Maid Resulted in Death of Bryan
Osborne and Judd Scott Became a Fugitive; Men Were
Boon Companions While Mining in Deer Lodge Valley
By WILLIAM FTLNN
Selitude is a gnawing pain that
sometimes drives men mad. When it
comes after continued, enforced,
seemingly endless association with an
other who has bested an individual
in the world’s oldest game—love, its
potency is increased & hundred fold.
The mind then works in strange and
obscure ways. Its thought process be
comes warped. It follows twisted
paths of reasoning. It grinds only
one grain—the seeds of hate.
Slowly, involuntarily, the mental
stimuli for reasonable actions are
weakened. A man becomes less a man
—and his animal nature triumphs.
Such may have been the cause of
tragic death on the Marias river near
Healy’s Crossing, March 15, 1882 that
left one Montana
a pioneer a bullet-rid
den corpse and an
other a fugitive,
haunted by the
memory of his act.
Bryan (Briney) Os
borne was the victim
of fatal bullets that
day. Judd Scott be
came a haunted man,
carrying the stigma
of Cain. Less than a
year before the fatal
William Flynn 2 uarrel ‘* e * ha d
been rollicking com
panions, typical of Montana’s early
day boon friendships.
But each came to love the same
ebon-eyed Indian maid.
Like most inhabitants of Montana
during the early ’Bos, Osborne and
Scott had heard the call of that will
o-wisp of fortune in their native mid
dle-western villages. They had an
swered. But like some others, their
only reward, ultimately, had been
death and disgrace.
Scott and Osborne cemeted the
foundation of their companionship in
a mining camp early in the spring of
1881. They had “wintered” at a trad
ing post in the Deer Lodge valley,
awaiting the opening of spring when
snow freshets would carry gold-bearing
sands through miner’s sluice boxes.
During the long winter when crystal
flakes enshrouded the land with a
whitened robe that almost completely
hid the few and pitiful structures
boastfully erected by man in the almost
virgin wilderness, Osborne and Scott
learned to like each other’s ways.
During frequent hunting trips that
winter they had followed the trail of
deer apd elk. Each exalted in his
friend’s kill and success.
Beside the roaring fireplace of their
log-sod cabin, when the weird wailing
winds moaned during winter nights,
they laid their plans for the coming
campaign in search of gold.
When spring broke the winter’s icy
grip, the two divided their packs and
struck the prospector’s trail. They lo
cated a mountain claim. They had fair
success.
Osborne and Scott weighed the gold
in their buckskin pokes when the first
front of autumn glazed the earth and
made the crystal clear waters in the
creek that supplied their sluice box
sharp with ice spikes.
They decided they had enough to live
through another winter. Their “take”
had not been great. But, as Osborne
told his friend, “it’ll keep our belts
notched out.”
The two friends had little trouble in
deciding where they would spend the
winter. From companions at the Deer
Lodge valley trading post the season
before, they had heard of the advan
tages the Marias river afforded.
There the winter was mild, they were
told. Snowfall was less than in the
mountains. Spring came earlier.
The two travelled in easy stages from
their claim to the river. At Healy’s
Crossing they purchased their supplies.
Several miles away they located a site
for the cabin.
Timber was scarce but the deep-soil
bottom lands made "easy diggin’.” They
hastily threw up a one room sod hovel,
arranged their few belongings. Their
quarter’s were completed before win
ter settled firmly on the territory.
For the first time in several months,
the men found themselves with leisure
time. And a new diversion was offer
ed.
Nearby was camped a small tribe of
Indians. The chiefs' daughter was of
comely figure and cheerful disposition.
When she had overcome her first
shyness toward the two white men, she
welcomed their association —and in
creasing attentions.
In the beginning neither Osborne nor
Scott thought the affair would become
serious. Together they visited the
camp each day and sought the company
of the Indian girl. Their walks with
her were congenial affairs, each man
sharing the girl’s attention.
Scott made the first break in the
routine.
One morning he feigned illness when
Osborne suggested they forego their
usual visit to the Indian village and try
their luck afield hunting. After Os
borne had gone, Scott hurried to the
camp.
The Indian girl was surprised to see
him come alone. Woman-like she did
not question him about his companion.
