Sociability Run: Jefferson Highway

[Note — General Manager McDougal of the Pershing Way [Association], who was for a short time Publicity Commissioner of the Jefferson Highway,  admits that he appropriated from the Jefferson many of the successful methods he is using on the Pershing. He also admits they are pretty good. 

We likewise are going to appropriate the story of his trip to Winnipeg, and in doing so likewise admit it is pretty good. That Manager [Herbert F.] McDougal has a microscopic eye, a retentive memory and a happy way of telling it is evidenced by what he saw and tells of his trip. 

Judging from his experience at the "Line", he should have borrowed the Jefferson's Rabbit Foot. 

Mr. McDougal's story will be read, with interest by the J. H. family, especially those who "made the trip" last July.  The following is an excerpt about the final leg of the run...]

AT Hallock the P. W. runs onto the Jefferson Highway marks and continues with them the rest of the way, going through Northcote, Humboldt, St. Vincent and Noyes to the International Boundary.

The Jefferson Highway touring group paused their sociability run 
in Emerson for "short" speeches and this group photograph...

Pro-lemonaders made another hit when Bronson was reached, where "most excellent lemonade was served" by the ladies. Decorations were mainly American and Canadian flags. Mayors Hodgson and Behrman spoke. The hotel menu at Hallock, a noon control, was a novelty, and uniquely distinctive over any other during the entire trip. Part of it was in French, and embraced dishes served especially in New Orleans. Banners and flags formed the principal decorative feature. Luncheon was served at the hotel and restaurants in the city. The Custom Houses of Noyes and Emerson were soon passed, owing to arrangements having been made beforehand. Short speeches were made by Governor Pleasant and Mayor Hodgson at Emerson.¹

We had been sweeping along across the prairie, much of the time with no fences along the road, and came to a turn to the east along what, as memory recalls it, looked like the back side of a farm yard with perhaps an orchard bordered with forest trees in a sort of a scrubby growth. Straight ahead and eighty rods beyond was a dingy railroad station, and just before we reached it a turn to the right and north.

Before us loomed a signboard, high on stilts, announcing the "International Boundary," and there was a moment of bewilderment as we saw in one direction a road turning off to the station and in the other a pair of ruts curving around as entering the farm yard.

The original routing of the Jefferson Highway entered Canada directly from Noyes,
Minnesota into Emerson, Manitoba, Canada.   This is the approximate route the JH
followed. [Source:  Two Lane Traveler] NOTE:  The red line leading off 171 going
north was the 'Emerson Road' (dirt when I was growing up, now plowed under...)  

Over this seeming by-road was the remains of an arch¹, placed there last July to welcome the Jefferson Highway tourists on their great sociability run, and the presence of the arch gave rise to the theory that this must be the entrance to the Dominion. Pursuing the tracks a bit further we were convinced that we really were on the highway into the neighboring nation, for at the side of the road was a glorified Keep Off the Grass Sign, bearing a solemn warning against going across the line without proper formalities.

The road took another turn and crossed a railroad track, which itself had crossed another track just previously. The one was the Soo, which ran along the margin of Canada, and the other was the Canadian Pacific, both heading for Winnipeg. All our pictures of an imposing entrance into Canada were dashed, as almost any country cross road is as pretentious. But still there was something picturesque about it and something that impressed itself upon the memory.

There are two railroad stations — one on the American side and one across in Canada, and at each immigration and customs officials, representing the two governments, are on guard. It looked as if it was a pretty simple thing, after all, getting into a foreign country, but it took just about an hour to do it, for a becapped official, swinging down the track to reach the switch tower and climb its dizzy steps to the bird-like house above, said that there was nothing to do but to report to the officials at the Emerson station, which took time and proved not to be the right thing, for we were first to go a mile or such a matter up town and be interviewed by the immigration official and get a card and then go across the street to where the Union Jack flew over the government building, and make our clearance at the customs office.

THE customs officials were polite, but inquisitive. They wanted to know how many in the party, what make of car, how many cylinders, its license number and factory number, whether it was equipped with windshield, top, speedometer and clock, and how much it cost, what baggage we carried and whether we had any camping equipment and how long we expected to tarry in Winnipeg.

Then a very nice old gentleman came down and rummaged through our suit cases in a formal and perfunctory way, withal rather thorough. But first there had come up the serious question as to the very typewriter on which this is being written. It is one of the folding sort and a constant companion. The G. M. would be lost without it, and the work of the organization would be hampered. It was rather important that it, too, make the trip into Winnipeg, for there would be the matter of correspondence and perhaps some magazine stuff.

But the officials were stern about it. They said that the wee machine was dutiable and that we had better put it in hock, so to speak, at the customs office to be picked up on our return, and to borrow a machine in Winnipeg. It looked as if the typewriter was to part company with the official car.

But the missus, waiting all this time down in the auto, said it didn't sound reasonable to her that a car and all that luggage could go in and a mere typewriter barred.

So we went back and argued that the typewriter was a tool of the trade and analogous to a monkey wrench in the tool box.

But these English are a fixed folk. They all had a look at the proposition, and turned it down; it wasn't regular. Then we offered to put up a cash bond, and finally succeeded in parting with $13 to that end, the money being in good American currency. Seeing the brand of money on deposit, a kind gentleman in the office suggested that we would be entitled to that sort back, as it was at a premium in Canada. So, on our return, we got $13.40 in Canadian currency, taking it across to the bank to be exchanged for American money. The rate of exchange had fluctuated during the walk across the street, however, and the bank demanded 50 cents instead of the 40 we had been paid.

And even at that we afterward discovered that we had a few Canadian bills in our script and had to give a discount on them.

BUT our troubles were not over yet. We discovered that our Canadian immigration permit, nor our clearance papers from the customs were sufficient; the becapped gentleman had deceived us. We had to go all the way back to the American side, to that little station of Noyes, to see a blue-eyed Irishman named Fahey in order to get a formidable document showing that Uncle Sam was willing to relinquish us for a few days.

That document had to be turned in to the Canadian customs officials, and then we were ready to go — all excepting the changing of a flat tire that had grown discouraged and depressed during all this formality. If we had known about the rest of that night that tire would have worried us.

But let us move on.

Over a bridge, combined wagon and railroad, under a viaduct we turned and then we were on the road to Winnipeg, sure enough. A little further and we were as good as in France, for, turning into a little village that proved to be Letellier, we grew uncertain of the way and stopped at a house to make inquiries if this were truly the way to Winnipeg.

The answer was "Oui, oui," which the doughboys all will recognize at once.

Turning just at the edge of that little village, which was mostly edge, we were at once in the old Hudson Bay Company's trail, a road 132 feet wide that goes in windings along the Red River of the North right into Winnipeg and becomes Main street, remaining 132 feet wide. That and Portage avenue, at right angles and of the same width, are boasted the widest streets in the world.

