The Hoosier & the Hangman

By: The Man Behind the Mask

It was bitterly cold in southwestern Montana on the night of January 4, 1864. But the group of men gathered around the old cottonwood tree had their minds on other things. Their attention was on the small, red-haired fellow who stood before them.

He was perched on a stool which itself stood on another stool. A rope dangled from a tree limb downward until it looped around his neck. He was facing justice, or at least that’s what the group had told him. And if it’s true that a person’s life passes before his eyes in the moments before death, then perhaps the man traveled back to his Indiana childhood—and the path that had led to this end.

His name was Erastus Yeager, and he was born in Vermillion County, Indiana in 1830 or ’31; the records aren’t clear on that point. His father, John B. Yeager, was a farmer, attorney, mill operator, or whatever the situation called for. John and his wife Sarah were both native Hoosiers. Erastus was their second child, and there would be eight others over the next two decades.

In about 1832, the Yeager family moved north to Tippecanoe County, eventually buying land in the West Point area, southwest of Lafayette. Little is known about their life during this time, so one can assume that it was fairly typical of frontier families in Indiana. Erastus and his siblings undoubtedly helped around the farm. They may have received some limited schooling as well. What is known is that young Yeager spent more time in this area than any other place in his life.

Things get a bit clearer in 1842 when the Yeagers moved to Moscow, Iowa.

Young Erastus and his siblings attended a local school. Granville Stuart, who would become one of the great cattle barons of the American West, was one of Yeager’s friends and classmates. He later wrote about his Hoosier pal, describing him as short and slight with a shock of dark, red hair. Erastus, he said, was quiet and intelligent and avoided trouble. He enjoyed hunting wild turkey and deer. And he came from a large family—9 children, all of whom helped around the farm. Father Yeager started a law practice and ran a lumber mill. It must have been a relatively comfortable period in Erastus Yeager’s life.

That changed in 1849, when Sarah Yeager died soon after giving birth to her tenth child. The family began to splinter as Erastus’ brothers and sisters found mates and set up their own households. His father, aged 54, returned to Indiana to find his second wife, Amanda. She was only 17, two years younger than Erastus, and the situation must have been awkward. The young man moved in with his older brother William and his family.

In the early 1850s, William moved his family (along with Erastus) to Washington Territory, where he was elected marshal of Olympia. Erastus had a freighting business that delivered supplies to the mining camps in the territory.

But he caught the gold fever himself, and by the early 1860s he was in the boomtown of Walla Walla. And over the next couple of years, he gradually moved east, seeking his fortune in Idaho Territory (which, at that time, included Wyoming and Montana). Around this time, Yeager picked up the nickname of “Red” because of his hair color. He was described as being about five foot five and slight of build. He gained a reputation as a good cook. He remained unmarried as he continued on the paths of the gold camps. His final stop was Bannack, Montana in late August of 1863.

Montana was a difficult place to live and work in the mid-19th century. It was isolated from any significant towns or cities. The roads were rough. The railroads didn’t come to the region. The winters brought heavy snows and sub-zero temperatures. The summers were uncomfortably hot. There were few women and almost no opportunities for entertainment. So most of the men drank heavily, gambled for days at a time, and frequently got into fights. To make matters worse, there weren’t that many successful mining operations. Men often had to turn to other occupations to make enough money to stay alive. In more than a few cases, they turned outlaw and stole money or goods from those who were better off.

Red Yeager became a bartender at the Rattlesnake Ranch, an inn about 15 miles east of Bannack on the road to Virginia City. He was well liked and respected for his courteous and friendly manner--and he could handle himself in tough situations. In November 1863, Yeager broke up a fight between newspaper editor/lawyer Wilbur Sanders and Deputy Sheriff Jack Gallagher. Sanders would later say that Red had probably saved his life. But when the time came, Sanders did not reciprocate.

According to the story, the southwest region of Montana had an outlaw problem that was out of hand. There were reports of prospectors being killed at their camps. Robberies were rampant. The legal system, including law enforcement and the courts, was in its infancy and not up to the challenge. Some local officials decided that the only way they could restore law and order was to go outside the law—so they formed a vigilante group. There would be no mercy for the wicked. They would hang without benefit of a formal trial.

