Dead Ends

eagerly as the latest bestsellers. Maybe the appeal stemmed from the long ravages of war the West offered a new way of life, or perhaps people were enthralled by the draw of possibilities out in open country where people struck it rich in gold, oil, or land. But it wasn't the prairies or distant mountains alone. People were the real story, especially horse thieves and cattle wrestlers, as well as bank, train and stagecoach robbers. Equally fascinating were the lawmen who

went after them. When it comes to the sheriffs and marshalls wearing that gold star, many of us undoubtedly think of why Morgan and Virgil earp along with their friend Doc Holiday. Of all the histories surrounding them, none is more enduring than the shootout at the Okay Corral. Though the gunfight itself lasted only thirty seconds. As for cattle wrestlers, horse thieves, and murderers, names like Billy the Kid made for great headlines. The kid nickname stemmed from his age.

He was just twenty one when he died, which was also the number of men that he killed. Cattle and horse theft might have been the equivalent of a Wild West car theft ring, but the real money was in robbing banks, stage coaches, and trains. From Jesse James to the Dalton Gang, armed robberies were as much a part of the West as cowboys and saloons. Jesse James pulled off nineteen robberies. The Dalton Gang started as lawmen before finding better pay pulling off bank heists and robbing trains.

Part of their claim to fame was not one, but two bank robberies at the same time in broad daylight. But few have ever captured our attention like Butch Cassidy and the Sun Dance Kid. Born Robert Leroy Parker, he adopted the Cassidy moniker to protect his family's good name. He left home early, finding life in cattle wrestling more lucrative than small town work. Soon his gang known as the Wild Bunch, began robbing trains. Their heists were always

well planned. Occasionally the addresses waiters at gala events to gain information on the trains would be on them and other details to help them pull off the job. Cassidy had a reputation for never batting an eye during a robbery, but he did have a weak spot. His lack of etiquette knowledge made him incredibly nervous as he did his best to properly serve the rich party guests. Harry Longabu, also known as the Sun Dance Kid, didn't meet Cassidy

until they worked at a ranch together. While they would end up two of the most famous outlaws, neither was prone to gun violence. In fact, people thought they were friendly and everyone said they were helpful. Though Cassidy and sun Dance pulled off robberies that would be worth ten million today, they had a code of ethics assure they had robbed trains and banks, but common folk were off limits.

Cassidy never shot anyone during a hold up either. Lawmen on their trail labeled them as the most shrewd and daring outlaws in the West, but don't mistake daring for carelessness. The gang's success came from Cassidy and sun Dances meticulous planning. The men spent hours training horses in ways that aided the gang in their robberies. They also took their time planning, often months, to avoid capture. No detail was too small. Over the years, though they tired of life on the run.

Cassidy once asked a lawyer if he couldn't do something to earn himself a pardon and settle down. Disheartened but not surprised at the answer, he made plans with Sundance for one last heist that used the money to fund a new way of life in Bolivia. Down in South America. They pulled it off too. Before leaving, Cassidy stopped by a local ranchers place. The rancher's son had always been enamored with Cassidy's horse, and the outlaw gifted it to him.

The two fled to South America after that. It's still a mystery whether they died during a shootout with the Pinkerton detectives who eventually tracked them down, or if they escaped once more. DNA from the bodies at the side of the shootout has since proved they were not Cassidy or sun Dance. No matter whether you envision an epic shootout where Butch and Sundance died in a blaze of glory or an ingenious dodge where they once again planned the perfect escape, They've left us with an enduring and

legendary story. Some outlaws, though, have left behind something darker. I'm Lauren Vogelbaum. Welcome to American Shadows. His name was George Friederic Menus. Maybe you've never heard of a French Wild West outlaw, but George was born in Montbeille, of France on March eighteen thirty four. He was married there too, to Lucie Mathilde m Lindon. The two shared deep roots in the area and soon became parents to a boy. All seemed well until George left his family and traveled

to America on April seventeenth of eighteen sixty two. While that alone wasn't done heard of, plenty of immigrants established themselves in America before sending for their families, but George didn't.

