Bundane consisted of a post office (1917 to 1918) which was probably in the home of Roy Sinclair, the postmaster, and a school about a mile north.
  The post office was located on the old King Trail and mail was distributed for patrons in the Indian Butte area.
  The Sinclair family moved to Oregon when they left here. There were two boys and a daughter Mable, who married Charles Downer, a homesteader on Sand Creek. The Downers retained the homesteads until they passed away in the 70's. One of the boys was Stanley Sinclair.

  Bundane was part of district #101. This district also included Little Crooked. The first teacher was Mary Scherzer. In 1919 during a lightning storm the Bundane school was struck and burned to the ground. The loss was severe as the district was a poor one financially.
  Woods school was in the district and ran for awhile in 1918. The teacher was Louise Sandstrom. Sinclair School ran for awhile in 1918. The teacher was Agnes Gallagher. Taylor school ran for awhile in 1921. The teacher was Goldie Kilpatrick. ^{P. 194} 

  School was held in various places in #207. In 1958, Speed and Jessie Komarek built a school near the highway. School board members were Warren Willmore, Speed Komarek and Russell Murray. The clerk was Ava Zahn. The term started there in October 1958. The first teacher was Mrs. Northrup. Other teachers were Mrs. Esther Nase, Miss Olson, Dorena Baulch, Pauline Kovacich and Jim Stiedly. The last teacher was Ernest Harrison in 1967-68. In 1956 #131 Central consolidated with Indian Butte. In 1968 Indian Butte was annexed into Roy.

  Harry McDonald is not just sure when his parents came to Montana, but he always believed it to be around 1916. They came from Moorehead, North Dakota and homesteaded in the Indian Butte area, T 24N R 23E Sections 20 and 21. They had a son, Raymond, who was born in 1906 and had left behind, in a grave, an infant daughter.
   Nate was born and raised at Prescott, Wisconsin.
.. Helen was born and raised at Hales Corner, Wisconsin. 
  When Raymond was 21 years old, his mother, then age 41, traveled to California to stay with her sister, Mae Kurth, a nurse. While there she gave birth to Harry Nathan and a month later returned home to Montana with the newborn baby. 
  Nate let the Indian Butte homestead go for taxes. He to later felt it was a big mistake. The family moved to a place about 6 miles east of Roy where they lived for several years and then they bought a place just west of Roy from Joe Stevens, which was sold to Don Marso t several years later.
   Raymond left to work on the Fort Peck Dam project and then became a career salesman for Liggett and Meyers, a job he held for the rest of his life. He settled in Eugene, Oregon.
  Harry grew up and went to school in Roy. He has many memories of his years in the Roy country. related a few of them: 

  On one occasion, when the family still lived near Indian Butte, they had run out of hay and so, with another family, went into Roy to buy some. It was mid-winter and enroute home a blizzard came up. Nate felt he was going in the right direction but the other family said, "No, Nate, this is not the proper way." They were confused so they got down in a coulee and camped out all night. In the morning their hay was almost gone, they'd burnt it up to keep warm. They were 5 miles from the homestead. 
  Harry admits to the fact that his dad, Nate (like many others) sold a few bottles of bootleg whiskey. He never got caught when he was making it but later when they were still living east of Roy someone reported Nate to the authorities. Nate's  ^{P. 194} good friend, Sheriff Guy Tullock, came out to talk to Nate. The "snitch" had pinpointed the exact location of evidence and Nate was fined $15 for possession of a "broken down" still which was laying in a caved-in root cellar.
  "One time, my Dad, Frank Gradle and Jess Bilgrien were working in harvest with a header. I and Lawrence LaFountain went in to eat at noon and then we went back out to the field about one. Two hours later someone said something about smoke over towards our place. We all quit and went back and found the barn burning." That's the only fire Harry remembered, "generally people were very cautious where fire was concerned."
  Harry said his folks were diversified farmers; they had some cattle, a few sheep, raised some hay and a little grain.
  He remembers walking with his mother out to the "mail-box", an old pot-bellied stove. "Mail and groceries were generally delivered by anyone who happened to be going in 'that direction'." Alfred LaFountain, son of Isadore, was a special friend of Harry's. He would stay with the McDonalds quite often, especially when the boys were attending school.
  Jim Rife, Alfred and Harry used to drive a truck for Joe Murphy. "We were only 14 or 15; drove all over in about 4 states. The brand inspectors all knew Joe. No one ever asked for a driver's license; of course, we didn't have one, we weren't old enough. But it was of no importance at that time." Nate passed away in 1946 and he is buried in Roy.