Scott offered no explanation for his
absent friend.
Their walk took them farther from
the tent village than usual. Soon they
had crossed the high ridge of rolling
hills that swelled away from the river.
Unnoticed, the hours passed swiftly.
When they realized the passage of
time, the first shades of evening were
falling and spreading from the undu
laiiny ridges.
Suddenly, not far off, they heard
the sodden, sullen bark of a gun.
Cascade County Sheriff’s Highway Patrol Is Set for Action
W''- ' 1
a
Members of Cascade county’s first highway patrol, which commenced operations recently, are from left to right, Deputy Sheriff Henry Cross of
Monarch, Deputy Übal Landry of Belt and Deputy Sheriff Jewett Grubb of Cascade. The distinctive belts and caps worn by the patrolmen, and
their highpowered cars are indicated in the photograph.
Startled, the girl turned toward her
companion.
“What is it?” she asked.
"Probably a hunter,” Scott answered.
He knew it was his friend.
The two turned to retrace their steps
to the village of skin-covered dwell
ings. As they topped a slight rise and
glanced into the gentle valley that
dropped before them, they saw a figure
standing alone in the silent holloiw.
Scott hesitated. It was Osborne.
The girl’s companion knew Osborne
would resent his subterfuge of the
morning. For a moment he halted.
The Indian girl continued moving for
ward for a few steps before she noticed
her companion no longer walked beside
her.
She turned and faced him. He stood
gazing at the barely recognizable figure
in the valley below.
With sudden determination to face
the issue, Scott took a few quick strides
to her side.
“It’s Osborne,” he said. "He wanted
to go hunting today. I decided I would
rather walk with you.”
The girl smiled, but made no re
sponse.
Silently, they made their way down
the gentle slope. They did not resume
their conversation. The spirit of
friendship that had inspired their talk
during their afternoon together was
broken.
When they were within hailing dis
tance of Osborne, Scott raised his hand
in a gesture of recognition and shouted.
Osborne did not return his greeting.
Scott and the girl ceased walking to
ward him. For almost a minute Os
borne looked at them before he moved.
And then It was to turn and walk away
—without a word.
The Indian girl betrayed no emotion
Stoically she covered any concern she
might have felt. Scott began a hurried,
stilted conversation, but scon he al
lowed It to die because she made no
response.
When he had escorted her to her
father’s lodge, he paused a moment
beside the open door skin.
“We will go again tomorrow?” he
asked.
The girl shook her head.
“No more,” she said, smiling gently.
Scott started to protest—to plead his
cause. But again she nodded her head
negatively. Then she disappeared in
side the tepee.
The white man, his love for the girl
fanned higher by the rebuff and the
knowledge that his partner, too, loved
her, made a movement to follow.
A bronzed, black-haired figure barred
his way.
"Go,” said the chief of the tribe,
pointing toward the white man’s cabin.
Scott turned away. He knew there
was no appeal.
For several hours he wandered along
the banks of the river. Before he
realized it, night had fallen. He was
hungry. He followed the moon-tinted
waters until he was opposite the cabin.
The door was open. He could see Os
borne reclining in the room’s only
chair. He faced the door. Across his
knees lay the shotgun he had carried
that afternoon.
Scott hesitated a long time. His
buckskin shod feet made no sound as
they glided over the dried grass mat
ting that covered the ground.
As he stepped within the area of
light reflected from the small fire
within the cabin, Osborne leaped from
his chair and brought his gun to the
firing position.
Scott halted. Fear held him motion
less.
Osborne swung the gun to bear di
rectly on his partner’s breast. His
finger curled slowly around the trig
ger. As he felt the touch of the cold,
curved steel, small beads of perspiration
broke out on his forehead.
Then, suddenly, he dropped the gun.
It fell, clattering, to the floor. He cov
ered his eyes with his hands and turned
to face the fireplace.
THE HARDIN TRIBUNE-HERALD
For a moment Scott did not realize
that he had escaped death. Then he
staggered forward and entered the
cabin.
Though desperately hungry, he did
not eat. He climbed Into his bunk and
tried to sleep. But he could not lose
himself in unconsciousness.
Through the long hours before dawn
he tried not to hear his partner move
about the cabin. Long pauses would
break the monotony of his pacing feet.
