June 3, 2025 • 53 mins
In the vast Nebraska plains, a polished drifter named Stephen D. Richards hid a killer’s heart beneath his handsome exterior.
Between 1876 and 1878, Richards—later dubbed “The Nebraska Fiend”—confesses to murdering at least nine lone travelers across Nebraska and Iowa before fleeing from authorities.
In this episode, we trace his first fatal duel by the Platte River, the brutal slaying of the Harlson family, and the manhunt that ensues.
This episode may run a little later due to issues in our studio, Room 1, but it should still drop early in June! We're crossing our fingers and hoping it releases next Tuesday, but we appreciate your patience in the event it falls a little bit behind.
Let us know what you think! Please rate, review, subscribe & tell a friend. Every little bit helps! Lucky reviewers have a chance of scoring some free LT swag!
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Between 1876 and 1878, Richards—later dubbed “The Nebraska Fiend”—confesses to murdering at least nine lone travelers across Nebraska and Iowa before fleeing from authorities.
In this episode, we trace his first fatal duel by the Platte River, the brutal slaying of the Harlson family, and the manhunt that ensues.
This episode may run a little later due to issues in our studio, Room 1, but it should still drop early in June! We're crossing our fingers and hoping it releases next Tuesday, but we appreciate your patience in the event it falls a little bit behind.
Let us know what you think! Please rate, review, subscribe & tell a friend. Every little bit helps! Lucky reviewers have a chance of scoring some free LT swag!
Write to us - lesstakenpod@gmail.com
FOLLOW US BEFORE WE FOLLOW YOU!
FB & IG - @lesstakenpod
Discover more and check out our merch - www.lesstakenpod.com
Submit your ideas for future episodes - www.lesstakenpod.com/ideas
Dear Google Podcast Listeners: Sadly, Google Podcasts is going away, but you can still find the show in many other great places - lesstakenpod | Instagram, Facebook | Linktree
Some sound effects & background music are supported by www.pixabay.com and Audio Jungle/Envato Elements, providers of copyright and royalty-free media for content creators.
Become a supporter of this podcast: https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/less-taken--5431283/support.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
This take and contains content that may not be suitable
for all audiences. Listeners discretion is advised.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
Less guess.
Speaker 3 (00:18):
I met a man while traveling on horseback through the
Nebraska countryside. We decided to settle down for the night,
set up camp, and gamble.
Speaker 2 (00:31):
A little bit, with me winning most of the time.
Speaker 1 (00:43):
Night has fallen hard beneath the low, gun metal sky.
The Platte River's lazy roar presses close to the camp.
It's current unseen but always present around them. The sand
hills rise like dark waves frozen in time, rolling crest
of scrub and grass that's swaying the chill wind, their
(01:05):
black silhouettes jagged against the sky. Richards sits in an
upturned saddle, shoulders hunched against the cold. His breaths are
deep and puff out in ragged clouds that drift away
as soon as they form.
Speaker 2 (01:24):
Across from him.
Speaker 1 (01:25):
The stranger, gone almost gone enough to pass for a shadow,
counts the coins in his palm. Each metal disc catches
the lantern's pale glow, then clatters onto a split log.
The cards lie face down on the dirt, smeared porcelain
(01:46):
white with dust and pine sap. Richard flicks one over
Jack of Spades. The stranger's jaw tightens. He's realizing just
how many hands he's lost. As the fire turns, the
embers like glow, now a little more than a pinprick
(02:07):
in the night. It all cries out somewhere upwind, a
keening that sends the Stranger's fingers curling in the fist.
He looks like Richard's neither speaks the waiting. The silence
(02:30):
stretches out like a bowstring. Richard shoves his cards toward
the stranger. The man's lips curl into a snarl. He
flips over his last coin, a tarnished half dollar, and
lets it drop onto the log. He says, his voice
(02:53):
low and brittle, and shake. The Stranger's card lands face up,
Queen of Hearts. Richard flips his ace of diamonds. A
sliver of triumph slides into Richard's gaze. In this, Stranger's
hand trembles as he pushes the silver pile forward. Richard watches,
(03:19):
stone faced, while the Stranger's eyes flicker with something dark.
Is a fear fury, It's hard to tell. After the
final hand, Richard stands up and stretches the stranger remains seated,
shoulders slumped. Richard slaps the deck closed and slides it
(03:40):
into his coat. He crouches to feed the fire, stirring
smoldering coals into a weak flame. Hisses the life shadows
scramble across the tree lines. They set out blankets on
the ground, ranging his so that one edge catches the
breeze and flutters.
