HOOVER'S RANCH. 



JAS. HANKS. 



Wishing to make the acquaintance of the 

 stock men in the Judith Basin, Mont., I 

 determined to drive from Armington to 

 Lewistown, a distance of no miles; so I 

 had Simon (nvy colored driver) hitch a 

 pair of native horses to a light, open wagon, 

 and, in company with my wife, set out one 

 fine morning in September. The stage road 

 through the basin is level and fine, running 

 through the center of the valley, which is 

 15 to 25 miles wide, with high mountains 

 on either side. 



We drove to every ranch we came in 

 sight of, and consequently saw little of 

 the road. Game, such as grouse, sage hens, 

 deer, antelope and wolves, was plentiful 

 along the route, and having a 40-65 Win- 

 chester, and a No. 10 shotgun, I had no 

 trouble in keeping plenty of meat on hand. 

 Often while talking to a cattle man, I would 

 see a flock of grouse or a band of antelope, 

 which would make me forget everything 

 else, while they were in sight; whereupon 

 the rancher would remark: 



" Why, if you like hunting, you ought to 

 go and hunt up old Jakey Hoover." 



I heard, so often, that old Jakey could 

 give me all the hunting I wanted, and all I 

 wanted to write about, that I determined to 

 find him. So, after we had made a pleasant 

 and profitable trip, I told my wife that as 

 she then had a good place to stay, I would 

 take a week off and endeavor to pay old 

 Jakey a visit. 



She remarked that she hadn't seen old 

 Jakey for some time, and she believed she 

 would go along. Some of the ranchmen 

 told me they had met Jakey; others that 

 they had not; but every one knew him as 

 the boss hunter and the greatest " bar kill- 

 er " in Montana. 



We drove up the Judith river to the Peck 

 ranch, the last habitation of any kind up 

 the stream. Here we stopped over night 

 and got our final directions, and although 

 Mr. Peck was confident we could not find 

 the way, without a guide, we started. He 

 told us we had to drive up the stream, 

 crossing it every few rods, for about 20 

 miles. Then, he said, if we looked sharp 

 enough, we might see an old trail turning 

 off to the right. This was old Jakey's 

 trail. " But you'll not find it," was his 

 parting salute. 



We traveled steadily till about 3 P. M., 

 when we found a doubtful looking trail 

 turning so sharply to the right, that it had 

 the appearance of going back. We took it, 

 secretly wishing it would lead us back to 

 the Peck ranch. But no — it led us over a 

 ridge, covered with stunted pines; thence 

 down a ravine which grew deeper and deep- 



er till, in a few minutes, we were in a gulch 

 barely wide enough for our wagon, the 

 hubs nearly touching on either side and 

 the walls rising, perpendicularly, a hun- 

 dred feet high. It looked as if night were 

 setting in; yet it was light enough to see 

 great caves, under ledges, on either side; 

 and in what little dirt and dust there was 

 at the entrance, were plenty of bear tracks. 



Now I like sport, but the idea of being in 

 such a plight, with a woman, and no help 

 in time of need but a negro who was so 

 scared I could nearly see his eyes from be- 

 hind, was not the kind of sport I like. I 

 expected every minute to get stuck in this 

 narrow defile and to have to tear the wagon 

 to pieces to turn around. My heart sank 

 below zero when I saw, a short way ahead, 

 what I took to be the end of this gulch; 

 but it proved to be a sharp turn to the left, 

 and where the wagon hub struck the corner, 

 in turning, I saw some red paint on the 

 rock which convinced me some other wag- 

 on had been through. 



This was a great relief to my mind. A 

 few rods farther we emerged from the 

 gulch into the water — beautiful, cold, clear 

 water. The stream is about 2 rods wide 

 and 2 feet deep. After crossing it we were 

 in Jakey Hoover's park, which is about ~%. 

 of a mile wide by one mile long. It is 

 completely surrounded by crags and peaks, 

 on whose tops rest the fleeting clouds. We 

 had entered this beautiful park by the only 

 way accessible. A short drive brought us 

 to Jakey's cabin. Several deer, some of 

 which he had raised and others that had be- 

 come tame from association, and from be- 

 ing salted and protected, were grazing in 

 the meadows. 



I saw a man at the door shading his eyes 

 with his hand, and watching our approach. 

 He looked about 35 or 40 years old; had 

 long, dark hair, high forehead, was of 

 medium height, and had pleasant, blue eyes. 

 He was withal a kindly looking man, seem- 

 ingly in the prime of life; yet I afterward 

 learned he was 54 years old. He had lived 

 in this beautiful place 22 years. 



I asked him if his name was Hoover, and, 

 on being answered in the affirmative, I said 

 he was the man I was looking for. I ex- 

 plained my business and said I was there 

 simply for a visit of a day or 2; whereupon 

 he unbent with the movement of a steel 

 trap; opened the door and gave us a wel- 

 come that made us feel perfectly a\ home. 

 His cabin stands by the stream, with a deer 

 house back of it capable of sheltering 20 

 or more deer. He leads water from a 

 spring, by pipes, to his house; and such 

 water is never found East of the mountains. 



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