  Mae Kurth came to the Indian Butte area from Fargo, North Dakota, probably around 1916. She only stayed here for three years, until she proved up on her homestead. She then went to Los Angeles where she remained for the rest of her life. She was a nurse by profession.
 Mae died in 1967 and her homestead is now owned by the children of her nephew, Harry McDonald.

  Patrick, or Patty, as he was called was one of those wonderful characters I wish I could have known. The stories I've heard about Patty are delightful and those who remember him do so with a smile -- a happy smile.
  My husband, as a child, was awed by Patty's wonderful spitting ability. On a cold winter day, Paddy would sit in his cabin, across the room, facing the stove that had a hot roaring fire in it. He always had a chew of tobacco in his mouth. Patty could spit clear across the room and hit the stove top! The juice would speed across the hot stove and then splatter all over the back and sizzle with a most unique hiss.
  Patty bought a bull he really prized from Jack Woodard. He had quite a time getting water he considered fit enough for the bull to drink. He had a fair source of water for himself, but he declared it "wasn't fit for that good bull to drink"
  He washed clothes, once a year--in June; and in June only.
  Patty was a pretty even-tempered fellow, but when things didn't go quite right he would issue forth with, "Fighten By Jaysus".
  Patty was a red headed Irishman. He worked in the Butte mines before  homesteading in the Bundane area. Nobody knows what happened to him after he left the area. He always said he wanted to go home to Ireland. Maybe he did.
^{P. 196}

