Drake, Milton "Milt"

"Old Milt is dead" reads the head lines. Long a citizen of the Miami Indian Nation, he was a man well-known far and wide, a leader among his people, a loyal friend, an open enemy, he never skulked in the dark but fought in the open. He was a life long Republican, a Union soldier. Born in Indiana, in 1840, his life measured in years reached three score and five, but an untimely accident last Saturday evening near his home in the North end of the Miami Reserve, ended his career. He was thrown from his buggy on his head and shoulders, and his injuries caused concussion of the brain; he never rallied consciousness, but gradually sunk till Monday at 10:50 am, he passed away. A diamond in the rough was Milt Dake, honest, true in friendships, a hard hitter and made of the stuff that moves the world. Peace to his ashes. His funeral was under the auspices of the McPherson Post G.A.R. No. 11, of which he was a member, on Tuesday at one o'clock pm at his home some ten miles northwest of Miami. The interment occurred in the G.A.R. cemetery of Miami immediately after the exercises at the house. Milton Dake was a member of Co. E. 10th Kansas Infantry in the late war, was married in Miami county Kansas, and came to the Indian Terrritory in 1869, settling on Jackson Prairie east of Spring River, but took his allotment in the North end. He leaves a widow and eleven children who survive him. Mrs. Lon Roseberry, Four Mile; Mrs. Josie D. Pope, Miami; Mrs. Sallie Horton, Four Mile; Miss Marchie Drake; Wayne Drake, Edna Kansas; David Drake, Talala Indian Territory; Ed Drake, Chelsea Indian Territory; Milton Drake, Jr., Pearce Arizona; and John Thomas Drake and Patrick Drake, minors. The circumstances that led to the accident that resulted in his death are briefly as follows: He left Miami last Saturday at about 5:30 pm and arrived at I.B. Herbert's one and one-half miles this side of his home where he ate supper and stayed til 10 or 10:30 o'clock and then stared on home in his buggy. The night was dark and he drove along pretty fast. About a quarter of a mile beyond Herbert's the road makes a right angle turn out of a lane that is badly washed by the rains, the banks probably two feet higher than the road bed, and the outside wheels as he made the turn dropped into the deep washout, throwing him violently against the bank where he was discovered some twenty minutes later in an unconscious state. The buggy had righted itself and the team went on home.