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"The day before her marriage, Kate Hottois was sitting in the lobby of the Montesano Hotel waiting for her sister's family to come in from their claim on the Wishkah, when she noticed a woman with a little girl on her lap. The woman was part Indian and had been married the day before to a white man by the name of Smith. It was now just after breakfast.

Smith walked up to her and said sharply, "Give me the key to the trunk."

She rose and exclaimed, "Oh, are you going to pack?"

"Guess I'll have to" he snarled, and turned away.

Kate felt indignant at the man for treating his bride so roughly. She was not too surprised to hear later that after taking his wife South he tried to kill her. Presumably to inherit money and Indian lands. She, however, managed to escape and divorce him.

Thirty years later Kate Murhard met her in Hoquiam and thought she recognized her. "Weren't you married at the Montesano House on Feb 11, 1890?" Kate asked. "Yes", the woman replied, "I married Mr. Smith."



Kate continues her biography:

"On Feb 13, 1890, I married Gust Murhard at Montesano and returned to the woods, being the first white bride to live in the Humptulips valley. Following a two weeks' wedding trip to Portland I walked in from New London to the Murhard place, a distance of about 27 miles. Conditions were somewhat better than when I came in 1888, but still very inconvenient.

Since my husband located settlers and canoed their provisions to them, I was alone a great deal. Even my nearest neighbor, Mary Brittain, was away for months at a stretch cooking in logging camps. On one occasion the entire commmunity ran out of coal-oil. Gust had gone to Hoquiam when the McNutt family arrived at our place. We had to eat supper in the dark, save for a makeshift 'slut' light, made by laying a twisted rag in a saucer of grease.

We made our home on the claim continuously until 1911. Once I came to town only twice in three years. I didn't see a show for ten years. After most of the land around us was taken, Gust was at home more. Between times we cleared land and raised two oxen. Unfortunately, one was killed so we broke the other to work with the cow. A man cannot drive oxen and plow, so I volunteered to drive, thus becoming an ox-teamster. One of our neighbors used a horse and an ox together."