  John Umstead came to Montana in 1914, filed on a homestead, then returned to work on the Pendray wheat farm in North Dakota. Five years later he returned to Montana preceding his marriage to Roxy Dewing, who was employed at the Pendray wheat farm also.
  The couple was married January 6, 1919 at Lewistown, Montana. Throughout the years the following children were born: Margaret in 1920, Charles Robert, 1923-1982 and John William, 1932-1960.
  When you view the countryside today, the hills are the same; but there are more fences, fields and added poles carrying electricity. The gumbo roads are the same, except for an occasional bridge or culvert. The best of all changes is an artesian well, running the much-appreciated, warm water, where it is needed. What a blessing. What an improvement in this generation, compared to the sacrifices endured for the very necessary commodity -- water.
  WATER WAS KING!! Water determined where and how people lived. The more fortunate ones settled near a stream. However, there were many die-hard type of people that tackled homestead life without a substantial source of water.
  In those days water was obtained in a number of ways. The ways varying with the seasons of the year, such as catching rain water in the spring or summer in tanks or tubs or buckets. This was caught from the run-off from some roof. Rain water was welcomed to wash clothes in, take a bath and wash your hair in. When the rain water became low in the tank, with so many dead crickets that no one could bear the thought of using it, out it went to the chickens; crickets and all. In the winter ice was put up off the frozen water from a handmade dam; a dam built with a fresno and pulled by a four-horse team. This operation was usually a one man crew. After days and weeks of steady work and perseverance the dirt fill was completed, awaiting a rain. In winter, when the ice was about 12 or 15 inches thick, it was cut with an ice saw, in rectangular slabs. These awkward cakes were grabbed out of the water by a special-made tool called 'ice tongs.' The cakes were approximately three feet in length and 12 inches wide, not the daintiest articles to handle. The thought of ice cold water a short distance from the grabber's feet would certainly rejuvenate his coordination and balance. When there were six or eight slabs of ice pulled out of the icy water, they were loaded on a sled or stone boat and hauled to the ice house. Two day's hauling usually filled the ice house.
  The ice house can be described as a root cellar with a low roof covered with dirt. The ice cakes were carefully packed with sawdust in between each cake and each layer. The sawdust made the right amount of insulation to keep the hard-earned ice from melting during the summer months. All during the summer the ice was dug out in approximately 12 inch chunks and used for drinking water. It was either too cold or tasted of sawdust when it became warm. It was also put in canvas bags to melt for drinking water in the field. When company came, the first chore was to get out a chunk of ice to make homemade ice cream.
  Another source of water was from the river. It was hauled as far as 8 miles in wooden barrels with canvas lids held down by a barrel rim. These barrels were in a horse-drawn wagon. Can you imagine the fun kids had riding down to the river in the cool damp barrels? Coming back was another story; they had to ride like the grownups and help keep the barrels from tipping and spilling the water. (For the sake of the health officer's ulcers; I'm sure the barrels were rinsed out before filling.) The water was only hauled when necessary; if the dams were low from lack of rain.
  The next source of water is the last, but not least, as it commands the most integrity and perseverance, not to mention monotonous hard work. It is actually melting snow for the livestock water in the winter, when the dams were frozen dry. First this consisted of having plenty of firewood. Second an oblong water tank propped up on rocks so you could successfully build a fire under it. This accomplished, there is still the backbreaking chore of shoveling snow into the tank and keeping it filled. Animals became accustomed to the fire and would come running at the sight of smoke.
  Now with the artesian wells scattered over the land, producing an abundance of warm water for household use, pastures and corrals, many tedious chores have been eliminated.
  Since the current nationwide water shortage threat is upon us, we are back where we started a generation and a half ago. WATER IS STILL KING!!
  The ensuing years repeated the hardships that challenged the determination and perseverance of all hard core homesteaders and a great amount of unsung praise belongs to those gutsy homestead women who worked with their men on these dry land ventures.
  RECREATION: Fun and recreation in the homestead days just happened. When people dropped in unexpectedly they created a bustle of activity; everybody pitched in helping to make ice cream (that meant ^{P. 197} getting more ice from the ice house), cooking a larger meal which usually meant at least two trips to the garden. As I remember, after those two chores were done I was free to go swim with the rest of the kids or go ride horseback.
  The men took a walk through the hay and grain fields, comparing the growth, digesting and examining the heads and kernels and guessing how many bushels per acre it would produce, "if we just get one more rain." 
  After, or before supper, or possibly during a meal, the shooting at targets was a form of entertainment. The targets were usually discs nailed to a post in the yard. If the people shooting could con some kid (that was on the run anyway, just wasting energy, as they called it) to run down and see where the bullet hit and if they reported a bulls eye, they just gained momentum bragging and wasting more shells.
  Prairie dog towns supplied half-grown kids a few hours of entertainment. We never could figure out why the prairie dogs were so smart. A leader or sentinel would give a certain yip and down in the holes they would all go. If you happened to be lucky enough to shoot one he would fall down the hole and we couldn't see him. Someone said maybe you could drown them out. Big chance with water so scarce and the dog towns were never close to water.
  We did have a comfortable, compatible little white horse during the 1930's, that my Dad bought from Jack Hemsing. By comfortable, I mean Stuby was fat enough you could ride him bareback without any ill effects; by compatible, I mean Stuby wasn't exactly lazy but would never get excited over anything. Whatever we kids wanted to do was okay, especially wading out in the dam to water him. He couldn't get a good drink until he was out in at least two feet of water, then he would lay down and we would tumble off and splash around. We didn't realize the horse was learning bad habits, until one day my Dad said, "What have you kids been doing to Stuby?" It seems my Dad had gotten an unexpected dunking!
  FARMING: A friend of my teenage grandson asked me one day, "Is it true that your dad made one trip an hour around a field a mile long?" "Yes, it was," I replied. I then explained that this was done with either a 4-or 6-horse team pulling the farm machinery that was necessary for the occasion; such as a plow, harrow or a drill. This particular day we were driving down the highway that has now cut the field in half. This blacktop was completed in 1959 or 1960.
  I suppose it's not too surprising, the current generation might look at the story teller with a certain amount of disbelief; while to us, my brother and I, it was a way of life. There was one spot near Indian Butte we could see Pop once an hour. (My dad taught the family early in life to call him pop.) At this point we would look at the time knowing in one-half hour he would be at the nearest distance from the house. We judged our walking time and started out shortly after we saw him. We were loaded with a lard pail filled with ice and a small amount of water. The ice would melt and if we dropped the bucket, the ice could be picked up. Sometimes he would want a lunch, but that wasn't practical because he should stop to feed and water the horses and let them rest during the noon hour. One neighbor said, "If John ever had a tractor he never would stop for noon." When he did acquire an International in the 1940's the number of acres under cultivation doubled. When the wheat allotment programs were introduced with a few government men showing up from time to time; on not finding Pop home they would send another one to try and locate him. When, finally spotting him in the field, they came rushing up over the plowing; Pop anxiously throttled his tractor to a stop, anticipating company. Imagine his surprise when two strangers jump out of a gray jeep-like vehicle. They were just going to tell Pop when and how much wheat to plant. After many unsuccessful attempts, the government men managed to get Pop to sign more papers.
 Everything went all right for a year or two until one day one of the men came out and told Pop, "You'll have to plow up a strip about the width of a drill all around this field because you have overplanted." Pop replied, "I was here before you were born and you can't tell me to plow up something I might need for feed." I think they compromised that year. He could leave it if he promised not to harvest the grain from said strip.
  Now Pop was an individual who was definitely a lover of nature as he enjoyed any kind of weather. When it rained he made us wade around in the mud barefoot and stand in the doorway and watch the drops fall. All this probably seems quite simple but, have you ever been drug out of bed when the sun came up and told to get your swimsuits on? We then had to run to the dam and were told to be sure and smell the fresh morning air. One thing, after a bout with cold water and fresh air, you could certainly eat a breakfast. Another one of his early morning stunts was to have a kid, usually me, wrangle his work horses. All this time you were suppose to be alert to all the wonders of Mother Nature and wasn't it fun to get up early?!
  The only time we rode on the cattle was after it rained when Pop couldn't work in the field. Then again the air was fresh from the rain, the morning breeze cool, the birds happy and chirping. As the morning wore on, the horseback ride was made into a game. Who could see the first cow? What brand did it have on? Were you smart enough to figure which calf was hers? Pop continually put our intelligence to a challenge. Later during the day the sun became hot, the air by the creek, where we were by then, was very humid. We were by then thirsty and got a lesson on how to lay on our stomach and drink out of a freshly filled water hole which was very alkali 24 hours before. We were told when the water is muddy it is safer to drink then when ^{P. 198} it is clear and shiny. Just try tasting clear alkali water sometimes!
  The fact that I was born in 1920, no doubt makes me a product of the late homestead era.
  My early childhood activities and experiences were very limited. We lived on a homestead twenty-six miles from Roy. We had one close neighbor, one-fourth of a mile away. The treat of the day or week was to take a walk with my mother and brother to Grandma Hemsing's house. My Dad said "Its okay to call her Grandma, because you kids don't have a grandma." I still remember the delicious cookies, that so many Norwegian women were noted for, that she would have ready.
  The nearest neighbors with children were eight miles away. By the time I was school age I had practically no conception of how to play with other children. Needless to say, when my mother and brother moved to Roy so I could attend school, this all developed many painful and disturbing experiences.
  All of my twelve years of school followed the same pattern, with us moving into Roy in September and returning to the homestead for the summer, Of course, we did get home for some vacations and a few weekends; more so in the later years when roads and means of transportation were improved. However, for two years of the twelve I speak of, 1930-31, we moved to a country school some twenty miles in another direction. My mother batched in a small shack while the teacher did likewise in the rear of an old log school house. These arrangements were necessary because there was no money to move into town.
  During the school year it was necessary for John to batch and among the people that stayed with him, Darrell White's name was most prevalent. His winters lapsed into summer, because he didn't leave.
  To winter with someone was a way of life, they called it working for your "grub" and the depression of the 1930's helped prolong this pattern of living, common to country people. In the spring the transient might roll his bed-roll on a pack horse, saddle another and ride to work on a seasonal job.
  To be sure, when school was out there was an upheaval of house cleaning to get rid of bedbugs, imaginary or otherwise, by soaking the bed legs in kerosene in the yard. The wall had a fresh coat of kalsomine every spring also.
  The years went by and times were better by the time I graduated from high school. My dad could get a fair price for sweet clover seed and his cattle had increased in number. Students could get little jobs at school.
  Speaking of jobs, I remember one summer a neighbor who was going away to work asked, "Would I ride after his cattle?" That meant check on the reservoirs and coulees for bog holes, watch for snake bites, etc. Of course, to a fourteen-year-old just being trusted to ride horseback alone, this was a wonderful offer. When fall came and this man returned from work and it was ^{P. 199} getting time for me to go to school, he never said, "How much money do you want." He just handed me five dollars. Money had never entered my head, but with five dollars, at that time, I had the choice of a wrist watch, a good leather jacket or a dress and a pair of shoes. It goes without saying, the reason I remember all this is because I wore out a couple of catalogs trying to decide what I really wanted. If I had my leather jacket today, I know its quality would stand up with the ones produced today.
  The work in those days, for a hard-working dry-land farmer, was difficult. But there was compensation; that of mental freedom. The mental freedom of those days can be described with an absence of government employees telling you what to plant and where. Those were the days: before income taxes, before insurances of every type became a necessity, there were no problems with bookkeeping, Social Security numbers, driver's licenses or overdraws. However, they no doubt had a mortgage at some bank with one payment to be made in the fall, which probably was a source of worry. But it cannot be compared to the rat-race with time and energy we endure today.
  My mother, Roxy, died in 1951. Eight years later my Dad, who had operated and farmed his land for forty five years passed away.

