Descent into the Land of the Wild Bunch
Where Mysteries Still Remain
In central Wyoming lies a brilliant bluff of red sandstone rising out of the hilly, ragged, parched country and dormant grasses all around. It was in this area, near a pass or "hole" in this red wall, that gangs such as Butch Cassidy's Wild Bunch operated in the waning days of the nineteenth century. Finding myself traveling through Wyoming on the way to the Canadian border, I could not help but stop to learn more as roadside signs tore at my curiosity. Soon enough I was off the highway, heading into the setting sun towards what was said to be a secluded spot full of historical significance.
It was nearly thirty miles off the highway, and the last handful made me wince a bit as the camper jostled back and forth on the bouldery grade that would take me to Outlaw Cave. I slowed down to a crawl and took the washboard spots particularly easy. Just before evening, I ambled into the primitive campground and was pleased to find only one other group there, on a Friday night no less. After trying out a few different spots trying to get my camper level, I finally settled on one below a knoll of sedimentary rock studded with scraggly trees. The spot was one of the closest I could get to the edge of the mighty canyon carved from the Middle Fork of the Powder River.
Beginning to set up camp, I popped a beer to sip while I enjoyed the sun dropping below the glimmering red escarpment. Hiking around a bit, I climbed the bluff as the sun turned the skies to orange and pink, taking in my surroundings and trying to get a birds-eye view of the canyon itself. The wind began to pick up, and the cold made my stomach grumble, so I headed back to the camper to cook up some dinner before I turned in for the night.
The trek in had been the first real off-road test of my truck with such a large, high-profile piece of cargo in the bed, and I was pleased. The journey down to the cave would have to wait for the next morning. That night would be for listening and watching, trying to imagine what it would've been like for one of those men running from the law, or whatever version of it existed in those remote areas before the dawn of the 20th century. All was still on the fall night as the sky got darker and darker, bringing out the brilliant stars above. I was elated to be out in such a historic place, with hardly a soul around and the time to explore and learn for myself what it might have been like for the outlaws in the storybooks.
After a breakfast of bacon and eggs on the stovetop the next morning, I went over my maps in Gaia and looked at a few other satellite shots to ensure that I would have some idea of where I was going once I made it down into the canyon. Once I was down there, I was not going to count on having cellular service; it was barely working up top as it was. I could see the river and the path at some points, but the caves would be a mystery until I got down there. Loading up my pack with water, snacks, and camera gear, a half hour later I was off as the midday heat began to arrive.
The Hole-in-the-Wall Gang itself was made up of various different groups of outlaws that rarely actually worked together, if at all. The most famous of these gangs was Butch Cassidy's Wild Bunch, which included names such as Harry "Sundance Kid" Longabaugh, "Elzy" Lay, Will "News" Carver, and others. Another gang was led by Tom "Black Jack" Ketchum and included the Curry brothers, who rode for both gangs at one point. Harvey Logan, who was known as "Kid Curry" after adopting George "Flat Nose" Curry's surname was said to be the wildest of the bunch, killing nearly ten law enforcement officers in five separate shootouts over the course of his outlaw career.
In a matter of moments after beginning my descent, I realized how big that fissure in the earth really was, and it was evident why that place had been chosen to hide ill-gotten plunder and spoils from curious lawmen, settlers, ranchers, and the like. The path down was rough and rocky, with crumbled ledges more than a foot tall at some points. Large boulders jutted into the path, and scrubby brush scraped the trail's edges like snarling vines. Getting horses down there would be a job in and of itself, and the rider had to be acutely aware of the changes in terrain to position themselves and the load of loot correctly to stay atop the animal. The upper parts of the canyon were arid and windblown, and the opposite walls almost looked like mesas with a flat top fading into the rock.
That name, "Hole-in-the-Wall Gang," was more of a reference to the area those groups worked out of than it was to any one gang itself. The hole-in-the-wall is remote, far from any towns even today and it has other advantages that kept onlookers out. The passes between the rough rocky outcroppings are few, yet there is also plenty of grass for cattle and horses alike right at the foot of the bluffs. When the "gang" operated in the area, there was a corral and storage for forage as well as a few cabins for sticking out the harsh Wyoming winters. Only one of these structures still stands, a two-room cabin built in 1883 on Buffalo Creek near the hole in the wall, but moved decades ago to Old Trail Town Museum in Cody, Wyoming. The other attribute of the area that drew Cassidy and others there was the array of deep yet hospitable canyons that were fed by tributaries such as the Middle Fork of the Powder River.
As I dropped further and further down the 750 feet or so to the bottom of the canyon, the topography began to change. From the harsh dryness of the desert-like plateau to an almost rich freshness similar to an alpine forest; the stones turned to mud and the tangled bushes gave way to trees that got taller and taller. The moisture created a sort of oasis at the bottom and the pines grew thick in spots and even a few stunted cedars had managed to take root down there below the winds. I could see the sunlight glimmer off of pools of water that became nearly still at a few points along the river-bottom. They'd be a good spot to find some trout I'd heard.