He cut ties and changed his first name to George and his last name to Parrot like the bird, but with a second tea and sure immigrants often changed their names in an attempt to fit in, or maybe to make a name easier for English speakers to pronounce George, though given his appearance, it seems more likely that he took the physical feature and embraced it. He stood five ft ten and weighed a hundred and sixty pounds. His hair and mustache were dark and bushy, and his eyes

were dark and heavily litted. George wasn't really considered handsome, but he did have one standout feature, his nose. His nose was large. Some say it looked like a parrot's beak, hence the nickname's big Nose George and big beak Parrot. George headed west, where the lore and promise of land parcels were common and railroads made the trip easy. Some of the largest and richest employers were also out west.

Once into Code territory, George found that an honest man could make an honest day's wages if he was willing to put in the back breaking work. He found employment as a freight wagon driver, hauling supplies to gold rushed towns. From there, he worked the railroad on gold or shipments to the Union Pacific Railroad depots in Sydney, Nebraska and Cheyenne, Wyoming,

all honest work and honest pay. George found the competition tough, though the West was full of other immigrants and settlers, all trying to cash in on the government's offer of free land, much to the Dakota people's dismay. As you might imagine, the West was pretty close to a free for all. Sure, there were law men, but in some cases by the barest of definitions. Before long, George found a lucrative job with a gang of seven cattle wrestlers.

Stage coaches became their next target. After a string of successful robberies, the emboldened gang felt confident in their ability to pull off something larger. This time, they set their sights on the Union Pacific Railroad. Probably inspired by the finesse with which Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid pulled off train robberies. George and the gang might have thought it would be an easy payday. They'd leave the gold

it was heavy and made fast getaways difficult. Instead, they set their sights on the payroll money that should be on board. But George and the gang didn't train their horses, nor did they infiltrate elite parties to glean information on their intended target. They went with the basic knowledge that the train sometimes carried payroll. On Sunday, August eighteen seventy eight, they took a page from other outlaws and loosened a spike along a desolate stretch of track near Medicine Bow.

When the train derailed, their rest would be easy. All they had to do was wait. Unfortunately for the outlaws, a large crew of repairmen arrived ahead of the train to check the tracks. They hadn't thought of this. One of the gang members wanted to kill the servicemen, but George and another member thought missing linemen would raise a red flag. Frustrated, the would be robbers had to wait in hiding all day until the repair crew left before

removing the spike again. Their lack of planning became their undoing. Missing spikes had become a popular technique among train robbers, and the repairman reported the instant upon their return. The train stayed at the station while George and the others waited for it to arrive. When it didn't, the gang realized their mistake and fled. Authorities weren't far behind, though, a search party along with the Carbon County Sheriff Robert Whiteford and Railroad special agent H. H. Vincent were on

the men's trail. The two had a good idea of who they were looking for. George and the others had been spotted in the area just days before. The lawmen separated from the rest of the search team, finally coming across the gang's hideout and rattlesnake can in, finding evidence that the camp had recently been vacated. They knew they were close, they just had no idea how close. George and the others had decided to ambush the lawmen. Instead

of running outnumbered, widow Field and Vincent were killed. The gang stole their weapons and valuables through the bodies into the brush, and left, feeling secure that they had covered their tracks. Back in town, the remainder of the search party suspected foul play. When Widowfield and Vincent didn't return, they put together a larger search team. Ten days later, they found the bodies. Officials in Carbon County quickly organized a manhunt and offered a hefty reward two thousand dollars,

which would be over fifty thousand in today's money. Widow Field and Vincent were the first lawmen killed in the line of duty, and authorities didn't care if George and the others were captured, dead or alive. The gang had a botched train robbery, empty pockets, and a price on their heads. Naturally, they fled. Two men split from the group, taking their chances on their own. For a short while, it looked like this plan worked. Their luck wouldn't hold though.