The boundary is sixty-eight miles from Winnipeg, and all the tedious details at Emerson, had taken time. It was 5 o'clock when we left Emerson, and that was Canadian time, the Canadians not having turned their watches ahead as the States had.

So we rather stepped forward a little on the gas, for there was a certain strangeness about the country that urged us to get along before dark covered the unknown roads. The trail at places was little more than sections of a fenced pasture, with ruts winding about between an endless row of telephone and telegraph poles. Winnipeg is paving out for miles and someday will have a concrete road to the border, no doubt, but nature still holds sway largely as yet there.

Jefferson Highway Sociability Run, NOLA to Winnipeg
L'Observateur (Reserve, Louisiana) · 28 Jun 1919

And we came into St. Jean Baptiste, a French town of 500 with only two English families in it. We sought to replenish our gas supply and pulled up at a garage and said "Five gallons." The tank filled up as we filled with astonishment. The answer was that we were getting British Imperial gallons, 277.274 cubic inches to the gallon, instead of our own United States gallons of 231 cubic inches. Five of our British cousin's gallons made six of our own, but we paid 40 cents for each and every gallon. 

They said in Winnipeg that American watches can be bought cheaper there than in the states, the protective tariff making it thus, but there was nothing like that about the gasoline, even Imperial gallons. 

Hunger was gnawing and we decided to have a bite to eat, much as we hated to waste daylight. So we asked for the eating place and were directed to a little wooden building that plainly was labeled "Public Hotel." 

Entering we found a dingy office that was a combination of a barber shop and bar. Prohibition had put the bar out of business, age had done for the barber chair, and the prospect was discouraging. But that was where appearances were deceptive, for, after a brief delay, we were led into a neat little dining room and |served with a supper as only the French served food. Bright-eyed French girls were jabbering French in the kitchen, and one of them went to the telephone and assaulted it with a flow of language that was beyond us. 

Then a husky chap went up to the instrument and bawled out a question. "What's the score?" he demanded. It seemed that Cincinnati had won. We felt quite at home for a minute. 

WE had been inquiring anxiously about the road conditions, and the official car had attracted considerable attention, so supper done, we stepped out of the dining room into the midst of a curious crowd that wanted to talk. The men all agreed that the best road lay across the Red River, and they grinned as they said that the largest city along the way was Winnipeg. Afterward we came to realize the point of the remark. Only one village intervened in all that fifty miles. The rest of the trip lay through a country where a house was a surprise and bachelor shanties were the rule. Mile after mile was along a fence-less road that ran at will and at angles, but it was a good road, except lonesome. In the distance we could see straw stacks burning in various places, and occasionally we passed an automobile, but mostly there were solid banks of second growth white birches.

If we had ever needed a bit of gas or some air pressure we'd have had quite a walk for it. And there was that flat spare on the rack!

It sounds a bit dreary, just to tell about it. but it really was a wonderful drive, with the air balmy and the night pleasant. Occasionally we would wonder whether we were on the right road, and would stop at a house to make inquiries. Always we were, although sometimes the children had to be called up to translate, the parents being French.

The engine worked to perfection, the tires held out and we had had a good supper, so on we sped, over bridges, through woods, out in the open. Finally we came to that sole village, passed it, got out into the wilds again and wondered. Then there appeared one of the blessed concrete roads that Winnipeg has built out for nine miles, and we felt as if we were nearing the goal.

But the lights of Winnipeg didn't settle all of our troubles. There was the matter of a hotel. A motorman, waiting to catch his car, offered advice. It wasn't any good, for every hotel he mentioned was full for the night. Finally, after we had tried one after the other, we were forced to put up at one that always will haunt our memories and make as firm in favor of strict hotel inspection laws.

The next morning we found room in a comfortable one...
____________

¹ - "A very artistic arch-way had been erected at the border, but we had already been made to feel that we would be just as much at home in Canada as in Louisiana." [The Story of the Run, The Modern Highway, Vol 4, No. 7, August 1919, Pub. by the Jefferson Highway Association]

Guest Essay: The Story of West Lynn

West Lynne, Manitoba townsite, today.

The Story of West Lynne and the First Customs House in Western Canada 
by James McClelland

To  say that the oldest federal building in southern Manitoba had a diverse and chequered past would be an understatement. According to the old Winnipeg Telegram, this building was originally built in the 1850s. The design and architecture were similar to buildings found in the Acadian region of Canada. The article describes the building as "20x26, and made from hewn oak timbers, dove tailed at the corners." Later this building would serve as a symbol of Canadian sovereignty and a floodgate against Yankee commerce.

Today it sits just 500m north of the border it guarded for so long.

The line separating the United States from British territory had always been vague and tentative. Agreement that the 49th parallel would record the western boundary was established as early as 1818, but its exact location tended to shift each time a party had been sent out to survey it. Between 1823 and 1870 three different boundary lines had been drawn; all of them controversial.

In the 1840s, agitation began to develop along this line between the free traders from the Red River Settlement and the Hudson Bay Company officials at Fort Garry. In 1843, the first regular cart service between Pembina and St. Paul was opened. This provided easy access to the American markets. This bickering heightened as more Red River traders sought the higher American prices. It intensified in 1845 when Norman Kittson, an American Trader, opened a store just a scant 4km south of British Territory, at the junction of the Red and the Pembina Rivers.

The door of American commerce was beckoning. In fact, Kittson offered such good prices for fur that the ensuing rush of illegal trade from British Territory was referred to by the HBC as "Kittson’s Fever". As a counter-move in September of 1845, the Hudson Bay Company opened a post called North Fort Pembina. It was located on what they considered their side of the line. The Company put John Palmer Bourke, a retired officer living in the colony, in charge of this new frontier post.

During the winter of 1845-46, Robert Clouston, an employee from the Stone Fort visited this place. In his journal, he described these Spartan surroundings.

"Mr. Bourke has a rough log house, the walls of which, inside and outside are plastered with clay, and the roof covered with earth - it is floored with rough logs: the men live in the same house, with merely a partition between them - a mud chimney in each room and a door opening from Mr. B's apartment to his trading room"

The following day Clouston visited Kittson's store. The uncertainty of the exact spot where American and British authority met is noted in his diary:

"About quarter of a mile above the house (the HBC store) we saw a post planted by Major Long - marking the boundary at a place called Monroe’s Encampment some wag had pulled up the post of demarcation and placed Uncle Sam's initials toward British territory." 

Clouston later reported that Kittson's store was about 3 kms farther south. Here, between Kittson's store and the HBC post, the log house was originally located.

From these squalid beginnings the HBC post at the border continued to develop. A sketch from 1858, shows several log buildings surrounded by a sturdy log palisade.