When the silence would become almost
unbearable, the slithering patter would
take up the treadmill trod again.
Just at the first sign of dawn, when
pale streaks rtf light were half-illumi
nating the cabin, Scott fell asleep.
When he awakened it was almost
noon. Osborne was gone.
Scott lifted himself from his bunk.
None of Osborne’s possessions had been
removed. Only his shotgun was miss
ing.
Osborne was not near the cabin. Not
knowing whether to search for his
partner, Scott prepared himself a
scanty meal. As he worked he remem
bered that it was the first food he had
had since the previous noon.
Just as he downed the last bit of
food with difficulty and turned his
back to the cabin’s door to place the
frying pan back in the fireplace, he
heard a slight sound behind him.
He turned.
There stood Osborne, haggard, dust
streaked, his gun held lightly in his
hands.
Osborne’s burning eyes, red-rimmed
for lack of sleep, turned full upon his
partner. Scott could not return his
gaze. His eyes wavered.
As his gaze, strangely enough, fast
ened upon the buckskin thong that
laced Osborne’s leather shirt together
at the throat, he half-saw the man’s
hands shift their hold on the shotgun.
Terrified, Scott looked up. What he
saw gave him relief.
Osborne’s head had fallen forward.
The insane blaze had died from his
eyes. Absently, he carefully placed his
weapon against the wall and walked
toward the fireplace.
“Had something to eat?” he asked.
Scott was almost unable to answer.
"A little,” he said finally.
Osborhe rekindled the fire and
cooked a sparse meal. He consumed it,
though apparently without desire.
When he finished, he methodically
placed the utensils in their customary
place.
While his partner was eating, Scott
watched him Intently. He made one
effort to help, but Osborne surlily de
clined his assistance.
Before noon the two men had agreed
upon a truce. Neither could consider
the situation calmly. Each believed
he loved the Indian maiden. One
would not retire in favor of the other.
At first they wanted to break their
partnership. But they could not agree
on a division of their supplies. During
the summer they had lumped their
“take” from the gold boxes without
determining how much each had found
individually. Then, what was one’s
was the other’s; they could not foresee
they would be faced with the problem
of division before real winter had set
in. Neither was there time for one
man to build a second cabin. One
would not help the other.
At last they decided to winter to
gether. But both were emphatic that
at the first opportunity they would cut
the tie and each follow his own des
tiny. Then there would be no ques
tion of how the supplies should be
divided. Little would remain uncon
sumed.
During the long winter months then
they were bound to the narrow con
fines of their hut by the glacier-cold
that stilled the land, the tension be
tween the former boon companions
waa many times strained to the break
ing point. Only by almost superhuman
efforts of will were they able to keep
from flying in Insane passion at one
another’s throat.
Early spring Chinooks ended their
bondage.
Osborne moved. He built a cabin net
far from the hovel Scott and he had
occupied during the winter. It was
located between the first cabin and Joe
Pickett’s bull camp.
Neither of the men was anxious to
leave the territory. Each was awaiting
the return of the Indian tribe and the
copper-skinned maiden who, in the
summer, would come again.
On March 15, Scott decided to visit
Pickett’s bull camp. He was forced to
pass by Osborne’s cabin.
Reluctantly he approached the build
ing. When he was within hailing dis
tance, his former partner stepped out
side and called to him.
Scott approached cautiously. He was
carrying his rifle, and held it in a
“ready” position.
Osborne was friendly. He asked
Scott to enter and have a drink.
As the guest crossed the doorsill, he
carefully placed his rifle against the
comer and took a seat within arm’s
reach. While he drank the strong,
long-brewed brown fluid, he kept
measuring the distance between him
self and the weapon.
Osborne apparently sensed his dis
trust.
“You’re going to kill me!” he sud
denly shrieked.
Scott leaped for the gun. As he
swung its muzzle toward Osborne, the
host grabbed an axe that leaned in a
farther comer of the room.
Wild ejaculations fell from his lips.
Once again Scott saw the insane lock
in his eyes. He advanced toward Scott,
raising the double-bladed weapon over
his head.
“Damn you, I’ll kill you!” he shouted.