A string of bizarre twists soon began to unravel their plans, and little did they know things were about to get worse. First, one of the outlaws died from tuberculosis. Another Dutch, Charlie Burris, made the mistake of staying too close to town, and the authorities captured him within weeks. Days after that, the former fugitive sat handcuffed and shackled on a train heading back to Carbon County. Sheriff Jim Rankin wrote along as an escort to ensure Dutch Charlie made it to trial.

The transport had been arranged quietly, but in a small western town, secrets had a way of traveling at lightning speed. As soon as the train stopped to refuel at that evening, a group of armed and masked men burst into the cabin. Within minutes, they had dragged Dutch Charlie outside where a mob had gathered. Deciding that a court of law would take too long, the masked men beat the outlaw, finally getting a full confession from him. The admission didn't save him, though.

The mob dragged Dutch Charlie to a telegraph pole and strung him up as a message to other would be outlaws. They left his body swinging at the end of the rope a full day before cutting him down and chucking his body into a coal car, the rope still around his neck. Despite hearing the news, the rest of the gang returned to their old ways. They robbed a stagecoach and made off with seven thousand dollars that would be over seven hundred thousand today. Though it was their biggest

pay day yet, it had come at a cost. One member died from gunshot wounds. Once again, the gang found themselves on the run. They rode for days, putting miles behind them, finally stopping in Yellowstone County, Montana. With their new wealth from a successful heist, two of the outlaws decided that this was where they parted ways. George and a couple of others stayed behind, though within a year

they spent their entire windfall. One February night, the men were sitting in a local saloon lamenting their lack of funds, when they overheard that Morris Can, a merchant and one of the richest men in Montana, was planning a trip to North Dakota for supplies. The desperadoes went right to work on a plan. A military ambulance and an escort of fifteen soldiers were also making their way to North Dakota,

and Can had managed to secure passage with them. Sweetening the deal, the soldiers would be carrying a neighboring town's payroll. All George and the gang needed to do must follow the caravan beyond the Powder River, crossing into the steep walled valley beyond it. If they timed it just right, Can and the others would walk straight into an ambush.

And the plan worked. When the first segment of riders entered the valley and made the first turn around large boulders, George and two others held them at gunpoint, then secured them and their weapons. Moments later, the second group, including Can, rounded the bend and found themselves looking down the barrels of several shotguns. All the men were robbed of cash and valuables. To add insult, the outlaws took hands peach, Brandy, and the lead sergeant's horse. As the gang rode off,

they tossed the wagon driver a cigar. They fled across the Yellowstone River before doubling back north, returning to Miles City in Montana. It had gone perfectly, they thought, except for one thing. Despite wearing bandanas and wide brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes, George's big nose had given them away. It didn't take long before authorities arrested him.

Of course, bragging about the exploit didn't do him any favors, but although he was put on trial for the robbery, no one made the connection to the wanted poster for murder just a few miles south. During the trial, a witness testified that George had been in Buffalo Springs at the time of the hold up, making it impossible for him to have been in Powder Springs. The witnesses had been paid for the testimony, but it did the trick.

The case ended with an acquittal. George felt rather pleased with himself, and once back at the saloon, he bragged about the crimes to all who would listen. He falsely claimed that he had done jobs with more renowned outlaws like Jesse James and the Wild Bunch, and all that attention seeking tipped off locals who spread the word. Soon the United States Army was rumored to be heading to Miles City with a score to settle. Once more, the

gang was forced to flee. They made their way three hundred miles north to Rocky Gap, where the men took ranch jobs while keeping an ear out for stage coach runs. When the men weren't working, they spent the evenings at another local watering hole, planning to rob a paymaster's wagon due to arrive from Helena, but the wagons escort party proved too large to take on. Without many stage coaches, opportunities proved few and far between, and the gang headed