However, the strip of land between North Pembina and Kittson’s store quickly developed into a "no-man's land." Other buildings sprang up and an unsavory frontier community known as Huron City was born. A few years later the Lieutenant-Governor of Manitoba would complain to Ottawa about the rowdy brawling atmosphere and the flourishing trade in whiskey smuggling that was going on in this "Whisky Post". By this time, the log building, had been turned into an inn.

Unquestionably, many travelers passed through the doors of this establishment, but two guests in particular played a very important role in the creation of Manitoba. In the autumn of 1869, the Hon. Wm. McDougall, the Governor designate of Rupert's Land, stayed here briefly after he was denied entry into the Red River Settlement by Louis Riel's metis guards. In December, McDougall would return to the deserted post and read a Proclamation declaring himself the official lieutenant-governor of the region. Ironically, in August of the following year, Louis Riel himself found momentary refuge in the same building after his hasty escape from Fort Garry.


On July 1, 1871, F. T. Bradley arrived to become Collector of Customs. The log building, empty at the time, became Manitoba's first regular Customs House. It also served as a telegraph, express and postal office. Yet, in October 1871, one of the most bizarre events in Canadian history had yet to unfold on these premises.

Noyes Customs Building Up for Auction

While nothing was really mentioned of the history of the depot, it was difficult, yet good to read this article about Noyes today.  A very sad article about Noyes generally, and the old Customs building specifically. There was a beginning, and this is the beginning of the end.

It will be interesting to see who buys it and what they do with it. I could see turning it either into a very interesting residence (granted, it would take a lot of internal remodeling with all that ugly government modernization they did over top of the original early 1930s classic look, i.e., the paneling and indoor/outdoor carpet...), or a Bed and Breakfast with a border theme.  Who knows - it could just end up being a storage shed. Obviously someone wants it for something. Bidding started in May at $5,000 and it's already up to $30,000 with 4 bidders so far, and three weeks to go despite what the article says; there is a notation on the listing that the time period for bids may be extended, which is evidently has been...

Chris Misson, chief Customs and Border Patrol officer, stands in front of
the former Customs and Immigration Station at Noyes, Minn. Wednesday.
The station, closed several years ago, is being sold on an online auction.
[Photo by Eric Hylden/Grand Forks Herald]

Old Noyes, Minn., border station for sale, reminder of closed crossing

By Kevin Bonham (Grand Forks Herald, July 10, 2014)

NOYES, Minn. — When Mary Delaquis first arrived at what then was the U.S. Customs and Immigration Station in Noyes as a customs inspector, her daily commute took her just across the international border to a motel in Emerson, Man., where she lived that first summer in 1984.

Customs and Immigration Station in Noyes as a customs inspector, her daily commute took her just across the international border to a motel in Emerson, Man., where she lived that first summer in 1984.

That wasn’t unusual.

The Noyes border station — located along U.S. Highway 75 but just a 15-minute drive from the Interstate 29 port of entry north of Pembina, N.D. — was more of a neighborhood crossroads than an international port of entry.

“We didn’t see a lot of commercial traffic at the port,” said Delaquis, now Pembina Area Port director for U.S. Customs and Border Protection’s Office of Field Operations.

“It was an opportunity for locals to use the facility, she said. “They could move more quickly through the border.”

Canadians living in Emerson, Letellier and other nearby Manitoba communities would cross the border to get their mail, buy gas or to buy groceries.

Noyes-area residents, in turn, would drive across cross to eat, have a couple of beers, or to take their families swimming at the pool in Emerson.

“We saw a real local flavor at the border crossing,” said Delaquis.

The Border Patrol building, now closed and up for online auction, is an empty reminder of the past activity.

An Arduous Journey

I've been reading this book about Enos Stutsman titled Attorney for the Frontier. Ever since I came across "Stuts", as his contemporary friends called him, I've been fascinated by the man.  To my knowledge,  Attorney for the Frontier is the only book ever written about him, and it includes an entire chapter about his time in Pembina, his last home base.

Below is a letter he wrote to his supervisors.  As a past federal government employee myself, I am well-acquainted with the paperwork involved whenever you go away from the office.  Reports must be filed!  Read below on what this particular early government employee went through just to get from Point A to Point B; you'll note he has a pretty wry sense of humor, which I guess you had to have when encountering such difficulties.  All in all, if you take the time, you'll discover it's quite illuminating, and an enjoyable read...

Customs Stories IV: F.T. Bradley

One of the clearest copies of this photo that I've ever seen!

F.T. Bradley

In 1871, a customs house was opened on the west side of the Red River, and the first Collector of Customs, F. T. Bradley, (seen in above photo) was appointed. Bradley became an important figure in Emerson’s early years, becoming also a director of the Emerson and Northwestern Railroad and organizing the first Masonic Lodge of which he was Grand Master. By 1872, the customs building also served as a telegraph, express, and post office for what was known then as North Pembina and came later to be known as West Lynne. It was later discovered that this “Canadian” customs building was actually sitting on the American side of the boundary—and was hastily dragged north! The customs house, the first in Western Canada, is now located on the north side of Highway 75 on the west side of the river, along with Emerson’s first jail, also a well-preserved log building.

Source: Manitoba Historical Society, Tour of Emerson

This burial site on a small piece of property owned by the Town of Emerson (now part of the Municipality of Emerson-Franklin) is a considerable distance from the road, in the middle of a farm field. It contains the 1885 grave of Emerson customs official F. T. Bradley along with the ones of his wife Caroline, who died in 1879, and four of their sons. The wife and children had originally been buried in the Old Anglican Cemetery but were moved here in 1900. A single white monument for Caroline Bradley and their four sons is located in the centre of a 16-foot by 22-foot rectangular area delimited by a low concrete wall. A small concrete marker with Bradley’s name and the Masonic symbol is also located inside the rectangle, as is a small white stone marker bearing the initials C B.

In February 1884, Bradley was arrested on a charge of fraud and embezzlement of over $4,000, relating to a shipment of coal by the Canadian Pacific Railway, and was transported to Winnipeg for trial. He soon became too ill to appear in court, and died on 27 February 1884 without regaining consciousness at the Winnipeg home of his brother-in-law and physician Alfred Codd. His body was returned to Emerson for burial, but not in the local cemetery, instead in a 20- by 20-foot plot northeast of town.

Customs Stories III: Opium Smugglers

Smuggling contraband is a long tradition along borders, including the border area around St. Vincent...

Bold Opium Smugglers

Confiscated Opium...

St. Paul, Minn, Dec. 20, 1888 - A gang of daring smugglers has been engaged for some time in bringing opium into this state across the Northwestern border. The deputy collector at St. Vincent, Minn., acting on information from one of the gang who is under arrest, captured a wagon containing eight hundred pounds of the drug in the crude form just on the Dakota line. Detectives are in pursuit of the man to whom the opium was consigned. Opium smuggling on the extensive scale is being carried on, and such are the precautions against detections that it is almost impossible to stop it.