Glancing towards the tops of the pines, I could see a couple darker space in the rocks on either side. Some were just a ledge but others stayed dark even as my vantage point changed. They were caves of some sort, and at that moment I thought nothing of the fact that I had been able to spot them from at least 50 yards away. After another fifteen minutes or so, I was enveloped in all that brush, continuing to follow the trail ahead of me hoping it would lead to the caves. The river was still ahead of me and finally I busted through the foliage and saw the peaceful rippling waters right in front of me. Luckily for me, it was late in the season so the waters were low, waiting to be replenished by a snowy windy winter so I was able to find a place to cross in a matter of moments. A thick log jutted out into the shallow water, and I picked my way across to the opposite bank on some rocks. That side of the river had a black spot on the wall above, not twenty yards through the brush. I headed for that thinking perhaps there was a reason something had burned there.
Upon approach, I could see the rock face sloped over into the canyon, providing a scant amount of shelter overhead from the light drizzle of a rainstorm but nothing more. At its base were crumbled charcoal remains of wood that had been burned recently. Continuing down the trail, I was boxed in with flora so thick that I could no longer see the river only a few yards to my right. It was a matter of minutes before I made it further down to the large cave, the opening rising well above my head.
From afar, the cave had looked like a grand entrance to a deep labyrinth, but now I could see through the shadows to the shallow walls at its back. Even though the opening was tall with some width, the cave itself wasn't much of one in actuality. That cave just couldn't have been the place where Butch and his gang hid all the loot; it wasn't deep enough, and it was far too visible to anyone approaching. In short, it was too obvious. Moving on, I was determined to find the real cave that had hidden the stolen loot, confident that it was somewhere ahead. Continuing on, I followed the wall, looking in every small depression for the entrance to some more hidden location within.
When the wall yielded nothing, I walked back to the trail, assuming that would lead me to a cave, but it went further down and led to the river. No cave, no entrance to a cache within, just an end at the river. Glancing across the water, I could see something far on the hillside, another cave with its mouth yawning wide and dark. Scanning the river, I soon found a way across its narrow width, and looking up again, the cave seemed now almost like a lair for some beast. I half expected a mountain lion to come sauntering out as I headed up towards it. It was a bit of a scramble up to it, with the last 10 yards being loose rock, but my trusty vans held up and got the job done.
One big advantage that the Hole-in-the-wall area had over most other outlaw hideouts in general was the fact that there was plenty of grass to graze rustled cattle on while the outlaws looked around for a buyer who didn't care to ask too many questions. By 1897, it had become a well-known fact that cattle of all brands ran together around there. Eventually, Bob Divine of the CY Cattle Company got so tired of their thievery that he decided to do something about it. He organized a roundup of the cattle and was soon warned to keep out of that country by an anonymous note; otherwise, he would be shot. On Thursday, July 22nd, 1897, Divine, Montana Livestock Inspector Jim Drummond, US Deputy Marshall Joe LaFors, and cowboys from a few nearby ranches set off to round up the cattle near Outlaw Cave and herd them back through the pass among those red bluffs.
That day, the men rode in hard and passed through the Bar C gap before turning southward along the escarpment and passing through Hole-in-the-Wall Ranch until they found what they were looking for about three miles in. There they stumbled upon Bob Taylor as well as brothers Bob and Al Smith. When Divine inquired as to whether they had seen any cattle wearing the CY brand, Bob Smith replied, "Not a damn one!" Smith and Divine's relationship had been tumultuous for a while at that point, so when Smith thought Divine was pulling his pistol, he started blasting away. Divine and his party fired back, spitting lead into the air at close range with their sidearms and rifles.
When the shots ceased and the powder cloud had drifted away, Bob Smith lay on the ground with a bullet in the back, and Al Smith was galloping off after having his pistol shot out of his hand. Bob Taylor was the only man that LaFors was able to bring back with him to the Natrona County Jail as prisoner. Bob Smith was taken to the two-room cabin before expiring the next morning. A short time later, Divine came back with more cowboys and another deputy, and they drove hundreds of stole cattle out of the area while a few members of the gang watched but did nothing.
Butch and his bunch had more than one hideout scattered across the American West. On the far eastern border of Utah, up near the north corner, was Browns Park, a small, isolated valley with a few ranches scattered about, including the Bassett Ranch. As early as the 1860s it became known as a haven for cattle rustlers, outlaws, and the like. Here are where the more unexpected stories of one of the west's most famed outlaws have come from.
Wherever they were, the Wild Bunch made sure to treat their neighbors with respect in any place they stayed. Butch made friends fairly easily and liked to avoid violence when possible; in fact, there aren't any records of Butch Cassidy even shooting anyone. He was known by some as a sort of gentleman bandit, similar in a sense to Robin Hood, because he instructed his men to avoid killing during robberies and turned around and gave to those less fortunate.