  The Bohemian Corner Cafe harbors many memories. In the thirties the main structure was an old-fashioned, yellow frame house located in the east end of Roy.
  A wall, a reversible cupboard and a door divided the house. This arrangement enabled two families to rent the entire building for $15.00 per month; then share the cost.
  The family living in the living room-dining room side had one bedroom and used the front porch for entrance. The other family had the large kitchen area, plus one bedroom and the back door was their entrance. In the back yard was a, not-so-sturdy, common clothes line. About twenty feet from the back door was a hand pump, water well with only wide boards over the top. Out of this semi-luxurious set-up, many surrounding neighbors packed their water in buckets. If neighborhood news could have been measured in buckets it would have been a fair exchange.
  At this same period of time, fresh cow's milk was delivered in a Karo syrup can for 12 cents a gallon.
  On November 12, 1932, with Mrs. Barbee as mid-wife, Johnny Bill Umstead was born in the kitchen side of the Lucht house (now Bohemian Corner Cafe).
  As Bill grew up it became apparent that his main interests were mechanical projects, not farming.
  Soon after graduating from high school in 1950, Robert Cimrhakl and Bill took a camping-vacation trip to Alaska. They fished, enjoyed the scenery and took many (Photo) s. In Fairbanks they visited with Bill's brother, Charles Umstead.
  Bill served in the Army during the years 1955-1958, until he contacted Hodgkins Disease while in Alaska with the service. He died at Fort Harrison, January 31, 1960.