From: The Ithaca Democrat (December 1888)

Good thing, then, that Deputy Collector Nelson E. Nelson was on the job!

St. Vincent: Port of Entry

H.R. Bill 814 makes St. Vincent's case

Did you know that at one time, St. Vincent was a port-of-entry?

After you read the original bill requesting that the town be made an official port (at left), you'll understand the logic; it actually makes sense for the time.

As of 1916, it was still a port. I'm not sure when it was discontinued, nor in what capacity it served as one.  Since the town wasn't right on the border itself (like Noyes) my guess is that it wasn't used for a crossing point, but functioned solely as a conduit for the border trade, or customs.

In 1883, it becomes reality - St. Vincent becomes a (sub)port-of-entry

I found out this much:  A deputy collector resided at St. Vincent during the time frame it was a port-of-entry.

With further research, I learned there was a Customs House in St. Vincent at some point, and not only was there a Deputy Collector of Customs, but at least two other positions there, also.

For example, in 1887, those on-duty were:  Adelard Guernon, Collector; Nelson E. Nelson, Deputy Collector; and Alfred F. Storey, Deputy Collector, Clerk & Inspector.

In 1887, there was no 'district of Dakota'; in fact, even the Pembina Customs was listed under the 'district' of Minnesota.  But between then and 1916, that changed...

The district of Dakota, to include all of the States of North and South Dakota and the county of Kittson in the State of Minnesota, with district headquarteres at Pembina, in which Pembina, Noyes, St. Vincent, Portal, St. John, Hannah, Neche, Ambrose, Souris, Walhalla, Sarles, Sherwood, Hansboro, Crosby, and Antler are ports of entry...

From: United States Statutes, annotated (1916)

"The border crossing station at Noyes was established in 1905, after having been previously located in the nearby town of St. Vincent." - MN/DOT Historic Roadside Development

Putting Faces to the Names

I have written about Les Eddington several times.  While doing research on another subject, I came across this rather dashing photo of him in uniform,  in the book Heritage '76: Pembina County, North Dakota Then & Now.

The Life of a Customs Official in Old Pembina

Joseph O. Lemay
[Photo courtesy: Manitoba
Historical Society]

Joseph Lemay, Esq. - Judge, postmaster and collector of United States customs at the frontier post of Pembina - filled a tolerably well paid office, but was exposed, in the execution of his duties, to an almost intolerable amount of abuse and obloquy at the hands of a class of men who cared as much about the obligations imposed by civilized laws as they respected Mr. Lemay for his professional knowledge of such. His own countrymen resident at Red River Settlement were supposed to give the collector, on the whole, more trouble than did the British colonists, while he revenged himself as far as possible by strictly adhering to the letter of his instructions as regards releases for loaded goods, and relaxed no charge which it was in his power legally to enforce against the enemy. It will readily be understood that much power which might be perfectly legally used, either to retard or facilitate the transmission of goods, was necessarily vested in the hands of such a person as Mr. Lemay.

So unpopular had that public servant become among a certain class that he stood in well-grounded fear of personal violence at the hands of its members as often as they entered an appearance with a fresh cargo of bonded merchandize at his head-quarters. When at St. Paul he met his persecutors, secure under the wing of an organized police force, he has been known to exhibit somewhat more than his wonted confidence in his communications with them, receiving in reply a plain intimation that he had better take care what he did or he would walk in a skinful of sore bones the first time his interlocutors should encounter him at Pembina. His visits to Red River Settlement occasionally proved disastrous. Those with whom it was his object to do business, treacherously concealing their designs under the cloak of hospitality, pressed on his acceptance the peculiarly stimulating beverages commonly used in the country, and occasionally reduced their visitor to a condition in which he found it prudent to avoid engaging in business. To do Mr. Lemay justice, however, the latter event was one very uncommon in his experience, as he was, I believe, a match, so far as ability lay in the consumption of spirits, more than competent to deal with any adversary he would be likely often to meet. Latterly, moreover, he prudently shielded himself against all such attempts under the plea of total abstinence.

Sometimes the war was carried on more openly. The collector called one day on a man, who he alleged had deceived him, and told him, " Sir, you are a liar!" He was immediately knocked down for his pains by a blow on the eye which rendered him a deplorable spectacle for a long time. He applied to several magistrates for satisfaction on account of the assault he had sustained, and justified the offensive expression he had used on the ground: "I called him a liar because he was a liar, and I could not call him anything else."

On another occasion he was knocked down with an axe handle in the course of a dispute with a settler, rising out of an alleged overcharge of two cents in his Pembina postage accounts.

In Their Own Words: Charles Cavileer

Source:  State Historical Society of North Dakota
[Click to enlarge...]

THE OLD-TIME POST OFFICE AT PEMBINA
By Charles Cavileer

Cavileer

I came here (Pembina) in 1851, in company with N.W. Kittson and others. After being here a few days Mr. Kittson asked me to act as assistant postmaster, he having been appointed postmaster some time in 1849. Joseph R. Brown was contractor to carry the mail from Pembina, Wisconsin Territory¹, to Crow Wing in the same territory, via Thieving River, at its mouth at Red Lake River, thence by land and canoe to Red Lake Village, making short portages, thence making short portages between small lakes to Cass Lake and then by the same order of travel to Leach Lake and so on to Crow Lake and to the end of the route at Crow Wing Village, which was the headquarters of the North-West Fur Company for all that section of the country claimed by the Chippewas from Crow Wing to Pembina northwest and northeast to Sandy Lake, and Fond du Lac.

The contract was a go-as-you-please, on foot, horse back, cart or canoe, anyway-to-get-there affair. The contract price for carrying it was $1,100 a year. Kittson, being postmaster, could not act as sub-agent. He appointed me as assistant postmaster, and I ran the machine until some time in 1853 or '54. I did all the business of the office, made the quarterly returns and deposit of funds due the department, attending to every detail of the office, which at that time was no child's play as every letter and package had to be tied up in wrappers, waybilled and addressed to its destination. St. Paul packages contained nearly all of Minnesota, Chicago, Detroit and east and west exchange.

An example of an 1868 letter with U.S. postage
sent from Red River to St. Paul via Pembina.
Source: The Minnesota Territory in Postmarks

Letter rates of postage ran 6 1/4, 12 1/2, 18 3/4, to 25 cents, according to distance, from 6 1/4 for short distances to 25 for 500 miles and over. Every letter and package had to be wrapped and addressed. Even single letters had to be wrapped and addressed to their proper offices. All wrappers had to be saved and used as long as they would hold together and an address could be put on without showing another.

But when it came to making out the quarterly reports the dance had just commenced. Every letter received and dispatched must be returned from the records kept on bills for that purpose, and it made a package about the size of a family Bible, and the footing up of columns with the amounts running from 6 1/4, 12 1/2, 18 3/4 to 25, was a corker. And right here let me tell you, with a feeling of pride, that I never had a quarterly return come back to me for correction.

