This page is a text version of the Beckoning Hills History Book. This is the story of the Turtle Mountain Area of Manitoba. You can get a PDF copy of the book on our full version page. The PDF copy is an exact page by page representation of the original book. This text version has been reformated for the web and contains text recognition mistakes. These mistakes do not appear in the full version. The full version also includes each image in the original book.

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Soon after father took a homestead on the section 16-3-20 which is my home today.

At that time the Deloraine Trail passed through the farm. The Waubeesh Trail also ran across our farm. It branched from the northeast to southwest points of the section. This was a trail much frequented by Indians. An old Indian camp-site was in Barton Coulee on the farm later owned by Alpine Taylor.

On the farm known as Cecil Millions' at the present time, once stood a road-house owned by George Morton, who was known to all as the farmer's friend.

My first neighbours in the district were Chris Musgrove and Peter Hill.

I hope you will find something of interest in this story. It has been a pleasure looking back to my first days spent in Canada.


(The following article, a prize winning entry published in the Grain Growers Guide thirty years ago, is reproduced in full because so many of the events described were typical of early day experiences. )

Duncan Henderson

I was born in Beckwith Township, near Carleton Place, Ontario, in 1863. I came of a large family, and as my father died when I was eleven years old, needless to say all hands had to pitch in at any­ thing that was offered. I put in one year on an Ontario farm at the princely wage of $84 a year. The summer work was mostly done in those days by hand, and in the winter I helped to stone a road across a swamp. I then went into the Almonte woollen mills, where I worked for seven years.

My brother Peter went West, scouting for land in the fall of '81, going in by the old Emerson Trail and locating in the Turtle Mountain district, near where the town of Boissevain now stands. The spring of '82 followed what was long remembered as the winter of the deep snow, it being four or five feet deep on the level. It was this spring that I joined the first great rush westward. I spent my nineteenth birthday on the train and landed in Brandon, the end of steel, early in March. Early the next morning, I started out to walk to Old Deloraine land office, via what was then known as Souris City, and which is today Wawanesa,

I was arrayed for my seventy mile jaunt, in a hard hat "Sunday shoes" and a long flapping ulster, that wound around my feet at every step. After following an ox team trail for forty miles, I reached Langs Valley the first night. I located a stopping place which turned out to have a rough pole floor. Just as soon as I got inside-the door, I stretched out full length on this floor, and believe me, I have never struck a feather bed since that felt half as soft as those bare poles after a forty mile walk. The next morning I