  After graduating from Roy High School Charles Umstead went to an electrical school in Detroit. He then joined the Navy during World War II and was stationed in various places, but preferred Alaska as his future home.
  Just before he became settled in Alaska, Charles rode an Indian Chief motorcycle almost the entire length of the North American continent, that is from Fairbanks to a coast town in Louisiana. He rode the motorcycle back to Detroit and stopped briefly in Roy with a blue pick-up hauling his Indian Chief and a refrigerator, enroute to Fairbanks.
  At this period of time the route between White Horse and points in Alaska were mere trails with travel more probable at certain times of the year than others.
  In Alaska, Charles was employed as an electrician with the Alaska Gold Mining Co. This Co. sent him to various points, the furthest north was Nome, a very primitive town. However Fairbanks became his headquarters where he lived and worked for the same company for thirty-eight years.
  During the first ten or fifteen years we would see him once a year, usually in February when he had a month's vacation, but in later years we were lucky to hear from him.
  Ironic the morning we received news of Charles death, I was going to confirm a reservation already made to fly to Fairbanks.
  Upon his death we discovered among the many old vehicles he had accumulated over the years was his first blue Ford pick-up. Had it been remotely feasible we would have brought it home. We also learned that in March of 1982 the Indian Chief had been stolen while Charles was in Nome. ^{P. 200}