Let me give you a sketch of the business at that early day, and the hardships and tricks of some of our carriers.

YouTube Local History: Pembina Depot

The video above was brought to my attention by Bill Ash the other day. In the interim, Bill found out from Clarence Bingham the scoop on the last few seconds of the film showing a depot, which turned out to be the old Pembina Depot, in its glory days!

Clarence also had this to say about Olaf Hanson, whose family (including Olaf) are shown earlier in the film:

Olaf Hanson was a Customs Inspector at Pembina during the 1950s. The depot in the video is the old Great Northern depot in Pembina. Olaf had a penchant for getting in trouble with the passengers he inspected by trying to joke with them. Unfortunately, travelers were not in a joking mood when crossing the border. To make matters worse the Collector of Customs office was just a couple of miles down the road in Pembina, so they would stop and complain. My desk in the headquarters office was close to the Collector's , so I could not help but hear some of those tirades. One day Olaf inspected a young man and woman at the Pembina Border station. He ascertained they were not married while establishing their citizenship, then when he was inspecting their car/suitcase, he jokingly inquired if it was appropriate that their underwear was comingled in the suitcase. They did not appreciate his attempt at humor and stopped at the Headquarters to lodge a complaint. The Collector - John O'Keefe - subsequently had Olaf in and threatened to transfer him to Hannah, N.D., where he would not encounter so many travelers. I don't recall if the transfer was in fact ever carried out.

When we lived in Pembina the GN depot was repainted. The B&B crew came to town - about 1958/59 - and in a few days painted the depot and associated buildings that God awful brownish/mustard yellow color the GN used in those days. A year or two later the section crew chief in Pembina repainted his house and by some mysterious circumstance the color was the same as the depot.

Bill Ash has this to share about Clarence:

Clarence "Bing" Bingham is a first cousin of my mother...He grew up in Wisconsin but got a job at the Railway Express office in Noyes, MN in the early 50's and soon after took a position with US Customs at Pembina and Noyes. He is retired now and is living in the state of Oregon.

Smithsonian First Postal Object

The man standing to the left of the open door is Charles Turner Cavileer. One of the two women to the right of
the door is probably his wife, Isabel; the other woman and the tall man may be two of his five living children.

A history of the region published during the elder Cavileer’s lifetime called him “the father of Pembina” and “the oldest living settler of that locality,” adding that “he was a regular correspondent to the Smithsonian Institute.” It is likely, then, that the postmaster sent the photograph to us from his own post office. It was received in 1882, making it the first postal object added to the Smithsonian’s collection.

From Object of the Month, National Postal Museum, Smithsonian Institution

Images of Emerson

Train in Emerson, Manitoba (Date unknown...)Main Street, Emerson (Sketch, artist unknown - 1876)Customs house at Emerson, Manitoba. (1877)Article about the Emerson riots of 1872 with images of the newspaper offices of the Manitoban that were vandalized. I searched around and have found that they were related to election violence that began in St. Boniface near Winnipeg and spread throughout the province in connection with the Metis and the many injustices against them.Exterior of Manitoban office after destruction, Emerson, Manitoba.
(October 24, 1872)

Customs Stories II: Roaring Twenties (Part II)

We return to the story of Les Eddington and his colleagues, pursuing bank robbers from Canada into the United States...

They turned south on the road where we had noted the two men walking; by this time the two were about a mile south of us. When the Buick caught up to the two it didn't stop, but the to jumped onto the running board of the car, one on each side. As we had lost some distance while turning around we came along at a fast speed. As we shot over the top of this hill, there they were stopped and piling out of the Buick. They spread out, two men in each ditch, with the big man with the machine gun standing directly behind their car, in the middle of the road.

The first thought that crossed my mind was to ram the big guy with the machine gun and mash him between our car and the Buick, however, I though of Bill's brand new car and started to ride the brakes. By this time Bill had started shooting and I could see glass flying from the windshield as the bullets came through. By the time the Paige screeched to a halt we were about a car's length behind the Buick. About that time a chunk came flying out of the Paige's steering wheel and I felt the burning of a bullet in my stomach. We each had our doors open in order to get out however the bullets were flying so fast as all five were shooting at us we settled back into the car - I laid my head over Bill's lap and Bill leaned over my way trying to keep his head down.

After the shooting stopped we put up our hands however Bill wouldnt let go of his .45. They were bellowing at him to drop it but he wouldn't do it. I said, "Bill, throw it down, we're all through!" but still he wouldn't drop the gun. Finally two men came to Bill's side (two others came to my side) and one of them reached up and took the gun from Bill's hand. One of the men collared me and yanked me out from under the steering wheel, while the other took a pass at my head with his pistol but I ducked and he missed me. They dragged Bill out of the car, made us lie down in front of the Paige, face down while the young man in the rear of the car, who had laid down on the floor while the shooting was taking place, crawled out and started walking away. I don't think he liked the company we kept! They yelled for him to come back but he wouldn't have anything of it. Bill and I also told him to come back but no deal. Finally one of the men collared him and brought him back to the car, making him lie down a little to the rear of us.

They took everything from our car with the exception of Renton's coat and Sam Browne belt. THey used the belt to beat Bill over the head with, but they didn't beat on me - I think they were angry with Bill for shooting at them. I had on uniform breeches, shirt and puttees, with my badge on my belt. They wanted to know who we were and thy we were following them. We told them who we were and I told them I thought that we were chasing a load of liquor. They started draining our gas tank, using a dish-like pan that would hold about a gallon. Each trip from car to car they would step over our friend and on one trip the man stepped on his neck. While this was going on they were trying to decide what to do with us. One of them wanted to shoot us on the spot - I was in hopes that he would be overruled! One of them got down and took a good look at my badge - I felt quite sure that if they had any intentions of shooting they would have done it before this.

While they were discussing whether or not to shoot us I stole a look at Bill and asked him if he had been hit, as his face was covered with blood. He said he didn't think so, then I told him that I was shot in the stomach. About this time the big man with the machine gun who was giving all the orders bellowed for us to shut up and keep our faces down. After finally draining all the gas from the Paige they lifted the hood, tore off the ignition wires and took them with them. The big man said they would leave a man with us and that they would return after they gassed up. After they had driven off down the road a block or so, we sat up - I think our friend was the first to speak. He looked at Bill and then me, then at the retreating Buick and said, "Well, I'll be damned!"

There we sat, completely out of business. I opened my shirt and reached in and pulled out a .38 special slug and showed it to Bill and the kid. It had come through the metal cowling, hit the steering wheel, and took a piece out of it, then into my stomach. It had cut through my clothing but did not penetrate my stomach. I looked Bill's face over and found it to be full of glass splinters, oozing blood from each place where glass had entered his ace. I don't understand how he escaped more serious injury as there were three .45 holes in the radiator, another five in the windshield and cowl and I think more that went over the car.