Scott backed out the door. Osborne
followed. The axe cut through the air
in long, swishing blows that narrowly
missed cleaving Scott from pate to
collar-bone.
Retreating, Scott found himself
backed against the outside wall. He
raised his gun still higher and its
muzzle bore on a point above the at
tacker’s heart.
Osborne took a step nearer. The
glittering, almost razor-edged blade
swished past Scott’s bobbing head and
burled itself in the log wall.
The Insane man wrenched it loose.
He drew it back to launch another
blow. Scott pressed the muzzle of his
rifle against Osborne’s chest.
The axe was lifted higher. It curved
downward. A muffled shot sounded.
As though struck by a giant's blow,
the axe wavered in mid-air. It twisted
and fell to the ground. Osborne stag
gered. He clutched his bosom. His
suddenly vacant eyes stared at his for
mer friend.
Blood seeped through his grasping
fingers. The strength left his muscles.
His knees buckled. His head fell for
ward. With a sodden thump, he
crashed to the ground.
Scott did not need to touch Osborne’s
body to know he was dead. The heavy
slug had torn a gaping wound in his
back where it had emerged from the
flesh. His life’s blood quickly dyed the
ground.
Scott frantically ran to Pickett’s
camp and told his story of the tragedy.
But none wholly believed him. The
spirit of the vigilantes was not dead
among the Montana pioneers.
There was talk of lynching Scott,
although investigators found the axe
where Scott said it had fallen after he
killed Osborne to save his life.
Before the pioneers could swing their
rope into action, Scott disappeared, a
fugitive for the rest of his life from
haunting memories if not from justice
of men.
Coal mines in Great Britian are
showing the favorable effect of recent
trade agreements with Scandinavian
countries and Germany.
CAMPBELL HEADS
MONTANANS, INC.
RESIGNS POST AS NORTHERN PA
CIFIC AGICULTURAL DEVELOP
MENT AGENT AT MISSOULA
L. A. Campbell was elected execu
tive vice president and manager of
Montanans, Inc., according to an an
nouncement made recently by F. B.
Connelly of Billings, president of the
Montanans, Inc. Mr. Campbell form
erly was a director of the organiza
tion and its acting secretary. His
place on the board, the member rep
resenting the Missoula district, will
be filled by Howard Toole, attorney of
Missoula. Mrs. Mabel Bingaman was
elected secretary and treasurer.
In view of the increased activities of
Montanans, Inc., the organization now
needs a full-time manager. President
Hf - ■ ■
Mr *
KFi • I
a
L. A. CAMPBELL
Connelly's announcement stated. Mr.
Campbell, therefore, has announced his
resignation as agricultural agent for
the Northern Pacific Railway company
with headquarters ati Missoula. He
will devote his entire time to the af
fairs of Montanans, Inc., as soon as
his position with the railroad is filled.
President Connelly said the Montanans,
Inc., is exceedingly appreciative of the
co-operation of the Northern Pacific
in allowing Mr. Campbell to continue
his work with the railroad and at the
same time carry on in the duties of
Montanans. Inc.
The board of directors of Mon
tanans, Inc., at its meeting at Bill
ings, appointed delegates to attend the
annual meeting of the United States
Chamber of Commerce at Washing
ton, D. C. These were Dr. E. M. Lar
son of Great Falls, national council
lor for Montanans, Inc; O. S. Warden
of Great Falls, director at large; R. C.
Bricker of Great Falls, John Dexter
of Bozeman. L. A. Campbell of Mis
soula and W. A. Campbell of Helena.
Injuries Fatal to Bitter Root Rancher
Ole Erickson, old-time rancher of
the Lolo district in the Bitter Root
valley, died in a Missoula hospital as
the result of being gored and trampled
by a cow. Mr. Erickson was trying to
examine a new-born calf when the
mother charged him. He was brought
to the Missoula hospital. Mr. Erickson
has been a resident of the district for
more than 30 years.
A great comet was visible by day aver
the United States Feb. 8,1843.
PAGE FIVE
Cop’s Vocabulary
Greatly Enriched
As ‘Turkey’ Lost
Police Officer Tom Calpin of Butte
added to his vocabulary a few days ago
—added not a new word but a new
meaning for an old familiar word.