  Warren White homesteaded in the Indian Butte area, T 21N R 24E Sec. 20. White's Ridge, which flows into Sand Coulee, east of John Umsteads (Indian Butte) marks the area of the White homestead. When Warren left he moved to the Kalispell area. He hung on to his place for several years and leased to Jensens before finally selling to the government.
  Darrell White was born February 26, 1900 in Athens, Ohio the son of Warren and Elizabeth Thompson White. Darrell spent his life working as a ranch hand. He was an expert at "riding the grub line" and worked for his board most of the time. He always had a new saddle and gear.
  It is thought that his Aunt Jane Thompson raised him. She would give Darrell money for his saddle and leather purchases.
  Darrell passed away December 23, 1986 in Lewistown. He had been in Valle Vista for some time.
  Jane Thompson's homestead was in T 21N R 23E Sec. 13.

  Jack Hemsing lived in the Indian Butte area for 22 years. His ranch was on the main road (The King Trail) to the river and was a well-known stopping place for all travelers on that road.
  Jack was twice married. His first marriage was to Alice Garwood. He was married to Miss Lillis Housel, of Maiden, only a year before his death in November of 1935, at age 44, of pneumonia. He was also survived by his mother, Oline Hemsing, who had been visiting for several months, and a sister. His only child, son Jack Jr., was born after his death.
  Jack was born March 17, 1891 in Tacoma, Washington and came to Fergus County in 1915 or 1916.
  Jack did considerable riding for Murray Deaton. At that time, Deaton was operating through Portland Loan Company.
  Jack was quiet and unassuming and all that he came in contact with respected him. A neighbor wrote, in a tribute to him, "It is seldom that one is intimately acquainted with a person for nearly a score of years without hearing an unkind word spoken of him, but Jack was that way. This community was better and brighter in every way with him in it."
  After his death, Lillis married Frank Potterf, and they made their home in Lewistown for many years.
  Oline Hemsing also homesteaded in the same area as her son. She came to the United States from Bergen, Norway, landing at Roach Harbor, Washington, and settling in Seattle for a few years. She came to Montana a year or two after her son, homesteaded, and returned to Washington to live later.

  If you were a child in the 1920's and spent your preschool days on a homestead twenty some miles from town, your acquaintances, besides your parents and one brother, were very numbered. As I try to recall those years, one personality looms in my memory very strongly. I can safely call Jack Hemsing a personality, because as I remember, he was one of a kind -- second only to my dad. To my childhood mind he was someone who lived a quarter mile away and came to help my dad saw wood, butcher pigs, put up ice, etc. He usually rode a well-mannered horse, for he loved horses and understood their ways. His saddle horse would stand for hours with the reins dropped on the ground, which indicated some form of training. I found out later this was called ground breaking. I remember in particular this one rather tall brown gelding, medium build, would stand in our yard with his reins down and a knowing look of intelligence on his face trying to imply, "I'm smart, I know how to act." Maybe this look, I'm trying to describe, was enhanced by the perfect grooming, such as shiny hair, a well combed mane and a neatly pulled tail. Another thing that baffled me was how a rider could get on with the cinch noticeably loose; but that is the way Jack rode.
  Jack worked constantly with leather -- it had to be a hobby because everybody in the neighborhood had either a bridle, martingale, hackamore or quirt that he had made for them. To a six-year-old this leather processing was quite a novelty. Just to see how a soaking old hide could be made into something so pretty and smooth and also have such a change in smell. Once when my brother, Charles, and I were teasing my dad to make a little boat, he said, "I really should get this plowing done. Why don't you go see Jack? He'll make it for you." In less than an hour Charles and I had the neatest, floatinest little wood boat anybody could wish for. Now if he could make a boat, why not willow whistles -- which he did.
  As the years have gone, I gradually pieced together events and realized how much I learned in the few short ^{P. 201}years from Jack Hemsing. For he was truly a cowboy with no pretense. I doubt very much if he realized how much knowledge about animals was concealed within him. I remember the patient advice about driving cattle -never hurry them - give them time to think. While with horses it was just the opposite. If you and the cows idea of where to go were halfway the same, call yourself lucky and let her pick the trail. To pick a detailed route for cattle is very frustrating and they are apt to turn back. If this happens on a hot day with a down hill run for the old cows, you might just as well head for camp.
  All this seems like simple philosophy, but there are many people in this day and age who do not take time to understand it. Jack was a person that we kids assumed would always be around, but he was stricken with pneumonia in November 1935. After a few short days in the St. Joseph's Hospital, he died.