back to Wyoming. After failed attempts at multiple robberies and run ins with angry and well armed ranchers, they returned to Miles City by now though Tom Irvin, the local sheriff, had seen the wanted posters. While the rest of the gang left town, George took refuge at a friend's cabin. The sheriff had his own plan, had been watching the cabin and noticed that a sex worker was a frequent visitor. Irvin struck a deal with the woman, who reported back

to him. Irvin hired two additional deputies, both of whom George wouldn't know. They posed as prospect buyers to scope out the property. The first time the men showed up, they were met with rifles. When the men presented no threat, George let his guard down. On the second visit, the deputies were greeted unarmed. Then the sheriff came out of hiding and George was hauled off to jail. Once more. The news traveled far and wide. Then another of the

murdered lawman's killers had been caught. Time hadn't reduced to the anger of the people living in Carbon County. If anything, it burned hotter and brighter than it ever had before. It was a big day for the authorities. On August fourteenth of eighteen eighty, Sheriff Rankin arrived in Miles City with extradition papers and a couple of newly sworn in deputies. A posse formed to assist with safe passage for the officials and their prisoner to the steamboat landing on the

Yellowstone River. The sheriff had taken no chances. Handcuffed and shackled, George wasn't going to escape. Once the steamboat docked in Omaha, Nebraska, Rankin ushered the outlaw to the Union Pacific Railroad headquarters. George's mug shot was taken, one of only two known photos of him in existence. Then the interrogation began. Though they tried for hours, Rankin and the others couldn't get a single confession. George repeatedly and calmly denied his involvement

in the robberies and the murders. When the train to Cheyenne, Wyoming arrived, the officials continued the interrogation on route to the next stop. Without a confession. The outlaw began to feel pretty confident about as chances for another acquittal. One thing had to sit on his mind. Though. They were headed to Rowlins, the same trip Dutch Charlie had taken, and just like that trip, the train stopped for fuel

and water. As the train pulled into the station, George noticed the stores were lit in celebration and people danced in the streets. Detecting that their prisoners seemed nervous, Rankin and the deputies recounted the night the crowds had strung up Dutch Charlie. They took turns telling the story how the mob had dragged him to his fate. They spared no detail. George began to sweat. As they finished with how the body had been discarded into a coal bin.

The doors to the cabin flew open. A dozen armed and masked men stormed inside, easily overcoming the sheriff and deputies. Rankin called upon the passengers to intervene, that justice should be in the hands of the corps. The passengers eyed the armed men, and, figuring an outlaw wasn't worth the effort, stayed in their seats. One masked man wielding an axe broke George's shackles. Feeling pretty certain that the mob wasn't there to rescue him, he grabbed one of the men's guns.

The struggle was short lived, and the men quickly wrestled the gun away. They dragged George off the train. The train platform was a sea of angry men and women, each of them calling to string him up. Some demanded to know why he had killed the law men. Still protesting to the bitter end, he denied both the robbery attempt and the murders. His persistent innocence acted like a fuel to a fire. Another angry round of string him up erupted. More hands grabbed him, and as they hauled

George from the platform, the chanting and cheering continued. He begged them to shoot him instead, but they ignored his please. They dragged him down the street to a corral. The crowd applauded and cheered louder when someone tossed a rope over a beam. One of the men placed the noose over his head. Faced with eminent death, George begged the crowd once more, telling them he was scared, and asked for a few moments to compose himself. The crowd quieted

down and waited. Finally, George confessed, at least somewhat. He admitted that he was part of the gang, and that they had killed the men because, as the old adage says, dead men told no tales. It had been Dutch Charlie's idea, he insisted. Then he waited to see what they'd do with his partially true confession behind him. He expected then hang him anyway. Instead, the leader ordered him returned to the sheriff. They had gotten a confession, after all, let

the courts order a legal execution. The group pushed and shoved him back to the station and tossed him unceremoniously into the train car. Witnesses said George collapsed into a seat, shaking and laughing until he cried. Outside. The crowd began to dance again, and Rankin smiled at his prisoner. He had a confession, and as far as he was concerned, the townfolk hadn't hung an innocent man the night that strung up Dutch Charlie. George stayed in jail until the