The members of the vigilance committee included some impressive names. Territorial Chief Justice Sidney Edgerton was one. His nephew, Wilbur Sanders, served as the prosecutor for the group. He would later become a US Senator. Paris Pfouts was the first mayor of Virginia City. Captain James Williams was a community leader. John Xavier Beidler—or “X”—later put on the star of a US Marshal.

Not all would mount their horses for the late night raids. Edgerton and Sanders never laid hold of a rope to swing an outlaw into eternity. But they all swore to root out the criminal element in their own ways. The first challenge: identify the bad guys.

There were rumors, of course. Some claimed that Sheriff Henry Plummer and his deputies actually led the outlaws, protecting themselves with the badges they wore while they killed and looted without challenge. But there was no proof…yet.

The first name on the death list was that of Alex Carter, who allegedly killed another man. In early January 1864, the vigilantes—led by Captain Williams-- were about to set out to capture Carter when they saw a lone rider headed in the same direction. It was Red Yeager, and he was delivering a note from local misfit George Brown to Carter. The vigilantes waited until he came back and then headed to Carter’s camp. He wasn’t there.

The nightriders were certain that Yeager had tipped off Carter, allowing him to escape justice. They were furious as they went after Red and George Brown, and when the vigilantes found the pair they took them to a cottonwood tree on the banks of the Stinking Water River. Brown died first, alternately cursing his executioners and begging for mercy. The noose choked off his words.

Red Yeager must have known that he was headed for the same end. His captors demanded that he confess his crimes and name the other members of the outlaw gang. He did so, perhaps hoping that talking would spare his life. It didn’t. He was placed on top of a stool on top of another stool; the rope was placed around his neck. Some of the vigilantes reported that he was very calm through the whole process, even shaking hands with the men who were about to kill him. One of them then kicked out the bottom stool. Yeager probably died slow, strangling to death in the cold winter air. The executioners later pinned a note to his back: “Red! Road agent and messenger.” The next day, the bodies of Brown and Yeager were buried in an unmarked hole near the tree where they died.

For the vigilantes, this was a beginning and not an end. Over the next month they would lynch 19 more men, all of them allegedly named by Red Yeager. Sheriff Plummer and his deputies were among them, hanged on the gallows that Plummer himself had built for legal executions. And over the next thirty years, the vigilance committees would arise again and again to stifle outlaw activities in the region.

The Montana Vigilantes would go down in history as heroes who had successfully fought one of the most vicious gangs in the American West. It was a legacy they actually helped to create, writing newspaper articles and books that would be accepted by historians and Old West buffs up to the present day. Yeager’s family members didn’t pass on the stories to their children or grandchildren. They would only admit that an Erastus Yeager was “a skeleton in the family closet,” a relative to be forgotten and not to be discussed.

At that point, the tale of Erastus “Red” Yeager should have come to an end. It didn’t.

A little more than a hundred years after the Montana Vigilantes began their reign of noose justice, the stories came under new scrutiny. The vigilantes or their supporters had authored most of the books and magazine articles that formed the foundation of the stories. And that raised questions about accuracy and fairness. After all, wouldn’t men who worked outside the law paint themselves in the best possible light? And wouldn’t they also portray their victims as being virtually inhuman in their crimes?

This analysis first appeared in the 1960s, but it was given greater credence and support in a trilogy of books by R.E. Mather and her husband F.E. Boswell: Hanging the Sheriff; Vigilante Victims; and Gold Camp De

speradoes. Among their findings:

• There was no evidence that an organized outlaw gang was committing the crimes in Montana.
• Several of the alleged crimes probably never occurred.
• Almost all of the men hanged had no previous criminal records.
• The alleged outlaws were, for the most part, personal enemies or political rivals of the vigilante leaders.
• The vigilantes made up evidence about the hanging victims.

Which brings us back to Erastus Yeager. Mather and Boswell say that he probably did carry a warning note to Alex Carter that led to the alleged killer’s escape. But Yeager told his executioners that he hadn’t read the note, that he was only doing a favor for friend George Brown. The authors believe him.

But what about his confession? And the list of outlaws that Yeager gave the vigilantes?

The authors again discount both of those items. Yeager did not sign any confession or statement. And it appears that the vigilantes did not take down notes at the hanging site. Several of them later wrote down their recollections, including the list of gang members. But their notes didn’t match one another. All differed on the number of outlaws, and they also included different names. One said that Yeager cried and pleaded for his life; the others reported that he faced death with dignity and courage.

