by Lance Foster
The Sorenson Ranch was established in 1872, in a unique partnership between the Sorenson Family and the Piegan Blackfeet people, its unique success based in large part on the happy marriage of miner and rancher Barton Sorenson and Mary Weasel Shirt Sorenson, the missionary-educated daughter of the Blackfeet Chief Weasel Shirt. It is the oldest ranch still operating in Greenway County.
by Lance Foster
Dog Gulch Standard, June 5, 1873
Dog Gulch - The halfbreed Edward Grenois, age 28, was found murdered this morning, lying behind the Pearl Handle Saloon, shot three times, once in the back and twice in the head. Harvey Schissler is currently the primary suspect. His whereabouts are currently unknown, though it is said his trail leads north. Evidence is being carefully gathered, given the respected position of his father, Jacob Schissler, proprieter of the Mahcomet Trading Post.
Well-liked among most of the Gulch’s citizens, Grenois had claimed to be a grandson of Pierre-August Grenois. He quickly became a well-known figure in the area, and always dressed dapper in his frock coat and marten hat. He arrived in Dog Gulch last year, during the 1869 rush, and made a placer claim on the Gulch near the site of old Apekuni House, which had been founded by his grandfather. Edward Grenois worked the claim for a time, and got some color, but soon came to prefer the amusements of the dance halls and the company of ladies. Grenois also was said to be spending much time in the local land office.
Earlier this year, Grenois was seen by several people arguing in the street with his close friend Harvey Schissler, the son of Jacob Schissler, with whom he often visited the places of entertainment in Dog Gulch. But they made up soon after, often retiring to the Schissler home after a night on the town. Mr. and Mrs. Jacob Schissler had taken Grenois into their home during an illness, during which time he became part of the Schissler family and was treated as a brother to Harvey. They were boon companions in all occasions. Everyone noted how Mrs. Schissler doted on the young men, and Mr. Schissler often talked about employing Grenois at the family business, the Mahcomet Trading Post. Who could have foreseen such a turn of events.
It is a tragedy indeed when such a fine family is involved in such a situation as this. The people of Dog Gulch hope for a speedy resolution so that the family may find peace such as possible in these tragic circumstances.
by Allan Tooley
Macohmet Trading Post, M.T.
February 12, 1871
My Dearest Sister Judith,
I was most pleased to receive your letter of last August 20, and hope this response finds you in good health, as your correspondence has found me. I did not receive your letter until Dec. 19, as an early freeze on the lower Missouri in October kept the steamboats downstream for some weeks. I would probably have not received it yet, but for a small group of prospecters who came late from Fort Benton and brought it with them. It’s a hard place they gone to, and the weather don’t favor them. I hope they remain well.
Your news brought me back home, and as I read your letter to my friends, I could tell they thought of home as well. I expect Henry is healed by now, and counting his blessings. I was sorry to read about the Corbett’s baby, and hope they are consoled by knowing he is with Josiah’s parents in the Lord’s embrace.
As the snow flies outside, I find this an excellent opportunity to sit by the stove and tell you of my adventures in the employ of Mr. Schissler. He’s a fine man, and expects much of his laborers, but pays pretty well. He has strong hopes for this place we’ve built, and his hopes spread to us like a prarie fire.
We started out from Fort Benton in June, which was about the earliest we could go. The rivers was swollen with the melt and we had to cross quite a few to get here. Even leaving when it was summer back home, the waggons had trouble with the mud in a lot of places, but we had strong backs and good livestock to help keep moving. In the distance we could ever see the mountains, covered with snow, reminding us that there’s always more mud and water where that came from. Some of the men didn’t like so much that we had to haul Mrs. Schisslers piano on its own waggon, but she was insistant and her husband loves her so. The other waggons was just as heavy, but they had food and stores to sell.
We were accompanied by some soldiers riding to Fort Shaw. There led by a lutenant Dawes, late of Cairo. I asked him if he knew the Stantons and he said he had danced with an Ida Stanton! You shall have to write her with the news. The lutenant and I laughed over the small size of the world, even in so big a place as Montana.
Once we got up on the rise beyond the riverbottoms as they flowed to the Missouri, the going was better. The ground was still soft in a lot of places, but not like bottomland, I can tell you. After about five days we reached the Greenway River, and I cannot think of a more perfect name. It is truly Gods creation out here, and I don’t think I shall see the likes of the Greenway anywhere else as long as I live. But as beautiful as it is, it was our adverseary, as we had to cross its swollen path. The animals was game to try it, yoked as they were, and didn’t utter quite as many oaths as the men. It took most of the day to get five waggons across the river, and that was after we spent half the day before looking for the best place to ford.
In the end it was the piano that almost did us in. We got the waggons across and started the hard work of getting them up on the firmer ground above the river gorge, but the piano waggon dug into the mud and refused to move. The whole train halted whiles the men ganged up on it, but it wouldn’t yield. Then one of the men, Mr. Varley, came up with the idea to set planks under the wheels and move it along as on a pier. Mr. Schissler approved, but wanted to keep moving, so he detailed just a few of the men to do it in hopes that the animals could provide most of the power. The rest of us worked our way up the hill. Not five minutes later we heard two gunshots. Several of us ran back to the edge of the ridge and met the others on there way up. Looking across the river in the distance, we saw four indians riding away. They had clearly been waiting for there opportunity, and only the quick thinking of Mr. Varley saved his crew. The piano, though, took several arrows in the back, as Mr. Varley used it for cover during the brief skirmish. Mrs. Schissler was none too pleased, but as the damage was largely cosmetic and not worth the lives of four white men, she kept mostly quiet about it. Mr. Schissler and Lutenant Dawes were quite hard on themselves for not having kept a soldier or two with Mr. Varley, but I say alls well that ends well.
We kept closer watch for the rest of the journey after that, but we wasn’t troubled further. I doubt it was Mr. Varley’s marksmanship so much as an understanding that taking our things would be too much work. But Mr. Schissler has been talking to us about the need to build battlements at the post when we start building. I think he had expected to have to do that, but it’s much more on his mind now.
Two more days of tense travelling brought us to our destination, a beautiful flattened ridge above the Greenway, within sight of the Rockey Mountains. I could live here forever, Judith. The land is green and wide open like home, but sided by mountains so high they touch Heaven. From the ridge I can see for miles, which was never the case in Illinois!
But if we thought the work was hard in travelling here, we were mistaken. With a complement of but twenty men, mostly hired just to help us settle the place, our trips back and forth from the forests beneath the mountains hauling lumber were almost beyond our abilities. And the guard had to be kept up, by ourselves since our valiant cavalry escort left us soon after our arrival and journeyed south and east to there actual destination, Fort Shaw.
Our hard work has resulted in a most pleasent set of buildings protected by a strong wall. Mr Schissler had us build a watch tower on each of the eastern corners of the wall, all the better to see Indians coming, but our position on the ridge is a most defensible one.
Through the fall we had a fair number of visitors like the prospecters that brought me your letter, and business has been better than it might. The gold and silver are not coming forth in vast quantities, but as so many mines south of here have played out at least for prospecters, they find there way here in hopes of a strike. As always, some do well, most do not. But they all need supplies, and Mr. Schisslers risk appears to be paying off.
The winter has been harsh so far, and I fear for the miners who are new to the area. we have had a great deal of snow in the past week, but the signs say its bound to break in the next day or so. Im writing this letter now in hopes that it can find its way down to fort Benton then. And I hope the down river journey brings it to you more quickly than yours came to me!
I love this life here, but miss you terribly. I send my best love to you. Please write again when you can.
I remain your Loving Brother,
Arthur