Randy Stapilus - Outlaw Tales of Idaho: True Stories of the Gem States Most Infamous Crooks, Culprits, and Cutthroats

Randy Stapilus is an author, blogger, newsletter publisher, and former newspaper reporter and editor. He also wrote It Happened in Idaho, published by The Globe Pequot Press. A longtime Idaho resident, he now lives in Carlton, Oregon, with his wife, Linda, a cat, and a varying number of dogs.

This book would not have been what it is without help from a bunch of Idahoans.

First, collectively, everyone at the Idaho Historical Society provided great help. This is the prime source for information about Idaho history, and its new, more spacious building allows more room for storageand improved prospects for locating key historical documents.

Judi Austin, who edited the Idaho Yesterdays magazine for the society for many years, is one of the core human resources any wise Idaho researcher will tap. Her suggestions and background (setting me on the track of the newly found Harry Orchard confession, for example) were invaluable.

Byron Johnson and Marty Peterson, who also provided important counsel, are two veterans of Idaho politics and government. Reciting their resumes would occupy a chapter at least; suffice it here to say that Johnson is a former state Supreme Court justice, Peterson is a former budget director and cities association leader and an advisor to the president of the University of Idaho, and both are passionate about Idaho history. Their advice on several chapters was very helpful.

And, of course, thanks to my wife Linda, whose support makes all my books possible.

The high mountain sky was mostly blue, but dark gray clouds were rolling in; the brisk air required only the shelter of shirtsleeves, but the wind turned periodically chill. It was early October in the Bitterroot Mountains when the nine men made their way west on a barely visible trail.

They were six days out of Bannack, six days walking with their small pack train out of the valley and up into the mountains, a month later than most packers wanted to be traveling. The mountains were rugged, and the only good thing to say about their situation was that the ranges dividethe highest point of their journeywas a couple of days behind them. They were into the Clearwater River basin now, but high up above the river, sloshing through the thinnest of its headwaters from time to time. Snow sometimes fell up here in October, and the nine men were eager to move on.

Apart from that, the agendas of the nine men were not all the same.

The pack leader was Lloyd Magruder, a businessman who lived in Lewistona hundred miles or so westnow returning from dropping off a large pack train of supplies in the Montana mining camps. Most of his crew remained in Bannack or Virginia City, but his chief packer, Charles Allen, was headed back with him.

They had not wanted to make the risky trek alone, so they threw out a net for other men to accompany them. Fellow packer Bill Phillips was also headed westeither to Lewiston or Walla Walla. Two brothers, named Chalmers, were a pair of runabouts looking for work. The youngest of the bunch was Billy Page, a teenaged adventure seeker returning to his digs in Walla Walla. Three other rough-looking characters, who seemed to have knocked around the West but whose backgrounds were a little mysterious, were David Renton, Christopher Lower, and James Romain.

Magruder, who knew the way better than the others, was satisfied with their progress. The sun started its slip behind the mountains ahead, and as the group rounded its way into a clearing, bounded by a ravine on one side and a low cliff on the other, Magruder called a halt and announced that theyd camp here for the night.

Allen, less familiar with this path than Magruder but aware of mountain weather, pulled out his tent. Well have snow in the morning, he declared. Magruder looked pensive; the others all said Allen was overreacting, tossed out their bedrolls, and started a couple of campfires. They set the horses to graze on the far side of the clearing.

Darkness was falling by the time theyd finished eating. Magruder, puffing his pipe, was still mulling over the weather. He had agreed to take the first shift on guard, together with Lower. They walked into the forest, Magruder with his rifle and Lower with an ax, to gather more wood. They returned and piled it on the fires. Magruder caught a glimpse of the kid, Billy Page, watching this activityhe seemed to have a case of the nerves, no telling about what.

Magruder put it out of his mind as the night wore on. He and Lower talked by the fire, and then Renton, who said hed had trouble getting to sleep, joined them. The night was silent but for the crackling of the fire and the softly spoken words of the men around it.

Renton remarked that the fire needed more wood and offered to cut some more. Lower stood up, grabbed his ax, and said hed join him. Magruder nodded and leaned forward to light his pipe by the fire.

At that moment, Lower swung the flat of his ax and smashed it through the back of Magruders skull, smacking his head forward into the fire. Magruder died instantly. But Renton grabbed the ax and swung it down on Magruders head again, just to make sure.

That was the start of the killing.

Renton gestured to Romainthe third in his groupand they walked over to Page, who was awake and wide-eyed. You awake? Renton asked.

Page, in near-shock, nodded.

Good, he said, stay there.

Its happening, Page thought as he lay there, frozen in place. Lower had hinted a few days before that this would happen, and he hadnt believed it. Now he was lying in the middle of a killing ground.

Romain and Renton walked softly to where the Chalmers brothers slept, and each brought an ax head down on one of the brothers. After a few muffled groans, they were gone.

They slipped back near Page, where Phillips was asleep, and smashed in his skull.

That left Allen, sleeping in his tent. This called for a change of tactics, so Renton ducked back to his bedroll, grabbed his shotgun, made his way to Allens tent, and shot through itblowing off part of Allens head.

Apart from the three killers, only Page was left. Romain walked over to him. Youre scared, he observed. Youre all atremble. No need to worry, he said: All the dirty work is done.

North-central Idaho is rugged, challenging country, almost entirely mountainous. Even today it remains lightly settled, and few roads traverse it. The stretch of U.S. Highway 12 that passes through Idahowhich travelers drive from Lewiston on the west border of Idaho to Lolo, Montana, just past the east borderwas completed only in the 1960s. South or north of that, the next highway system running east-west is more than a hundred miles away. But there is also one very rough, unpaved, and difficult backcountry road, a pathway running along the thin gap between the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness and the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. It is sometimes hiked or bicycled, and occasionally driven with great care in motor vehicles, but it is so rough that it is not usually described as a road. Most people, and even official government publications, call it the Magruder Corridor.

It was named for Lloyd Magruder, a Lewiston man, one of the citys first businessmen. Modern-day travelers struggling along the corridor can at least take heart that their experience on the road is better than his.

Magruder brought his wife and children from California to Lewiston in 1862. Down in California, he had heard all about the spectacular new gold fields up north, at Pierce and Orofino. He was ambitious but not grasping, rather a steadier, more stolid figure than the mining country usually attracted. Magruder had little interest in mining, but he knew if miners were nearby, they would need a place to spend their money.