Interestingly, Yeager’s boyhood friend Granville Stuart partially supported this argument. Stuart was living in the Bannack/Virginia City area at the time of the hangings. He’d even run into Yeager a few times, but the rancher knew the bartender as “Red,” a relatively new nickname for Yeager. Only after the lynching did Stuart learn the full identity of the red-haired man. Stuart later wrote that he believed Yeager was part of an outlaw group—but he didn’t think the dead man knew the names of the other gang members.

If all this is true, then why was Erastus Yeager lynched?

Mather and Boswell say that James Williams, the leader of the vigilante expedition, became furious when he discovered that Alex Carter had gotten away. He and X Beidler wanted somebody to pay for it—and there was Yeager, who carried a note to Carter that precipitated the escape.

But there were other factors. The vigilantes wanted to send a message to other criminals (or political adversaries), and the lynchings of Brown and Yeager made their point in a profound manner. Besides, the hangings assured that the two men couldn’t warn others to get out of the region. Dead men tell no tales, indeed. And if nothing else, the Yeager confession provided a pretense for all of the “executions” that were carried out in early 1864.

The bottom line in the Boswell and Mather analysis is that Erastus “Red” Yeager didn’t do anything wrong—certainly nothing that deserved the ultimate punishment. He was an innocent man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So this young man with Indiana roots lies buried in southwestern Montana. Bannack is a ghost town and Virginia City is nearly so, with some of the old buildings preserved as historical items. Few people, including descendants of Yeager’s brothers and sisters, know anything about him. Those who do tend to believe the legends of the Plummer Gang, one of the worst outlaw outfits in the Wild West.

But as so often happens, the truth is much more complicated.

Another Hoosier Who Got the Noose

Erastus “Red” Yeager was only one of the 22 men hanged by the Montana vigilantes. Another victim also had Indiana ties.

Buck Stinson probably was born in Putnam County, but his family moved just south of New Castle in the 1830s. We know little about his life there. In the 1840s, when Buck was 14, the Stinsons moved to northeast Missouri.

He continued to drift west and by 1862 Stinson had reached Montana. In 1863, the gold fever brought him to Bannack.

Buck was a barber by trade, setting up shop in the front of Cyrus Skinner’s saloon on Main Street. He was one of the few men to find a wife in Montana; he and Anna found a house just a short walk away from his workplace. When Henry Plummer came to the area and became sheriff, he hired Stinson as one of his deputies.

Stinson is generally described as a conscientious man who often rode many miles in his position as a law officer. He apparently was good with a gun, which sure didn’t hurt him in carrying out the job. But he sometimes didn’t use his head—and alcohol may have been a problem.

In March 1863, some locals formed a posse to retrieve stock stolen by Indians. The men never returned. So Stinson and some of his friends put together their own group and attacked a local Indian camp. Five of the natives were killed. Military officials chewed out the posse-members, which proved a bit embarrassing for Buck and the boys.

But that didn’t stop him from getting into an affray in June. Another deputy charged that Stinson and some of his pals were planning to rob a couple of miners. Buck and friends confronted the deputy in Virginia City. Guns were pulled and when the smoke cleared, the deputy was dead. Stinson and another man were convicted of murder and sentenced to hang. But a miner’s jury decided to spare their lives and banished them from the town.

Stinson got into yet another shooting scrape, although it was a bit less serious than the killing of the deputy. Buck had been drinking, and when he left the saloon he saw his dog lounging in the street. Buck ordered it to come to him, and when the animal failed to respond Stinson fired a shot. He later said that he only intended to get the dog’s attention, but the bullet killed it on the spot.

On January 4, 1864 Red Yeager allegedly named Stinson as a member of the main outlaw gang. Stinson was unaware that he’d been fingered and continued in his normal duties. On Sunday evening, January 10 Buck and his wife were dressed in their Sunday finery in preparation for church service. Before they could leave, a group of vigilantes took him into custody. Anna Stinson knew what was coming and tried to protect her husband—but to no avail.

The group then picked up Deputy Ed Ray and Sheriff Henry Plummer and took the prisoners to Hangman’s Gulch. Plummer had erected a very basic gallows at that location and the vigilantes thought that justice would be served by hanging the lawmen from their own structure. Ray was first, followed by Stinson and then Plummer. Each was hoisted up to slowly strangle in the winter wind. It’s believed they were buried nearby.

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