  Robert Purdy came to this country as a young man and spent some time in Canada before coming to Montana. He homesteaded in the Indian Butte area, later moving south of Roy. His place lay half-way between Black Butte and Roy. He farmed, milked cows, and raised pigs.
  On February 8, 1909 he and Clara F. Morgan, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. George Morgen, were married in Billings. Clara was a sister to Eva (Mrs. Frank Gradle) and Emma (Mrs. Joe Koliha).
  The Purdys had one daughter, Lucille. Lucille was married to Tony LaFountain, and they had three children; Lawrence, Billy and Dural. She later married Jocob Holzworth.
  Bill Davis recalled an almost tragic incident that happened to Dural when she was attending school. It was in the day of the outdoor toilet and was in the dead of winter when little Dural got imprisoned in the outhouse. The door froze shut on her, and she couldn't get it opened to get out. It was quite some time before the teacher missed her and rescued an almost frozen little girl.
  The Purdys moved to Lewistown in 1938, and he was employed by the Montana Lumber & Hardware until 1961.
  Bob passed away in August of 1969 at the age of 86. He was born in 1883; his parents were Samuel and Catherine Purdy.

THAD CURRY-- had a dug-out in Sand Coulee. He hand built a road to it with wheelbarrow and shovel. He was not the famous outlaw.

WALTER E. McGLOTHLIN-- died of strychnine poisoning in April 1919. Buried in Bourbon, Missouri. In cold winter weather he wore 7 pair of overalls at one time; at least that's how many pair of suspenders were counted by a fellow homesteader.

CECIL M. ROACH-- T 21N R 23E Sec. 25, 50. Roach had a sheep camp and shed on Antelope creek. In a blizzard, one winter, he started to Antelope creek to check on his sheepherder and the sheep. He wandered in the storm and ended up at the Sanford place on Dovetail. He was badly frozen and they loaded him up and started for Grass Range where there was a doctor. He died at Staff and was buried in front of the big sheep shed there. The herder was never found. This happened before the homesteaders came.

MR. AND MRS. ALBERT SEVERSON-- homesteaded 1916 in Indian Butte area. He later relinquished it and bought the Roy Cafe from A. A. Johnson.

EVERETT "SLIM" WYLAND-- Slim Wyland grew up in the Hilger area. He was the son of Nathaneal and Anna Wyland. He had two sisters, Dolly Holland and Sylvia Zelenka. He owned land at the mouth of Fargo Coulee and got a start in the ranching business. He finally sold out to Duane Murray. He was staying with the Murrays when their house burnt down in 1949 and he had all his things stored there. He lost all. Slim worked as a cowboy and ranch hand in the Roy-Valentine area for many years. He died sometime in the late 1970's in or near Salem, Oregon where he had gone to live with his sister, Dolly. 

• A typical homesteading scene. Setting up housekeeping on the flat prairie land north of Roy. 
• The Bill Woods and Lloyd Cunningham families. - 1916. 
• Warren Willmore, Pat McKay, Ray McNulty, Bob Willmore and Curley Willmore. Taken in 1927.
• The Umstead family shown at their homestead from left to right is, back row: Margaret Umstead Hedman, her father John Umstead, mother Roxy Umstead, brother Bill Umstead. Front row: Margarets two daughters, Patricia Baucke and Donna Baucke Rowton. 
• John and Roxy and their homestead shack. 1914.