preliminary hearings in September of eighteen eighty. Right from the start he pled guilty, though once the court gave him a lawyer, he recanted his confession. There wouldn't be an acquittal this time. The case went to trial and the court found George guilty. On December sev the judge sentenced him to death by hanging, scheduling the date of execution for April second of eight one, between the hours of

ten and four. Bailiffs had to support George back to his cell in an attempt to protest his execution, he staged a hunger strike. It didn't take long to figure out that no one much cared if a condemned man starved to death. When that failed, he claimed had repented and had converted to Christianity in the hopes that his captors would grant him more freedom, and it worked too. Over time, they permitted George to roam the hall outside

his jail cell. Over the next few months, he collected a knife and a piece of sandstone and began planning his escape. That day came when Sheriff Rankin left town, putting his brother Robert in charge of the jail. On the night of March twenty second, George used the knife to file down the rivets on his leg shackles, and then waited. As soon as Robert rounded the corner to lock the prisoners in their cells, he leaped from his hiding place and struck the jailer in the head at

the eight pound shackles. Robert fought back, all the while shouting for his wife. As you might imagine, Rosa didn't take to the assault on her husband. Sitting down, she sweet talked the outlaw back into a cell with a loaded still leveled at his head while her sister went for help. Later, the women were awarded a gold watching key in a velvet lined box for their service and bravery. Needless to say, no one believed George had truly found

Jesus after that. The news of the attack, in the form of Rose's sister running down the street in search of help, enraged the citizens. Before long, a mob formed outside the jail. Around ten that night, the mob burst through the door and stole the cell keys. A few masked men headed towards the cells. Instead of being afraid, George Oddley mistook their intention as a rescue mission. The men whisked him from his cell and out onto the street. The side of the mob made him realize his mistake.

They were there to watch him drop. With a sudden stop. They placed the noose around his neck, tied his hands, and forced him onto a barrel under a telegraph pole. The sister law of one of the murdered men, kicked the barrel instead of hanging. The rope snapped, and George tumbled to the ground, choking and gasping for air. Within minutes they had another rope ready. They forced him up a twelve foot ladder and slid the noose around his neck. Just as they pushed the ladder away, George managed to

slide his hands free and grab the telegraph pole. He begged them to just shoot him. Instead, the mob grew quiet and waited for him to lose his grip. The news spread of how the citizens had hanged Big Nose George and Dutch Charlie. Other outlaws decided to slip out of town rather than meet the same end. But hangings weren't the only way citizens had of preventing would be outlaws from messing with Carbon County, Wyoming. Because it seems there really was a fate worse than death. No family

stepped forward to aimed. George's body had abandoned them in France years before. If any of the remaining gang members were still alive, they knew better than to step foot in Carbon County. But his corpse was claimed by two doctors and their medical assistant. Doctors McGhee and Osbourne studied criminals, and they had a keen interest in George's brain. Surely there had to be some abnormality that might explain his

criminal behavior. First, they made a death mask of George then sawed off the top of the dead man's skull. An autopsy of the brain turned up no clues. Though disappointed, they decided to use the body for well other things. Assistant Lillian Heath, who would eventually go on to become Wyoming's first female physician, took Big Nosed George's skull cap as a souvenir. Dr Osborne sent George's body to a tannery in Denver, ordering two things made from the human hide,

a pair shoes and a medical bag. The rest of the remains were dismembered, placed into a barrel, and buried. Dr Osborne was quite proud of those shoes when the people of Wyoming swore him in years later as governor, he wore them to the inauguration and the ball that followed. And then time moved on, The city grew and the story of Big Nose George slowly faded away. But seventy years later, in nine a construction company came upon a

