"They lived and they died for the dream these mountains gave them, and as in tribute...the wild forget-me-nots blossom every spring." --MARGARET REEB
Margaret Reeb is somewhere in her 80s. In her Livingston, Mont., sitting room stands an ancient upright piano. On a wall hangs a photograph of Reeb and a smiling Eleanor Roosevelt. The topic of her verse--the mountain's beauty, the nobility of the pioneer gold miners who wrested their destinies from it--is a variation on an old frontier theme. Were she merely a wistful ex-schoolteacher, one could dismiss Reeb as a member of a familiar but vanishing species: the...
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