Bill and I walked south to the nearest farmhouse, which was about a mile distance. We found no one was at home, the house was unlocked so we entered the house. We would ring the phone but no one could hear us, so Bill walked across a field to another farmhouse. I kept fooling with the phone and finally discovered a knife switch which when I opened it I could get the phone to ring - when it did Bill answered on the phone at the other farm! Bill finally managed to call the sheriff at Lakota, Grand Forks, and other county seat towns. he also called our district director at Grand Forks and asked him to notify the Grand Forks Police Department in case the bandits should try to cross the river there.

I called the sheriff at Langdon to come and tow our car back to Langdon. Returning to the Paige we picked up the can that had been used to transer the gas from our car to the Buick; we had left the kid there with instructions to not let anyone touch it while we were away. I picked it up and wrapped it in paper and placed it in the rear seat of the car. I figured at least we could have the fingerprints of the man that transfered the gas as he had worked bare handed. This was probably the container they carried in the car to hold the nails they had thrown out earlier.

In looking over the disabled Paige I picked up Renton's coat from the backseat. In the pocket I found two clips of shells for his rifle, clips that I had watched him loading earlier in the day - he evidenty loaded these clips and put them into his coat pocket but none in the rifle. That was the reason we couldn't make it work.

We found out later the bandits drove to a farmhouse, filled up with gasoline, giving the boy at the farm a $10 bill, telling him to "keep the change" - this at a point about five miles from where we were shot up. In a short time the Langdon sheriff arrived, accompanied by George Nelson, Bill Renton, and Jim McLaughling, the Langdon Chevrolet dealer, who towed the car back to town. En route to Langdon we met a car load of detectives from the Winnipeg Police Department, who continued the search for the bandits. Sherriff Tollefson, Constable Renton, Henneberry, and myself then drove to Brocket, where we had something to eat. Upon return to Langdon we found a large number of people in the McLaughlin Garage looking over Bill's car. When I looked for the container that was used to drain the gasoline from our car I found it on the floor - it has been handled by numerous people - there was our only clue gone up in smoke. We made the mistake of not keeping this container with us. The Paige was left at the garage where mechanics put on new wiring and plugged up the bullet holes in the radiator so that it could be run until such time as a new one could be purchased.

Henneberry, Renton, Nelson, and myself were then taken to Mowbray where we had abandoned our patrol car and the Provincial police car. We found that the Mowbray elevator man had fixed the tires on both cars for us, but it took about two hours of searching before we found the spare tire for Bill's car as it had rolled a couple of hundred feet into a wheat feild.

TUESDAY, JULY 31

While it appeared the bandits may have made good on their escape, law enforcement officers in both Minnesota, Manitoba and North Dakota tried to cover all possible ecape routes. Closely watched were the bridges between North Dakota and Minnesota, especially the Oslo and Grand Forks bridges. There was speculation that perhaps the bandits had headed west on Highway 2 towards Minot, (and that they might even be based out of the Magic Ciy, although there was no proof of that). Officers heavily worked the Oslo-Warren, Minn. area but to little avail. There were reported sightings a far east as Litchfield, Minn., while some believed the gang may have been holed up in the Minneapolis-St. Paul vicinity. Officers Eddington and Henneberry traveled to Winnipeg to look over the local mug books but the only photos that looked anything like the gunmen they had encountered included a man from California (who was found to still be in a California prison) and Chicago mobster "Bugs" Moran.


WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 1

The search for the Winnipeg bank robbers returned to the Grand Forks area when Devils Lake Police Officer Ray Puschinsky received a tip that a gang of men were hiding on the Bill McMahon farm near Orr. Advising Grand Forks County a raid was organized that took place before daylight at the McMahon farm. Officers Art Solberg, Joe Bliven, H.L. Norley, Albert and E.E. Peterson of the Grand Forks Police Department, Ed Hough, Joseph Z. Benson and Knut Sorbo of the Grand Forks County Sheriff's Office, Nelson County Sheriff T.E. LaTourette, Nelson County Deputy W.K. Fjeld and Nelson County States Attorney I. Swinlund took part in the pre-dawn raid on the isolated farmstead. Arrested that morning were Jim Thompson, Wiliam Souele and Thor Sevalson. Of the three, none proved utlimately to be involved in the bank theft, yet the actions of Thompson served to draw a great deal of attention to himself. He was found hiding in the hayloft of the barn and was the only one of the three to resist arrest or attempted to escape. It was determined later that Thompson was wanted on a federal liquor violation charge.

Eddington and Henneberry were summoned to Grand Forks to look over the three and to report to District Director O.B. Holton. As Eddinton tells it, "We started out with the Piage, however (we) had to carry a can of water as the radiator was leaking badly." Ater viewing the men arrested earlier in the day in the Orr raid, they were unable to identify any of the trio. The bullet riddled Paige was drawing so much attention that Grand Forks police officers had to move the car from 4th Street to Alpha Avenue, to prevent the street from being locked by curious onlookers. The Grand Forks Herald arrived to take several photos of the car for their next edition before the two patrol officers could get on with their part in the search.

THURSDAY, AUGUST 2

Accompanied by two Winnipeg city police detectives, plus bank messenger Nicholson, Henneberry and Eddington took the Great Northern to Minneapolis where they were joined by two Minneapolis detectives to review their mug files in an effort to identify the bandits. Each time a photo of a known bank robber was shown to Nicholson he would squeal "That's the bloody so and so" but no one was ever positively identified. A check with Illinois officials indicated the license plates on the Buick were registered to a Model T Ford belonging to Bernard H. Dree of Highland, Ill. Mr. Drees was a medical doctor and the plates had been stolen from the mails before he received them for his car.

FRIDAY, AUGUST 3

While the trail had cooled off considerably in North Dakota and Minnesota, authorities in Montana and Manitoba kept things jumping. A report ws received by Canadian law enforcement officials that a blue car had been seen about 1:30pm north of Mowbray, containing three men. Intent on getting their men, the Canadians had a full contingent ready to roll on a moment's notice, including holding a special train at Winnipeg to transport men in addition to retaining an airplane for air searches. Further reports on the movements of the blue car continued to come into the Winnipg command headquarters - it was reported at Somerset at 3pm then 20 minutes later was seen moving through Altamont. Immediately all the local communities were notified. J.H. Holley of the Holley Airways took to the air, taking with him Winnipeg police sergeant J. Painter. In addition, squads of motocycle and patrol officers took to the highways - all armed with machine guns! But the blue car with the three men was never encountered.