In one example, four members of the Wild Bunch held up a freight wagon headed from Rock Springs, Wyoming, to Vernal, Utah, by way of Browns Park. After they had taken what they needed, they gave the rest of the spoils to the local store owner, John Jarvie so he could distribute them to the local residents. Another such story says that the outlaws of the Bunch splurged on a lavish Thanksgiving dinner in 1895 that included dressed Turkey, cranberries, cocktails, french cheese, pies and other such delicacies. The outlaws allegedly donned white aprons and served the dinner to nearly three dozen Browns Park residents at the Davenport Ranch.
Once I had made it up to that cave above the river, I sat there for awhile, taking in the view with the sunshine of late fall. It was deeper than the other cave and had a sort of balcony out front that afforded one a great vantage point over the river. My boots had taken on water from the multiple trips across the river and the sun was high in the sky making it near 70 degrees in October I figured, so I decided to kick them off and let my socks dry out.
This cave was definitely more substantial than the previous one that I'd found across the river. It was tall, well over my head by at least three to four feet. It also extended back a good 15 feet or so. There was a cave register sheet on the floor, held in place with an array of rocks on its corners. I wanted to leave my mark, but it was already crammed full with previous visitors. On the ground I found an old pull tab from a beer can that hasn't been around in my lifetime. I held it up to the midday light and smiled, happy that such a disposable relic had been preserved well and good in that ancient little known chamber of rock in the hillside.
The nook in the rock was a cool feature no doubt but it sure didn't seem like the Outlaw Cave. I had spotted it from a good ways away, and if anyone hid something it would likely be one of the first places any other newcomer to the area would look. I climbed down and continued to look around for another half hour or so, asking one hiker if they'd found any other caves. None could be found. I wonder if the real outlaw cave is out there somewhere in that canyon, still untouched by man since it was left by the Wild Bunch.
They say a life of crime never pays, and that was true here too. Most members of the Wild Bunch had been hunted down or thrown in prison by the dawn of the 20th century, with Butch and the Sundance Kid being the last major gang members standing. They fled to South America with Longabaugh's girlfriend, Etta Place, in 1901, where they all bought a ranch and settled down in Chubut, Argentina. Things were quiet for a few years while the two pals enjoyed the good life, but unfortunately they became restless again. In 1905 they robbed a bank, and then they kept on robbing across South America before trying to go straight one more time as payroll guards, ironically enough. Eventually their luck ran out, and after locals identified them as bandits that had robbed a mine payroll days before, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid went down in a hail of gunfire in eastern Bolivia.
Or so the story goes...
According to the National Parks Conservation Association, there's a chance that Butch did survive his Bolivian adventures and returned to the western US to live out his days. In 1960, Josie Bassett Morris was interviewed by a young man named Kerry Ross Borren. Josie and her sister "Queen" Ann Bassett had been close associates of the gang and rustling outlaws in their own right. The sisters even dated a few members of the Bunch off and on around the turn of the century. Their father had a ranch in Browns Park, and when others pressured him to sell, Butch and his boys stepped in to dissuade them.
Josie claimed that Butch Cassidy and Elzy Lay came to visit her more than a decade after his supposed death in 1908. The hotel owner where Josie was staying in 1960 confirmed this, and he said that her daughter-in-law and another friend also claimed that Butch had come to visit. Additionally, in John McPhee's Annals of the Former World, he claims that a Dr. Francis Smith told geologist David Love in the 1930s that he had met Butch after his alleged death, and he'd had plastic surgery in Paris. To prove he was the same man, he showed Dr. Smith an old bullet wound, and the doctor recognized it as his own work from decades ago. In Butch's hometown of Circleville, Utah, multiple residents claim that he came back to visit for a few brief periods in the 1920s and 30s but no hard evidence of those claims exists either.
Wild West tales are often shrouded in mystery, with the outlaws often growing larger than life and their stories being embellished by the dime novels of the day. Some claim that it was a friend who identified two dead bandits in Bolivia as Butch and Sundance so that they could go straight and live out their days. Since they'd allegedly saved that man's life, it was the least he could do. Whether the stories contain a kernel of truth, we may never know, but Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch sure lived up to their names, keeping the west wild for just a little bit longer.
Sources:
Brulliard, N. (n.d.). Wild West Josie. National Parks Conservation Association. https://www.npca.org/articles/1417-wild-west-josie
Encyclopædia Britannica, inc. (2024, November 11). Butch Cassidy. Encyclopædia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/biography/Butch-Cassidy
Johnson, M. W., Parson, R. E., & Stebbins, D. A. (1998). A History of Daggett County: A Modern Frontier. Utah State Historical Society ; Daggett County Commission.
(N.d.). Wild Bunch . photograph. Retrieved from https://www.britannica.com/topic/Wild-Bunch#/media/1/643508/201526.
The State of Utah . (n.d.). Butch Cassidy. History To Go. https://historytogo.utah.gov/butch-cassidy/
Weiser-Alexander, K. (2021, November). Hole-in-the-Wall - Outlaw Hideout . Legends of America. https://www.legendsofamerica.com/hole-in-the-wall/
Comments