THE OLD WILD WEST -- AS IN ROUNDUP, MONTANA:  Part One*

Crisp, clear air and a brightening sun greet me as I step out the back door.  Perfect for an early morning walk.  I shuffle through some leaves on the sidewalk past the Catholic Church.  I cross the nearly empty Main Street and continue on for a block to meet a friend.

I continue on -- it is so beautiful this morning.  I am enjoying the plethora of trees and their vibrant, changing leaves.  I head north paralleling Main Street.  These north-south streets create an avenue of color on both sides -- almost as if the trees had been planted that way.  As, of course, they were.

In 1908 photos of early Roundup showing a scattering of fast-growing structures, there is no sign of a tree, let alone an avenue of them.  The smooth, brown seemingly grassless land extends out beyond the edge of town.  Over a hundred years later, however, photos taken from a similar location show tree canopies that obliterate blocks and blocks of structures.

This is the new Roundup.  When I mention this to visitors at the Musselshell Valley Historical Museum, particularly older-timers of the area, they perk up.  "The new Roundup?" they ask.  "Where is the old one then?"

Old Roundup can be found south of the Musselshell River.  This south side is surrounded by rim rocks of the Bull Mountains from which Halfbreed Creek originates, flows through coulees and table lands, traverses this valley of grass, and empties into the Musselshell.  It is fertile pasture land which early ranchers in the 1870's-80's immediately recognized as a perfect location for roundups of their cattle which had been trailed up here originally from Texas.

It makes sense then that it was from these roundups that James Hightower shared in first naming the fledgling town in 1882.  This period was the heyday of the cattle industry with vast stretches of open range.  Cowmen gathered in old Roundup from up and down the Musselshell Valley.  A little log store and saloon were built in Old Roundup and, later, a dance hall.  A general store appeared in 1904 and in 1907, a shed to accommodate teams and horses of travelers.

In the spring, roundups were conducted for branding calves; in the fall, steers that needed to be sold were cut from the herds and readied for market.  Market was at Bismarck, North Dakota, where the cattle were trailed to the closest railroad -- until the Milwaukee Railroad came through central Montana, that is.  It was the Milwaukee that proved the downfall for the 26-year Old Roundup and created the new one just across the River.

"Why," you may ask, "would the Milwaukee Railroad be interested in this part of Montana?"  More on that later.

Meanwhile, I meet and greet two other walkers and trailing along are their dogs on leashes, almost twins.  And, just as I do, they follow down the middle of the street, shunning sidewalks; very little traffic.  I recognize them as regulars who walk every morning about this time, sometimes in a larger group of women, from one end of town to the other -- one to two miles total.

I turn left at the last street that continues directly across Main Street and stretches west maybe another five blocks or so.  But I follow only to the first block, 1st Street West, turn south and still admire another avenue of trees, again paralleling Main Street.  I pass homes on both sides, some built as early as 1900.  (The story of Roundup's homes is another interesting aspect to the history of the town.)  Almost home, on my right I pass Central School, our only K-6 elementary, half of the limestone structure built around 1910 and the other half a year or two later.  The playground is quiet today; no school because of professional days.

Just to my left is the present-day Musselshell Valley Historical Museum, a beautiful yellow-brick structure, built in 1920 as the St. Benedict Catholic School and closed in 1950.  It too is quiet since it is open only from May through September.  Its basement, however, is busy year-round since Meals on Wheels emanates from there, Senior Citizens eat lunch there three days a week, and other community groups also meet there.  I arrive back home which in the 1940's was the Nunnery/Convent for the School.

No time to dawdle.  My wide-awake, jumping, tail-wagging dogs meet me at the door, more than ready for their turn to walk.

*Written and previously published October 18, 2013