BLAZE Magazine Special Edition 2006-2016 | Seite 21

at all times, and ready for a fist-fight at the
drop of a hat. “Pugnacious” is not really an
adequate word to describe her demeanor.
Since she did not pay particular attention to
her fashion statement, and otherwise failed
to look and act the part of a woman in the
Victorian age (albeit on the frontier), certain
ruffian men would occasionally attempt to
trample on her rights and hard won privileges.
Woe to all of them.
She broke more noses than any other person
in central Montana; so claims the Great Falls
Examiner, the only newspaper available in
Cascade at the time.
Once a ‘hired hand’ at the mission confronted
her with the complaint that she was earning
$2 a month more than he was ($9 vs. $7), and
why did she think that she was worth so much
money anyway, being only an uppity colored
woman? (His name, phonetically, was Yu
Lum Duck.) To make matters worse, he made
this same complaint and general description
in public at one of the local saloons (where
Mary was a regular customer), and followed
that up with a (more polite) version directly
to Bishop Filbus N.E. Berwanger himself (to
no avail).
This was more than enough to boil Mary’s
blood, and at the very next opportunity the
two of them were engaged in a shoot-out
behind the nunnery, next to the sheep shed.
(Actually it turned into a shoot-out, because
when Mary went to simply shoot the man as
he cleaned out the latrine -- figuring to dump
his body in there -- she missed. He shot back
and the fracas was on.)
The more doubtful part of the story further
says that Mary kept the wolves at bay for the
whole of the night with her revolvers and rifle.
How she could see them in the pitch black
night is not explained however, but she did
survive and eventually, when dawn broke,
got the freight delivered, to the great relief of
the nuns who had spent more than $30 on the
goods in question (which was their principle
concern). At the same time, they had no
hesitation to dock Mary’s pay for the molasses
that leaked from a keg which was cracked on
a rock in the overturn.
At least Mary was prepared for such
inconveniences as wolves (or others -- such
as drunken cowboys), being heavily armed
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Bullets flew in every direction until the
six-guns were empty, and blood was spilt.
Neither actually hit the other by direct fire,
but one bullet shot by Mary bounced off the
stone wall of the nunnery and hit the forlorn
man in the left buttock, which completely
ruined his new $1.85 trousers. Not only that,
but other bullets Mary fired passed through
the laundry of the bishop, which was hanging
on the line, generously ventilating his drawers
and the two white shirts he had had shipped
from Boston only the week before. What his
laundry was doing at the nunnery is not clear.
That was enough for the bishop; he fired
Mary, and gave the injured man a raise.
Out of work and needing some, Mary took
a stab at the restaurant business in Cascade.
Unfortunately Mary’s cooking was rather
basic, which means that nobody would eat it,
and the restaurant closed in short order. She
was looking for work yet again.
In 1895, she landed a job carrying the United
States Mail. Since she had always been so
independent and determined, this work was
perfect for her, and quickly she developed a
reputation for delivering letters and parcels
no matter what the weather, nor how rugged
the terrain. She and her mule, Moses, plunged
through anything, from bitterly raw blizzards
to wilting heat, reaching remote miner’s
cabins and other outposts with important
mail which helped to accommodate the
land claim process, as well as other matters
needing expeditious communication. These
efforts on her part helped greatly to advance
the development of a considerable portion
of central Montana, a contribution for which
she is given little credit.
Known by then as Stagecoach Mary (for her
ability to deliver on a regular schedule), she
continued in this capacity until she reached
well into her sixties, but it wore her down.
She retired from the mail delivery business,
although she still needed a source of income.
So, at the age of seventy, she opened a
laundry service, also in Cascade.
Figuring that by now she deserved to relax
just a bit, she didn’t do a lot of laundry, but
rather spent a considerable portion of her
time in the local saloon, drinking whiskey
and smoking her foul cigars with the sundry
assortment of sweating and dusty men
who were attracted to the place. While she
claimed to be a crack shot, actually her aim
toward the cuspidor was rather general, to
the occasional chagrin of any nearby fellow
patrons -- never mind, she did laundry.
One lout failed to pay his bill to her however
(he had ordered extra starch in the cuffs and
collar). Hearing him out in the street, she left
the saloon and knocked him flat with one
blow - at the age of 72. She told her wobbly
drinking companions that the satisfaction she
got from that act was worth more than the bill
owed, so the score was settled. As luck would
have it, the tooth of his that she knocked out
was giving him trouble anyway, so there was
no reprisal. Actually, he was grateful.
In 1914 she died of a failure of her liver.
Neighbors buried her in the Hillside Cemetery
in Cascade, marking the spot with a simple
wooden cross which may still exist today.
In spite of her drinking, and cigar smoking,
and occasional fisticuffs, townsfolk were
hard pressed to believe that this mellow
old woman of 80 was the hard shooting and
short-tempered female character of earlier
years they had heard so much about. But they
were wrong, she was.
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