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Will the Montana Paintings Continue?

Francois Finlay’s Life as Told by His Son Peter Finlay

Francois Finlay’s Early Life in Montana 

He was avery [sic] intelligent man and could read and write and the Indians of this western country, all of whose languages he could speak, trusted him implicitly.  “Benetsee” was always called upon to settle disputes, for they recognized him as being fair and square in all things.

He was a big man in every way, about six feet in height, with piercing dark brown eyes that could flash fire at times, although he was of a gentle nature.  He had shaggy hair and eyebrows like his Scotch ancestors, and a deep, broad chest.  He had a mustache, but no beard.  His appearance was always neat and he kept us that way when he was around, yet he was always kind and considerate, if firm, and was a hard worker and a mighty good provider.

An Indian at Heart

Francois Finlay, or Benetsee, after exchanging his colored clothes, beads, powder, lead, and what-not (perhaps whiskey) with the red wanderers of the west, for furs and buffalo robes, became so prosperous that he bought a large drove of horses in California and brought them to Deer Lodge Valley.  How many years passed in such occupations, history recordeth not; but it is known that Benetsee went to reside in that pleasant place in Montana sometime prior to 1850.

I was but a year old when my father went to California to seek his fortune in the gold diggings.  Of course, I do not remember anything about those days, but it was there he had his first experience in placer mining.  He did not make much of a stake and soon returned to the land of the open range – the land of his fathers.

Finding Gold in Montana

Old mining equipment in Gold Creek

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I was but four years old when he prospected for gold, as he did as often as he took the notion.  He found some in 1852 on what was then called Benetsee creek – now called Gold Creek – more gold than he was every [sic] given credit for, for it was kept as much of a secret as possible, as I have mentioned before.  He took it to Angus MacDonald, who at that time was engaged in the fur trade, and, like all the fur traders, feared that the news of the discovery of gold would bring in a horde of whites and thus ruin his business.  He urged my father to keep the matter quiet, which he did.  How much he got out of MacDonald I do not know, nor did he ever tell me, but it must have been quite a grubstake.

My father did return to his diggings and washed out more gold.  Some of it he traded for supplies at Fort Owen and the rest he left with the company.  It must have amounted to over $1,000.

He tired of his labor in the placer diggings, however, and returned to the life he really loved, guiding and packing, and spending the rest of his time with the Indians he loved and who loved and adored him.

Francois Finlay’s Later Life and Death

Granville Stuart, c 1890s

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Francois Finlay, better known as ‘Benetsee’ perhaps did find a few colors of gold in Benetsee creek, but his prospecting was of a very superficial nature and he was never certain whether he had found gold or not.  I first became acquainted with him in November, 1860.  I had located at a point where the Mullan road crosses Gold creek; a village of Flathead Indians camped near me and with them was Benetsee, who made himself known to me.  Naturally our conversation was about gold in Gold creek.  I asked him if he had ever dug a hole and he said ‘No, I had nothing to dig with, and I never cared to prospect.’  I am certain that this was true, because although we prospected on Gold creek and in all the gulches and streams leading into the creek, I never found the slightest trace of holes being dug or of any prospecting being done and the slightest disturbance of the sod would be noticed by us at that time…He lived with the Indians and, as the Indians, lived by hunting.  He roamed over the Flathead country as did the Flatheads, going out to the plains to hunt buffalo and returning, after the hunt, with the Indians.  I saw him occasionally so long as I lived on Gold creek, but when I left there in 1863 I lost track of him.

I was about 27 or 28 years old when father dropped dead at the home of my sister Ellen [Moran] near Frenchtown.  They had a ranch there.  He dropped dead on the way from the house to the barn.  I am not quite sure, but I believe this was in 1876.