Distinctly Montana Magazine

D I S T I N C T L Y M O N T A N A M A G A Z I N E • F A L L 2 0 2 2 66 other chance to start over. The Helena fire actually brought her and her soon-to-be husband together when she went back to being a camp cook at his mine. She mar- ried Nat Collins on New Year's Eve, 1874, at the age of 30. After a couple of years and some unfortunate life-threatening accidents, they sold the mine and decided cattle ranching would be a safer and more profitable business, so they moved to Teton County on the Rocky Mountain Front near the present-day town of Choteau. Once again, loneliness set in. Settlers were few, and she was the first white woman in the valley; her daughter, Car- rie, was the first white child born there. She quickly made friends with the local Blackfeet, becoming fluent in their lan- guage and exchanging skills, such as beading and healing. The Collinses even adopted two Blackfeet sisters who were orphaned when their parents were murdered. Although it was a happy time in the Collinses' household, she yearned for other women who spoke English. Over the years, as settlers started to move in, many sought out her nursing, healing, and midwifery skills as there were no doc- tors in the area at that time. Her open, caring demeanor earned her the nickname of "Auntie Collins." Their cattle flourished in the Teton Valley, and their herd grew rapidly in size. Libby figured they would increase their profits if they sold their cattle in Chicago rather than locally. Plans were in place to drive the sale herd to the nearest rail- head in Great Falls, a four-day journey, and from there on to St. Paul and then to the Chicago stockyards. Once again, things did not go as planned. Nat fell ill and could not go, so she took it upon herself to undertake the ad- venture herself, knowing full well no woman had ever done this before. The first obstacle was the shipping company in Great Falls, which would not ship her stock until others came to fill all the cars—a ten-day wait. Secondly, women were not allowed on the train with the men. Not being one to accept "no" as an answer, she had a tele- graph sent to the St. Paul headquarters of the shipping com- pany explaining her situation. The reply read: "provide for the comfort of Mrs Nat Collins… in every way and treat her with respect due a lady, under penalty of discharge upon failure to do so." Not only did she convince the railroad com- pany to accept her, but she was given a first-class ticket for the ride from St. Paul to Chicago! As she boarded the train with her cattle, a hearty cheer went up from the onlookers: "Success to Auntie Collins, the Cattle Queen of Montana." The name stuck. Later she wrote: "I have, during my life, passed through many a discourage- ment and have been overtaken by many a disheartening event but, without exception, I have never experienced a more trying time than during those ten days of waiting before I finally saw my cattle and horses loaded and safely started on their journey, and found myself sitting bolt upright on the leather cushions of that hard-riding caboose with the much dreaded railroad men about me." Between her father and brothers prospecting in Colorado and her work in the Montana mining camps, the lure of min- ing was not too far below the surface. Between the late 1880s/ early 1890 (accounts differ), Libby staked a claim in what is now the west side of Glacier National Park. She raised invest- ment money and spent three summers chasing a quartz vein for copper before giving up. Today, the tributary of Mineral Creek in the park near her abandoned mine is named after her, "Cattle Queen Creek." Later, shortly after the turn of the century, while in her 60s, "the call of gold was sending its alluring thrill through the land." She once again "felt the desire for excitement burn in [her] blood." She made the long journey—first overland to Seattle, then by ship to Nome, Alaska. However, as with most of the throng that flocked to the Alaska goldfields, things didn't "pan out." With great disappointment, she head- ed back to Montana. Surely, the first time on a sailing ship headed north through pods of dolphins and whales must have been an adventure worth seeking, even if it didn't bring home the yellow metal she sought. A few years after her return, her husband, Nat, passed away in 1909, and with her own age advancing, she soon left the ranch to her daughter's family and moved into town. Eventually, she would winter in California to get away from the harshest of Montana's weather while going on oc- casional lecture circuits, talking about her life experiences. She passed away in 1921 in her Choteau home. Throughout much of her life, Libby Collins endured hard- ships extreme even by nineteenth-century standards, that we, today in the twenty-first century, would find nearly im- possible to comprehend. Through it all, she remained strong, resilient, and above all adaptable as she persevered through "Fate's decrees." Libby never lost her compassion for the sick, injured, and those less fortunate than her. She was not just a witness to the unfolding history around her but an active participant in making it. Now, that's worth a movie!

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