Speaker 2 (03:59):
Like a dying flow.
Speaker 1 (04:02):
The stranger lies down without another word, eyes fixed on
the dull glow of the embers. Richard slides beside him,
back to back and settles into the strange half sleep
you get when the sky above feels too fast and
the earth too empty. Minutes pass, the wind picks up again,
(04:26):
carrying with a descent of wet earth and distant cedar. Somewhere,
a pack of coyotes hips and circles, The sound faint and.
Speaker 2 (04:35):
Mocking, and the hush.
Speaker 1 (04:38):
Every tweak snap feels like a footstep, Every rustle becomes
something alive. Then, before dawn breaks, Richard wakes up, cold
and alert. The stranger sits up, pressing his hand against
his temples. He pulls his coat tighter. As the morning
air sharpens, Richard remains still gaging him in the dim
(05:05):
wash of the lantern glow. As the morning sun crosses
over them, neither man moves for a long moment. Richards
reaches out and tips the lantern so its flame flickers
and then dies. The river's murmur grows louder as the
(05:29):
night loses its hold on the morning. The stranger pushes
to his feet. He kicks out the dirt, eyes wild,
Give me back what's mine, he hisses, his voice worn.
He thrust his hand toward Richard's empty save for a
(05:51):
scuffed leather pouch. Richard's gaze locks on the pouch. He
tilts his head, listening to the stranger's rapid breaths. The
river sounds distant, now drowned out by the pounding in
both their chests. The stranger stare flickers on something behind
Richard's some kind of dust double swirling through the grass
(06:13):
and trees, and the stranger glances away for a moment.
Richard moves his hand, draps to the leather pouch at
his side, then slides past it to the single shop
pistol tucked underneath his coat. The stranger spins panic in
his eyes, but it's too late. Richard brings the barrel
(06:33):
up in one practiced motion, and then I shot.
Speaker 4 (06:38):
Him above the left eye, killing him instantly.
Speaker 1 (07:16):
You're listening to The Nebraska Fien, the third full length
story from Less Taken Season four, Shadowlands and the Wide
Nebraska Plains. A polished drifter named Stephen D. Richards hides
a killer's heart beneath his handsome exterior. Between eighteen seventy
(07:39):
six and eighteen seventy eight, Richards, later dubbed the Nebraska Fiend,
confesses to murdering at least nine lone.
Speaker 2 (07:48):
Travelers across Nebraska and Iowa before fleeing east.
Speaker 1 (07:54):
We'll explore and trace his first fatal duel by the
Platte River, the brutal slaying of the harl And family,
and the ensuing manhunt. Let us know what you think
of this episode by leaving a fair rating a review
wherever you're listening.
Speaker 2 (08:11):
You can also leave reviews.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
Check out all things Less Taken, and even suggest future
episode ideas at lesstakanpod dot com. Follow us before we
follow you on Facebook, Instagram, and threads under the handle
at Less Taken Pod. And a quick note on our storytelling.
While we do our.
Speaker 2 (08:30):
Best to stick to the fects.
Speaker 1 (08:32):
We sometimes take creative liberties to maintain narrative cohesiveness. I'm
seem Humphreys and this is less taken Real life horror
stories from the Midwest. Thanks for listening, and I hope
you enjoy Nebraska fiend an a modest home in Ohio,
(09:44):
Stephen d Richards grows up knowing poverty, discipline, and little else.
His father, a hard man with harder fist, and forces
said discipline through harsh punishments, ones that resonates through the
wooden walls, but who dares to listen. Young Stephen quickly
(10:07):
learns that silence is his strong as ally, so he
buries his emotions deep inside and locks away his fears
behind an emotionless facade. At night, Stephen hides under thin
warren blankets, reading dime novels. By flickering candlelight. Outlaws and
(10:29):
killers become his heroes, men who are feared and respected.
Answering to no one. He dreams not of adventure, but
of power, not of freedom, but of dominance. These stories
provide an escape, and in addition to his father's influence,
they teach him that strength equates to control, and his
(11:11):
modest Ohio home young Stephen sits silently as his neighbors
gather around his mother's coffin. It's difficult to tell whether
he's in mourning or just bored. It's as though his
distant gaze can see right through the walls. The room
is filled with hissing condolences and an odd musk from
(11:35):
all the different floral arrangements. His father's stoic demeanor offers
no comfort, and Stephen feels a void that words cannot fill.