At the same time Sheriff Fleming of Chinook, Mont., was sure he had the bandits in his territory. A bullet riddled, badly burned automobile was found nearby (which turned out to be an Auburn Eight) but was reported to Sheriff Fleming that the men from the Buick had inquired the road to Butte while a further report had placed the men at Gregson Springs, about 16 miles from Butte. To add further flame to the fire, a Minnesota man reported that his license plates had been stolen while his car was parked. It seemed everyone had a report to make concerning the whereabouts of the Winnipeg bank bandits. There is little doubt that Montana authorities woul have loved to have captured the andits, to uphold their tradition of capturing "international" outloaws. Only the previous year Butte police had captured Mr. and Mrs. George MacDonald. (Wanted for the murder of Quebec taxi driver Adelard Bouchard, the MacDonalds were returned to Canada, where George was hung in January 1928, while his wife was sentenced to life in prison.)

By this time, however, it was believed by most Winnipeg and North Dakota authorities that the robbers were safely hidden away in the Twin Cities or Chicago. The Bankers Association of Canada posted a $5,000 reward but it was never claimed. Henneberry's car was taken to a body shop in Grand Forks where a new radiator was installed, the windshield was replaced, bullet holes soldered up and the body repainted. Ironically the immigration service refused to pay the repair bill for the car on the grounds that the government furnished a car for patrol purposes and that the officers "had no business chasing bank robbers!" Despite protests that the robbers had illegally crossed the border meant nothing. (The bill was ultimately paid for by the Winnipeg City Police who were "...thankful for our cooperation in connection with our efforts even though we failed while trying to make an arrest," according to Eddington's written account.)

Ultimately Bill Henneberry quit the Immigration service after having words with the district director in regard to the service's failure to pay for the damages to his car. He was later brought up on charges, but as the name on the papers was not made out in his correct spelling he failed to answer to them. He was found guilty by failure to reply to the charges and dismissed - but was hired the next day by the Collector of Customs at Pembina, where he would remain for the rest of his career.

Lester Eddington, whose government career had begun as a customs patrol officer in 1925, moved to immigration in 1927 (when it went under civil service), then returned to customs patrol in 1929 and remained with the organization until it was disbanded in 1946. He was appointed customs inspector at Noyes, Minn. in 1947, then special agent for U.S. Customs at Pembina in 1952. He retired from duty May 31, 1956 after 31 years service to the United States.

As for the bank bandits, they were never positively identified or caught; the $25,000 was never recovered. If one of the bandits had, indeed, been Chicago mobster "Bugs" Moran, his lucky start would look at him one more time at least - narrowly escaping death when seven of his henchmen were gunned down by elements of the Al Capone gang in a Chicago garage on February 14, 1929 - the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre.

Author's Notes: After completing his book, Lester Eddington penned a dedication at the bottom of the last page to some of the people he had worked with during his three decades of service. It reads, "My greatest admiration of names mentioned in this narrative goes to the late Collector of Customs Judson LaMoure, Pembina and the late Deputy Collector of Customs Dave Elves, Sarles, ND, and last but not least the late Art Gould, Winnipeg, Manitoba - the greatest liquor runner that ever crossed the international border in this district."

Additional Notes: There is some confusion as to the correct spelling of Constable William G. Renton's last name. Some sources give the spelling as that used here, Renton, while other sources give it as Wrenton. My apologies to the late Mr. Renton if it is incorrect in this text.

(Article's author: Jim Benjaminson)

Customs Stories II: Roaring Twenties (Part I)

They were called the Roaring Twenties - and with good reason. Bank robberies, machine guns, strange cars bearing stolen license plates, shoot-outs with law enforcement officers, international manhunts. At first you might think this story takes place in Chicago - what you are about to read happened in North Dakota. We are turning the clock back to 1928. Imagine what it was like to be a law enforcement office back then - no two-way radio communications, no high speed patrol cars equipped with fancy flashing red lights, no PA systems, no cages for holding prisoners - there was no highway patrol, nor county contract law enforcement. It was a time of each officer working more or less on his own, relying on his own wits to keep himself alive.

The story is true - the events have been reconstructed from the pages of the Manitoba Free Press (now the Winnipeg Free Press), the Grand Forks Daily Herald (now just the Herald) plus major excerpts taken from the unpublished book "My Experiences While in the Government Service" written by retired U.S. Customs Officer Lester Eddington.

Following his retirement, Office Eddington parked himself behind a typewriter and wrote a 116 page book detailing the experiences he encountered during his 31 year career working the U.S.-Canadian border. It was a career that ranged from the illegal liquor smuggling of the 20's to the smuggling of illegal Canadian seed wheat in the 50's. But the incident that nearly brought Eddington's career - and his life - to an end is the story you are about to read...

MONDAY, JULY 30, 1928 - 9:15A.M.

For Canadian Bank of Commerce couriers Kenneth Nicholson and Robert H. Jones it was just another typical Monday at work. They were on foot this particular morning, carrying a satchel containing $25,000 in Canadian currency from the Bank of Commerce near Portage and Main in Winnipeg to the nearby Provincial Savings Bank on Ellis Avenue. For security the satchel was chained to them, and Nicholson was armed with a handgun. Turning off Portage Avenue to Notre Dame, then rounding the corner at Ellis they were, as the Free Press told it "100 steps" from their destination when Nicholson thought he heard something behind him. Turning slightly Nicholson's worst nightmare had become a reality - he found himself staring into the wrong end of a Thompson .45 caliber machine gun wielded by a man in a slow moving automobile on the street beside them. From the corner of his eye he saw two men on the sidewalk ahead of them turn around - both were armed with handguns. To resist what was about to happen would have been fatal.

It was over in a matter of seconds - a fourth man jumped from the now stopped sedan and disarmed Nicholson, then ordered both men to lie face down on the sidewalk. A chain cutter was employed to snap the money satchel loose, then the men calmly and quickly piled back into the car and sped away. Lying helpless on the sidewalk the bank couriers made a quick note of the car's license number and description, then called the Winnipeg Police Department. Within minutes the word was being passed far and wide to all officers. The car, a blue Buick Master sedan. The plates, Illinois 834-890. Caution - armed and dangerous! For Jones and Nicholson, it was a hell of a way to start the week.

One of those receiving the lookout that morning was Canadian Provincial Police Officer William G. Renton. Stationed close to the U.S border north of Langdon, Officer Renton thought it might be wise to inform any American officers working that day of the situation. The border crossing near Maida had figured in a previous escape by U.S. based bandits that had robbed a Winnipeg street railway some years before and Renton had that gut feeling the Winnipeg Bank robbers might choose that same route to make good their getaway today. The only officer Renton found on duty that morning was U.S. Immigration Patrol Officer Lester Eddington. From here we'll let Les tell the story in his own words:

"Mid summer arrived and this morning I was working alone near the Mowbray store when alone came Constable Bill Renton, a Canadian provincial police officer. He informed me that there had been a couple of bank messengers robbed of $25,000 on the streets of Winnipeg. He said some years ago after a previous robbery by men from the United States, they had returned to the U.S. via Mowbray.

