The picturesque features of life in a Western Montana town like
Missoula are best seen as evening approaches. Crowds of roughly clad
men gather around the doors of the drinking-saloons. A group of
Indians, who have been squatting on the sidewalk for two hours playing
some mysterious game of cards of their own invention, breaks up. One of
the squaws throws the cards into the street, which is already decorated
from end to end with similar relics of other games. Another swings a
baby upon her back, ties a shawl around it and herself, secures the
child with a strap buckled across her chest, and strides off, her
moccasined feet toeing inward in the traditional Indian fashion. She
wears a gown made of a scarlet calico bed-quilt, with leggings of some
blue stuff; but she has somehow managed to get a civilized dress for
the child. They all go off to their camp on the hill near by. Some
blue-coated soldiers from the neighboring military post, remembering
the roll-call at sunset, swing themselves upon their horses and go
galloping off, a little the worse for the bad whisky they have been
drinking in the saloons. A miner in blue woolen shirt and brown canvas
trousers, with a hat of astonishing dimensions and a beard of a year's
growth, trots up the street on a mule, and, with droll oaths and
shuffling talk, offers the animal for sale to the crowd of loungers on
the hotel piazza. No one wants to buy, and, after provoking a deal of
laughter, the miner gives his ultimatum: "I'll hitch the critter to one
of them piazzer posts, and if he don't pull it down you may have him."
This generous offer is declined by the landlord; and the miner rides
off, declaring that he has not a solitary four-bit piece to pay for his
supper, and is bound to sell the mule to somebody.
Toward nightfall the whole male population seems to be in the street,
save the busy Chinamen in the laundries, who keep on sprinkling clothes
by blowing water out of their mouths. Early or late, you will find
these industrious little yellow men at work. One shuffles back and
forth from the hydrant, carrying water for the morning wash in old
coal-oil cans hung to a stick balanced across his shoulders. More
Indians now--a "buck" and two squaws, leading ponies heavily laden with
tent, clothes and buffalo robes. A rope tied around a pony's lower jaw
is the ordinary halter and bridle of the Indians. These people want to
buy some article at the saddler's shop. They do not go in, but stare
through the windows for five minutes. The saddler, knowing the Indian
way of dealing, pays no attention to them. After a while they all sit
down on the ground in front of the shop. Perhaps a quarter of an hour
passes before the saddler asks what they want. If he had noticed them
at first, they would have gone away without buying.