grizzly discovery a barrel with human remains inside. Law enforcement were called in, but they determined that the body wasn't recent and summoned historians instead. Noting the missing skull cap. They assumed they had found Big Nose George. To be sure, though, they called the only person still alive who might be able to solve the puzzle, doctor Lillian Heath. Intrigued, she arrived with a skull cap in hand. Over the years she had used it as a planter, a paper weight,

and even an ashtray. As she looked at the skull from the barrel, she placed the cap over the clean hole on top, and it was a perfect fit, like Cinderella's slipper, only darker. This time, George received a proper burial, minus the skull cap and shoes. Of course, those, along with the shackles, were all handed over to the Carbon County Museum as relics from a bygone day. The medical bag, though,

has never been recovered. There's more to this story. Stick around after this brief sponsor break to hear all about it. Nay can be confusing. When he was born in Lancaster, Massachusetts, in eighteen o nine, his parents called him James Allen. Later on, though, he went by a number of different aliases Jonas Pierce, James York and others, but mostly folks called him George Walton. Orphaned as a child, his grandparents did the best they could to raise him, but when

he was a young teen, they too passed away. Now entirely on his own, he returned to Lancaster. He applied for work as a sailor, but was rejected. After holding down a few odd jobs, he turned to crime, landing him in jail at the age of fifteen. With time to kill, Walton read a lot and even learned a few trades. After his release, he teamed up with a former prisoner and the two went back to the life

they knew best, burglary. Like many of the legitimate jobs he had held, Walton wasn't very good at stealing, and saw him revisiting jail on and off for years. Each time he had read more and learn new skills, yet upon release he always went right back to its criminal ways. His favorite mode of operation was to hide just off the side of the road, then jump out when a wagon was passing by. He had level a pistol at

the driver and shout your money or your life. Normally, people chose their life, tossed him their money and fled, but that didn't happen when Walton tried his routine on a large and rather intimidating traveler named John Fenno. When Walton made his usual demand, Fenno briefly paused to consider the offer and then chose both. Walton had never been challenged before, and it took him by surprise before he could back up his threat. Fenno leapt from the wagon

and the two fought. Moments later, Walton fired his pistol, grazing Fenno's chest. Realizing he had just shot a man, he fled. Authorities offered a one thousand dollar reward for his capture, forcing Walton to go into hiding. The reward money proved too tempting to one of his own criminal friends, and the man turned him in. Walton was convicted on February twenty one, eighteen thirty four, and sentenced to serve

time at the State Penitentiary in Charlestown. Yes, he was headed back behind bars, yet again, a common theme for his life. This visit turned out to be a life sentence, though, but not because a judge said so. You see, while he was in there, George Walton contracted tuberculosis, and apparently the fatal illness changed him. That along with a surprise visit from John Fennel Walton spent his last remaining days

in jail writing his own memoir. When he finished, he asked the warden to make two copies and then have each bound into a book, but not with ordinary leather. No, he requested that his own skin be used as a cover, and amazingly, the warden followed through with it. After George Walton died in eighty seven, the warden kept his promise and sent the body to a tannery and the memoir to a printing press. Two copies were made. One stayed with the warden and the other went to none other

than George's last victim, John Fenno. Both men kept those books for the rest of their lives. Eventually, one copy found its way to the Boston Atheneum's collection, and every year at Halloween the library puts the book on display as part of their spooky offerings. It's unclear how that copy ended up in the library's collection. Some believed Fenno's daughter, feeling a lot less enamored with the book than her father, donated it after inheriting his estate. But the second Coppy, Well,

it seems the book is still missing. Maybe it's in a private collection or perhaps it's sitting forgotten in an attic in someone's home. Either way, I think it's fair to say that George Walton's journey has come to a dead end. American Shadows is hosted by Lauren Vogelbaum. This episode was written by Michelle Muto with researcher Robin Miniter, and produced by Miranda Hawkins and Trevor Young, with executive

producers Aaron Minky, Alex Williams, and Matt Frederick. To learn more about the show, visit Grim and Mild dot com. For more podcasts from my Heart Radio, visit the I Heart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Who