Montana Authors Project

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Lower down, the river slid into the mixed waters of the Madison and Jefferson, making the Missouri sure enough. Here was the heart of Blackfoot land, the Three Forks, where many a hunter had died, where even big parties didn't like to go, knowing war parties would be after them thick and fierce as hornets; but there were no Indians about them now, only signs of them, only cold campfires and gnawed bones where villages had stood and old clumps of sod the squaws had dug to hold the lodge skins down. (235)…


He takes a deep breath of green lumber from the new barracks and thawing grass under his feet. He's at Fort Peck, he's signed on, and he'll work, by God, like he worked on the road crews and the going-broke trucking outfits from the Judith Basin to the North Dakota line....He knew when he registered for work on the dam that he'd be lucky to get on; they were taking the married men with families first, like Fexler and McVeigh. But by God, they called up three names from Judith Basin County, and he's one of the three, and here he is. (143-144)…


The plains slid down to a stream, shady with cottonwood from which the leaves were whirling. Poordevil, feeling big for what he knew, said it was the south fork of the Medicine. A wide, bare hump divided it from the north fork, which flowed clear and fast over clean stones, hardly giving the trees time to catch hold along its banks. They camped by it and feasted on fat buffalo and went on in the morning, climbing to the benchlands again. (246)…

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