Perhaps this is another thing that his father will never
speak of, will never speak of anything that hurts. He
(12:08):
watches as the only person who showed him kindness is
lowered into the ground, a dark moment that must etche
itself into his memory. Years later, Stephen reflects on that day,
(12:31):
the image of his mother's grave still vivid. He recalls
the warmth of her touch, the softness of her voice,
and the way she shielded him from his father's harshness.
Her death marks a turning point that leaves Stephen Richards
down a path of emotional isolation. Sensations of isolation only
(12:55):
deepened for Stephen Richards during his adolescence. By sixteen, he's
completely withdrawn and detached regarding others with chilling indifference. Stephen
leaves home quietly one night, taking nothing but resentment and
an increasing desire for control with him. Ohio fades away
(13:17):
behind him as he's consumed by darkness during his travels
westward toward vast emptiness and the promise of anonymity. When
he leaves home, he has no fondness left for anyone.
(14:08):
After leaving Ohio, Stephen D. Richards moves westward, where he
quickly learns about the more transient nature of the frontier life.
He moves from town to town, never calling one place
home for too long. He takes on odd jobs branch
hand laborer hired help to adapt and squeeze by In
(14:35):
his increasingly more common solitude. Richard reflects little on his upbringing,
allowing those memories to fade deliberately into distant shadows. On occasion,
Richard dreams vivid dreams of his father's fist, and he
typically wakes up in a cold sweat and a bit
(14:56):
of rage, reinforcing his belief that violence is merely the
natural order of things. Richard's journey west continues to shape him.
Encounters with outlaws and drifters reinforced his belief that morality
is a luxury strength, cunning and ruthlessness are far more important.
(15:19):
He starts carrying a pistol openly, practicing daily until it
feels like a part of him. As he approaches Nebraska's
sand Hills, Richards realizes that he may be evolving. In
this someone knew, someone darker, someone capable. He no longer
sees himself as the quiet boy from Ohio and fully
(15:43):
embraces this transformation. Whoever he is now, this version of
Richard's is far less forgiving and more determined to do
absolutely whatever it takes to survive, even if that means
someone else doesn't. Most jobs are soul breaking, or have
(16:16):
the potential to be, but the work Richard soon finds
the sense much lower than that. In moult Pleasant, Iowa,
Richards finds himself brief employment as a groundskeeper at They'll
Stay Asylum. He digs, graves and hauls wood, is quiet nature,
going unnoticed among the institutional gloom. Each morning, the scent
(16:48):
of bleach and rock fills his lungs as he wheels
away corpses. No one claims, and sometimes bodies. The asylum
doesn't want anyone to claim. He observes patients behind iron gates, shouting, weeping,
clawing at the invisible threats. Their suffering doesn't disturb him.
(17:09):
If anything, he grows more curious. What broke them, Why
did no one come to save them? And how can
these doctors just leave young men to dispose of the
bodies when disease breaks out or the doctors are simply
done with them. Richard drives countless bodies than a tarpaulin,
(17:45):
lowers them in too shallow graves, and buries the dead
in frozen dirt. He doesn't know many of their names,
just the numbered blackened onto their pale hands. Their ritual
becomes macare hannicle and then meaningless, like this is any
other mundane job.
Speaker 4 (18:08):
I could watch a man die with no more feeling
than I would have for a hog.
Speaker 1 (18:15):
He does this until eventually he's dismissed. No was specific
reason given. Just one day, he's told not to come back,
and he doesn't protest.
Speaker 3 (18:58):
I shot him about the left eye, killing him instantly.
Speaker 1 (19:06):
Richard stares down at the stranger's lifeless body, the lantern's
flame flickering in the wind.
Speaker 2 (19:13):
The silent stuff follows the shot is deafening.