A miner approached the officer at
the station and announced: "I want to
report that I’ve lost my turkey.”
Officer Calpin, puzzled but resource
ful: "Your turkey, eh? How did you
lose him?”
"Off the truck, coming from work.”
"Off the truck hmmmm? Uh —was he
dead or alive?”
“No, no; this was my turkey—my bag
of clothes. Do you understand?”
“Oh.”
FOG BUSTER USED
SAME COFFIN
HARLOWTON PIONEER WAS CHIEF
MOURNER. AUDIENCE AND FIR-
ING SQUAD AT FUNERALS
Harlowton people who have moved
to the mining city in the last 25
years will not remember “Fog Buster.”
But the old-timers will recall him,
although few will remember him by
his real name, which was McAldoon.
At any rate, “Fog Buster” was a
giant of a man and possessed a deep
bass voice that reached way down in
the cellar. It was his voice that got
for him his nickname.
He lived in Harlowton during its
pioneer stage, about 1902 to 1907, and
made his living by swamping out sa
loons, building boxes for coffins and
other odd jobs he could get.
Harlowton was a typical, thriving,
hardboiled western cowtown in those
days, and it was not unusual to find
a dead man lying around in the bushes
or the alleys at any time. On these
occasions Rowe Johnson, who, it is
claimed, did not know the meaning of
the. word fear, would take charge.
Johnson was deputy sheriff of Meagher
county and lived in Harlowton.
The customary procedure at the time
of these not infrequent funeral cere
monies consisted of dealcoholizing
“Fog Buster” until he was sufficiently
sober to dig a grave and build a box
like coffin. When this was accom
plished, Sheriff Johnson and "Fog
Buster,” in all their pomp and dignity,
would hold the funeral services.
Johnson possessed a tiny Bible, one
of the few in this whole section, and
the ceremony consisted of opening the
book at random and reading a verse or
two, whereas "Fog Buster,” who had
erstwhile been the chief mourner,
audience and firing squad, would as
sume a more active role by dumping
the improvised coffin into the grave,
covering it with a few shovelfulls of
dirt and the rites were completed.
“Fog Buster” received $lO for his car
pentry work on each of these occasions
and during the particular fall of 19M
business in this line had been unusual
ly good. However, life even at its
highest peak, it not without its trou
bles. And so it was with “Fog Buster.”
An early winter set in that year,
making it impossible to get t» the
county seat at White Sulphur Springs;
the result being that “Fog Buster” was
forced to “put it on the cuff,” as it
were, for his labors. He must bide his
time until the spring freshets arrived,
when Johnson could make a trip to
White Sulphur Springs and get his
money.
To "Fcg Buster” the long winter
moved very slowly and the days seemed
to pass like lazy cattle moving across
a landscape. Here he was with a verit
able fortune coming to him, but with
nary a thin dime to quench his ever
mounting thirst. The situation became
obnoxious to him and with each suc
cessive funeral he became more re
bellious until only the direst of threats
from Johnson would persuade him to
continue with his vocation.
But there came a time when the
wintry blasts were no more, when the
robins and spring birds appeared in all
their cheerful glory; snowbanks, it
seemed, disappeared overnight and Old
Man Winter reluctantly relinquished
his throne. And on one of these days
Rowe Johnson returned from White
Sulphur Springs with a substantial
check for “Fog Buster.”
It was a great night for "Fog Buster,”
for he didn’t lose much time in repair
ing to his favorite grogshop, where he
endeavored as quickly as possible to
recapture the jovial mood and mellow
thoughts that had not been his for
many moons. As the hours passed bis
hospitality expanded, his smile widened
and his deep voice boomed with the joy
of being alive. But the bystanders
noticed that throughout the evening be
would chuckle to himself and assume
an air of mystery.
The more mysterious he acted, tte
more curious Rowe Johnson became
until he at last approached his helper
and inquired as to the reasons for the
chuckles.
“Come out here in the back room,”
boomed "Fog Buster,” “and I’ll ten
you.”
On arriving in the shed at the rear
of the saloon, “Fog Buster” pointed to
a box half concealed in a dark corner
“See that box?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied the sheriff.
"Waal,” he chuckled, “that’s the ray
same one we've been buryin’ all there
stiffs in all winter.”