Roundup Record Tribune & Winnett Times -

Known locally as Nigger Bertie, by all reports she generally was regarded with affection, respect, and, for some of her works, downright admiration. She was a jolly, good-natured soul, rather short and heavy-set, but what endeared her most to the citizens was not her kindness, it was her booze. People claimed hers was the absolute best produced anywhere in the U.S. of A. Since it was the good ole days of Prohibition, when clandestine distilleries were producing moonshine everywhere across our great, thirsty nation, this was quite an honor.

Born in Missouri in 1871, Bertie came to the Lewistown area in 1898. First, she lived in Gilt Edge, then was five years around Valentine before she found her dream land on Brickyard Creek, between Lewistown and Grass Range. In 1913 she homesteaded the 160-acre parcel, but she was a much more capable bootlegger than she was a rancher. Her house was lovely with two main rooms, a kitchen and pantry addition; a lean-to; and a walk-around porch. When we visited the property it was crumbling away and being helped into oblivion by the resident bulls' rubbing against parts of it.

Upstairs was her bedroom, which she shared with her lover, Jack King, owner of a neighboring ranch. No one dared question their relationship, for Jack was known to take unkindly to impertinent questions and carried a pistol for giving quick answers. In fact, Jack packed his pistol till the day of his death in the 1940s. Her still was located on or near Jack's ranch on Brickyard Creek, which supplied the water for her popular liquid.

What made her home unique was its spotless parlor, a combination package liquor store, bar, and charming living room. Here the customers could buy a pint for the road, enjoy a shot or two as they passed through, or sit and visit as they sampled the most recent output. Bertie, with her black cat a constant companion, was a congenial, friendly bartender and hostess.

She adored music and owned the first radio in that part of the state. Her second passion, excluding Jack, was the Montgomery Ward catalog, and she always had plenty of cash to order whatever she desired. This would not have been the case had she been forced to rely upon ranch income. Her affection for children was well-known, and there were always candy and amusements on hand for the youngsters.

The honorable folks at Lewistown disapproved the carryings-on at the Brown ranch and were always after the Prohibition Officer to close down the establishment and end the disgusting, drunken debauchery. Supposedly, though, she shared her product with Officer Hill, which may explain why his repeated warnings never materialized into an arrest. Nevertheless, the citizens became more vocal, and Hill was forced to inform Bertie that either the white lightning then in processing would be her last or he would insist she take up residence in jail.

Tragically, that final run was one batch too many. Some of her clothes had needed dry cleaning, and poor Bertie decided to sponge them with gasoline in the room where the still was cooking. Was the explosion an accident, a botched attempt at suicide, a homicide? She was grievously burned to the point that parts of her brain were exposed.

Eleanor Fields, her closest friend, was with her when the ambulance arrived, and Bertie knew it would be a one-way ride, so she begged Eleanor to care for her pet. Mysteriously, after the dying woman was whisked away, the cat vanished.

The present owners say that now and then a black cat is seen looking out a living room window. Could it be a descendant of Miss Brown's precious animal or just a stray gone feral? Surely, the thought must cross one's mind that the kitty possibly could be Nigger Bertie's spirit still roaming her cherished home.