Speaker 1 (19:17):
He noticed his own calm breathing, Feeling only a faint
surprise at how easily killing comes to him. He kneels down,
removing the leather pouch heavy with coins. His heart beats steadily,
no guilt, no remorse, only quiet satisfaction. He pockets the coins,
(19:41):
carefully concealing the evidence within his coat. As moonlight bleeds
over the prairie grass, Richard feels strangely peaceful. He tells
himself that it's all in the name of self defense,
and if he didn't kill the gambler first, who knows
what that man would have done that him Dragging the
(20:24):
body the Platte River, Richard feels the weight scrape against
the earth and stone. It creates a fleeting trail, but
it's something that's easily concealed by kicking up a little
loose dirt at the river bank, cold water laps his
ankles as he pushes the corpse into deeper water. He
(20:49):
watches that disappear beneath the rippling darkness. Then he erases
the footprints, wipes blood from his boots, and ensures no
trace of him remains. By sunrise, He moves onward, leaving
the scene as though nothing occurred. Richard moves cautiously after
(21:39):
his first killing, careful to avoid raising suspicion. It becomes
quieter and more observant, studying faces closely for any signs
of recognition or doubt, but none appear. Instead, Richard experiences
an increasing sense of power, realizing how effortlessly he can
(22:01):
manipulate perception and merge into complete obscurity the coins that
he takes. It's not strictly about the money. The ones
he takes from his victim become a sort of talisman,
a silent reminder of his abilities. Each night, he turns
(22:22):
one of the coins over in his fingers, reassured by
its cold solidity, until the significance becomes clear. It's about power,
control and survival, and admittedly it's easier to take money
(22:43):
than to earn it. At an inn near Kearney, Richard
(23:17):
truly embodies a sense of quiet professionalism that earns him
the trust of those around him. He repairs fences, he
fixes tools, and he tends to maintain a polite, yet
reserved demeanor. A lot of folks appreciate Richard's efficiency, and
they have the faith in him to complete task. Richard
(23:39):
observes all of this amused by the trust that in
his eyes might be a little misplaced. And one of
his neighbors that respects him the most is a young
cowboy named Bill. And at night he observes Bill sleeping
peacefully in the barn. He realizes what an easy target
(24:03):
he is and potentially an inconvenient witness. Richard quickly rationalizes
killing this young cowboy is practical and a necessary precaution.
He stands silently for a moment, pistol poised and breathing evenly.
(24:26):
Then he fires without any hesitation. Richard quickly buries the
(24:59):
cow boy beneath loose earth outside of town, ensuring that
he's completely concealed. Back at the end, Richard calmly finishes
his chores, quietly packs his belongings, and departs unnoticed. Richard
(25:25):
knows now that with each murder becomes easier to him.
His heartbeat used to be rapid, but now it's steady.
His mind doesn't run. It's now cold and pragmatic. Healing
is reduced to nothing more than a necessary task. There
(25:46):
is no regret, only relief. The cowboy's murder near Kearney
represents a turning point. Richards observes from a distance as
the townsfolk gathered, confused and scared. He anticipated this response,
prepared for it mentally rehearsing every necessary step for escape.
(26:12):
Richard quietly leaves Kearnie before anyone can suspect him, comforted
by how easily he can slip from town to town unnoticed.
This ease Foster's confidence, reinforcing his dangerous sense of invulnerability.
Camping alone beneath the vast Nebraska sky, Richard reflects on
(26:34):
the ease of killing. With each murder, he realizes it's
a lot simpler and he's less burdened by hesitation. Guild
doesn't exist, and remorse is a foreign concept. Murder is practical,
like removing obstacles and ensuring survival. For him, at least,
(27:01):
He sleeps soundly beneath the indifferent stars, pistol close to
him at hand, feeling neither fear nor regret, only Grim's
satisfaction in the control he now wields over life and death.
(28:05):
In eighteen seventy eight, Richard finds a place to stay
in some work at the Harrison family home. November third,
eighteen seventy eight, Richards wakes up early in the morning,
and waits until one of his working partners, a man
named Brown, leaves the house to feed the horses and
(28:26):
complete other chores around the farm. Richards himself decides to
go out, retrieve a spade, dig a hole, and then,
when Brown's not looking, sneak back into the house. Richards
moves through the house like fogg, unhurried, as though he's
(28:49):
calculated this a million times in his mind. The pistol
is already drawn warm in his palm, he finds jasper firm,
The child sleeps curled, and the threadbare quilt. One thumb
in the mouth. One shot, one small body laying still,
(29:11):
nearly no other sound maybol stirs in the next robe,
eyes half open, confused. Another shot, another whimper cuts short.