"Renton and I then drove to the edge of the coulee, one mile east of Mowbray and one mile north of the border. He gave me a description of the car, as well as the license number. As we sat there talking I noticed that he loaded a couple of clips for an English-made, high-powered rifle. He continued that there were five men in the gang and that one, the largest of the five, manned a machine gun.

"We sat there for about three quarters of an hour when Renton said he was going to drive back to the Mowbray store and ask the postmistress if she had seen any such car in the previous few days, reasoning that the robbers would have planned their escape route beforehand to acquaint themselves with the road. We had called Officer Bill Henneberry at Hannah and asked him to get out, and when Renton left me he said, 'Now don't be afraid to shoot just because you're in Canada!' in case they should show up before he got back. Bill seemed quite sure they would use this road. I said, 'O.K., Bill, if they come along before you get back, I will let them have it...' - I had our buck shotgun and my Colt .45 pistol.

"Renton hadn't gone over a quarter mile when I noticed a car approaching from the north on this coulee road, traveling at a fair rate of speed. I got out of my patrol car, threw a shell into the chamber of the shogun and stood in the middle of the road. As the car got closer I could see that it was a Buick sedan, and was a dark blue color. When they got real close I noted an Illinois license plate. But eh number was different than the number Renton had given me. I tried to stop them but would have been run over if I hadn't jumped to one side. If this had been in the U.S. I am sure I would have blasted them with the riot gun, however in Canada that would have been a wrong number, as it could have just been a bunch of fishermen returning with a quantity of liquor or something like that. However, I was quite sure this was the car we were looking for.

"I jumped into my car and took after them. I could see that they were throwing nails out on the road by the handful - each time they would throw out a handful a piece of paper would fly in the wind. They must have had these large headed roofing nails done up in paper. The Buick hit the CPR Railway crossing so far that I could see daylight under their tires. They passed Renton about a half mile east of the Mowbray stores, on the border road. Renton said later that he didn't know they were behind him until they whizzed past. They crossed into the U.S. at Mowbray and headed south.

"By the time Renton and I got to the Mowbray store we were only a short distance behind them, but I had three tires down and Renton had two down, with the rest going down! They quit throwing nails after leaving Canada, I guess they figured they had us stopped, which they sure did. As luck would have it Bill Henneberry and George Nelson arrived at Mowbray within minutes after Renton and I got there, driving Henneberry's brand new Paige sedan. Renton grabbed his coat, belt and rifle from his car and all four of us piled into Henneberry's car, with me at the wheel. By this time the Buick was completely out of sight.

"We hit the Mount Carmel road so fast that the Paige jumped into the air and after coming back to earth, I saw the spare tire flying through the air in the rear view mirror - we didn't stop to retrieve it. We were quite sure the bandits would go to Langdon in order to get gas, figuring that their gas supply must be getting low. We pulled into Langdon and drove to the several gas stations but no one had seen them - until they heard what had taken place, then it seemed that most everyone had seen them!

"We split up at Langon, Nelson and Renton traveling with Cavalier County Sheriff Carl Tollefson, while Henneberry and I remained together. We headed west on Highway 5 to a point four miles west of Langdon where we noted fresh car tracks over the highway, continuing south on a seldom used trail. As the tracks were quite large we figured it must have been made by the Buick. We continued south on this tail and at a point five miles south of Highway 5 we noted a man mowing the weeds. We asked him if he had seen a car pass by within the past 20 minutes - replied that about 30 minutes earlier a large blue Buick, with four or five men in it had passed. He didn't know what kind of license plates it had but said that it was not a North Dakota plate. We felt we were on the right track.

"We followed the tracks to a point about five miles north of Highway 17 where they turned east, crossed over Highway 1 and then continued east for another five or six miles. At one point a mailman had driven over the top of this track and we followed these tracks into a farmhouse but a young man at the place told us it had been the mailman but that he had noted a blue Buick going east. It had passed just minutes before and wasn't traveling very fast. This young man was about 20 years old and asked what was up. When we told him, he waned to go along. We asked if he had a gun but when he said all he had was a single barrel shotgun we told him to never mind the gun but if he wanted to go with us to hop in. He got in the back seat and I handed him my .45.

"After eight or 10 miles we were within sight of the Buick - Henneberry asked the kid to hand him Renton's high powered rifle. Bill tried to throw a shell into the chamber but was unable to operate it. Bill held the steering wheel for about a mile, while I tooled with it, but neither of us could figure out how it worked.

"Bill said 'There they were - five of them and with a machine gun and three of us with two .45s and one shotgun.' He said we really needed a little reinforcement! 'Yes,' I said, 'I think that is correct!' We decided to stop at the next farmhouse that had a telephone wire leading to it and the next house was it. We drove in the yard and Bill and I jumped out. Bill ran for the house, while I ran for the windmill and started to climb it in order to watch the Buick. I was part way up the windmill when I heard two blood curdling screams come from the house. I looked in the direction of the house to see two women pop out, running for all they were worth. Bill was running behind them trying to get them to come back - it was then that I noticed that Bill was carrying his .45 in his hand! Well, sir, the two ladies didn't want any part of it and kept on running to a cook car that was some distance from the house, which they entered and slammed the door shut. If it hadn't been for the gravity of the situation I would have thought it was one of the funniest maneuvers I had ever seen. You couldn't blame the ladies for being frightened - as Bill never knocked, just busted on them carrying this big .45 in his hand - he had no hate on, his hair was disheveled and his shirt tail was hanging out - and he wasn't in uniform.

"I looked back to see that the Buick was still headed east while Bill ran back into the house to try and call ahead, but the only town he could reach was Edmore and we were already past there. He was unable to locate the sheriff at Lakota, so he ran back out to our car. After speeding east for five or six miles we met a farmer with four horses on a drill, who pulled off the road to let us pass. We only went a short distance when we met the Buick coming back at us - but there were only three men in it. About a mile before we passed the farmer on the drill we had noticed two men walking south and wondered if these two might have been from the Buick but dismissed the ideas we didn't feel they would leave two of their men in strange, open country. Now we knew these two were part of the gang.

"After meeting the Buick we made a bootlegger turn and continued after them. Again we met the farmer on the drill and again he pulled over for us - I imagine this farmer thought that traffic was getting awfully heavy on this seldom used road. Bill and I talked it over and decided that this was it, if they were to be taken. Our boy in the back seat hadn't said a word since we first sighted the Buick and I thought perhaps he wasn't enjoying the ride. We figured they had doubled back in order to look use over - we were in hilly country and at times their car would be out of sight. The strategy that we had figured out was that we would follow as long as they kept going as we were expecting they would be running out of gas at any time, so if and when they stopped, we would take to the ditch and blast them from there. It didn't quite work out that way!"

TO BE CONTINUED

From "A Tale from the Roaring Twenties" by Jim Benjaminson with Lester Eddington, North Dakota Peace Officer (Volume XII, No. 1 - April 1997)