JACK WATERS, Our Yesterdays, Jefferson Co., MT USGENWEB NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. Files may be printed or copied for personal use only. "List transcribed and organized by Ellen Rae Thiel, thieljl@aol.com All rights reserved." Copyright, 1998 by Ellen Rae Thiel. This file may be freely copied for non-profit purposes. All other rights reserved. JACK WATERS About a mile and a half or two miles east and a little south of the Pat Wickham ranch a man called Jack Waters had a squatter's right in what is called Cabin Gulch. It was probably called Cabin Gulch because of his cabin being there. The place is now owned by Mike Quinn. While he was not a rancher, he was a colorful character and should have his place in the valley history. Many thought Jack Waters might not be his real name--that he was hiding out-- because he never talked about anyone or any place from the past, and would not look another person in the eye. As far as anyone knew he had never been married. He was a big rugged man, but not known for being handsome. He had a big wart on his lip that was fascinating for the small fry to watch when he talked. He chewed tobacco almost incessantly, and when he came to someone's house to visit, he held his hat in his hands to spit in. When he went out the door, the hat went back on his head. This, also, was closely watched by the children. Jack worked for Tom Dawson, A. C. Quaintance and many of the other ranchers during haying or any other busy time that came. He was a hand they all depended on. He owned some horses which he broke and trained. His brand was a fishhook on the jaw. One time he was leading a saddle horse behind the one he was riding. The lead rope was wrapped firmly around his hand when the horse spooked and jerked back, almost severing three of his fingers. He had a gunny sack tied to his saddle so he grabbed it to wrap his bleeding hand in and loped to John Quinn's. "John," he shouted, "Got my hand tangled up in a lead rope and my fingers are just hangin'. Get your godamn axe and chop 'em off!" John took Jack to Dr. Leighton in Boulder, who cheerfully cut the fingers away and sewed up the maimed hand. Whenever there was funeral in the valley, Jack would show up at the cemetery to help dig the grave. This was much appreciated by the mourners because, at that time, this job was always done by the neighbors, who tried to help out in any way they could. He always attended all the funerals but would stand at the back of the church--would never kneel or even sit down. Jack Waters lived to a ripe old age, but was practically blind in the last few years. He ended his days in Boulder and is buried in the Boulder Valley Cemetery where he had helped dig so many graves. SUBMITTED BY MR. AND MRS. GEORGE DAWSON