Daisy is already awake, crouched at the top of the
(29:32):
stairs and trembling. Her voice catches on a scream that
never comes. Mary is last. She stumbles out of her
room in a robe, hair loose, screaming their names. She
doesn't even see him first, but when she does, blood
(29:58):
glistens on the floorboards like build ink. Richards doesn't tremble,
he doesn't speak, He simply stands there. A moment listening
nothing but the clock ticking on the wall. Then he
gets to work. He drags each body outside beneath the
(30:19):
grain pre dawned sky, behind the house, in a patch
of cold root, stiff soil. He digs further. His hands
start to blister, dirt clings beneath his nails. He works steadily,
pausing only to check the horizon. By the time the
(30:39):
sun rises, the harlcins are gone, replaced by disturbed earth
and scattered straw. And then he washes his hands. He
returns to the kitchen and lights the stove. Richards fries
bacon and eggs and a cast eye and pan, and
(31:01):
hums quietly as the grease pops. He butters a heel
of bread and pours coffee, thick and bitter. And he eats,
not rushed, not ravenous, It's just breakfast, as he choose.
He glances toward the barn, the cow's knee, tending the
(31:26):
chickens too. Life continues, an order must be kept. By
the time a neighbor passes that afternoon, Richards is outside
splitting Kindling, who is very headed off to Illinois.
Speaker 3 (31:44):
Takes the kids with her, that she wasn't coming back.
Speaker 2 (31:48):
For a while.
Speaker 1 (31:51):
The neighbor nods, waves and rides on. Richards doesn't watch
him leave, wipes swipe from his brow. It swings the
axe again. The graves behind the house are shallow but kneat,
(32:38):
just deep enough to hide what's beneath. Strawn lumber cover
the disturbed earth, the final domestic touch in a house
that no longer belongs to a living family. Inside, the
kitchen smells faintly of coffee and ash. Richard sits alone
at the table. It played scrape in front of him.
(33:02):
He shaved. The stove is warm. The children's toys have
been gathered and placed in a small chest in the corner.
The table has been scrubbed. A rag hangs on the
door frame like a forgotten fly. He cleans, skillfully, wipes
(33:23):
the floorboards, scours to earth, even polishes the brass knob
on the front door. Outside, he tends to the chickens
and cows, draws water from the well. From a distance,
the place looks alive. And later that afternoon, another neighbor
(33:46):
rides by as.
Speaker 2 (33:48):
Mary headed back east.
Speaker 1 (33:49):
Already, Richards doesn't hesitate, said she was headed.
Speaker 3 (33:56):
Back to Illinois, looked the little ones with her too.
Speaker 4 (34:02):
Honestly, I'm not sure she's coming back any times soon.
Speaker 1 (34:06):
The neighbor squints and thinks, but eventually he shrugs and
tips his hat. Jane is hoping that she makes me
up some of her biscuits. Richard nods but doesn't say
anything else. He watches until the rider crests the far hill.
(34:30):
Then slowly he turns back toward the house. That night,
he sleeps in the same bed he dragged Mary from outside.
The frost settles again over the graves. He stays for
two more days, never in a hurry, never looking over
(34:52):
his shoulder. By the time he saddles the horse and
rides off west, the harl sins have vanished, swallowed, but
his silence they once filled, and for a while no
one asks Again. Night hangs quiet. Near a remote stretch
(35:33):
west of Grand Island. Richards and Peter Anderson's share a fire,
not as friends, but as travelers by necessity. There's no
warmth between them, only the brittal civility of strangers in
dangerous country. They've spoken little, and Richards prefers it that way. Anderson,
(35:57):
though has watched him. He's noticed things. Earlier that day,
Richards caught him, glancing at his boots mud caked with
dark streaks, saw his gaze linger on a rolled up
coat with something too rigid hidden inside, and now at camp.
(36:21):
Anderson stirs the fire absently, his jaw tight. He doesn't
ask questions, He just keeps looking, looking too long. Richards
lies still in his bedroll eyes half litted, unmoving, and
(36:43):
his confession later Richards will be clear.
Speaker 3 (36:47):
He suspected me, and I thought it best to kill
him before he gave me away.
Speaker 1 (36:55):
He waits until Anderson finally sleeps. Then he rides, says quietly, deliberately.
The shot is close and fast. Richards drags the body
(37:18):
to a shallow depression just beyond the firelight. No words spoken,
no further explanation needed. It buries Anderson under dry soil
and brush, stamping in flat with the heel of his boot.
When he's done, down comes grain thin, and Richards is
(37:43):
already saddled up in writing west and he doesn't look back.
(38:27):
Stem hisses as a train pulls into the depot. In
the distance. There's the sound of horse hoofs and the
faint chatter under a cloudy sky. It's late November when
Stephen D. Richards steps off the train in Mount Pleasant, Iowa.
(38:49):
He knows the place. He once worked here as an
attendant at the Iowa Hospital for the Insane. It's where
he've learned how to move quietly, to speak plainly, and
to avoid attention. He assumes it will help him now,
but he might be wrong. The ballroom am unpleasant as
(39:25):
modest but alive. Gaslights glow against frosted windows. Locals laugh, sip, punch,
and twirl beneath painted rafters. Stephen Richards stands at the
edge of the room. He watches, hands folded, face unreadable.
(39:49):
His coat still carries prairie dust, but he's managed to
blend in. Beside him, two women dress simply begin to whisper.
He's told them little said. He was headed east and
avoided many of the details. But he dances once, just once,
(40:13):
a slow waltz. Observers later recall he seemed pleasant enough,
if a little distant. What no one knows yet is
that a constable named McGrew is also there or nearby,
and McGrew has seen the wanted bullets and sent for Nebraska.
(40:46):
Later that evening, as the guests scattered into the cold,
McGrew retrieves his pistol. He joins up a fold a
local penitentiary guard, and together they set out across the
snow dusted outskirts. Richards is walking to two women back.
The prairie is flat and quiet, the sky low and cloudy.
(41:12):
When the two lawmen appear from the darkness, guns drawn.
The women freeze. Steven D Richards, you're under arrest, Richard stiffens,
then slowly turns.
Speaker 2 (41:29):
I thought about running, who'll later say, but the.
Speaker 3 (41:33):
Women wouldn't leave, and I didn't want.
Speaker 2 (41:36):
To see them shot.
Speaker 1 (41:38):
Richard says nothing else, as the two women cry silently.
The prairie is still again, only the wind and the
heavy sound of boots as they walk him back toward town.
And that night, Stephen D Richards begins to write under
(42:32):
dim lantern light. There's the scratch of a pen across paper,
and wind taps at the window panes. The room is sparse,
bare walls, a single chair, a desk, and the accused
Stephen D Richard, sits calmly pen in hand. He's twenty
(42:57):
three years old. The door remains open, and Deputy marsh
observes from the corner silent. Richards leans forward Resting his
elbows on the table, he.
Speaker 3 (43:15):
Writes, I was born in Jefferson County, Ohio, in eighteen
fifty six. I saw there was a strict man, a
stern disciplinarian. There is no affection in our home. It
worked at the Iowa Asylum for the Insane for nearly
(43:37):
three years. But I saw they were hundred to me
the dead, that they were nothing more.
Speaker 2 (43:46):
Than meet the sun.
Speaker 1 (43:50):
He doesn't flinch. He continues to write.
Speaker 3 (43:55):
The first man I killed was near Kearney. He was
a gambler. I shot him about the left eye while
he slept. I wanted his money. But if I didn't
kill him, who knows what he would have done to be.
Speaker 2 (44:16):
I stayed at.
Speaker 3 (44:16):
Bill's ranch afterwards. The cowboys there began asking questions, and
I thought it was best to stop his mouth. And
there was a farmer near Grand Island. He picked me up,
gave me work. I killed him and his son. I
(44:38):
don't know why I did it. They were nice to be.
Speaker 1 (44:44):
He won't admit to killing the Harleston family. However, he
does admit to making breakfast that morning, sitting at a
table and eating his film, noting a bit of unusual
silence that morning. Richard continue use.
Speaker 3 (45:01):
I had killed nine persons. I was only twenty three.
Speaker 1 (45:10):
He places to pend Down hands the marshal of the confession,
almost twenty pages in his handwriting. He doesn't speak back
to Richards, He just folds the paper carefully. Richard leans
back in his chair.
Speaker 3 (45:31):
I regret nothing. They were all in my way, most
of this self defense.
Speaker 2 (45:42):
The ball will do what it must.
Speaker 1 (45:44):
The lanterns above continue to flicker, and the wind continues
to claw out the window as the room falls completely silent.
(46:12):
It's just past eleven o'clock on a cold spring morning
in Minden. Nearly two thousand people gather, farmers, townsfolk, children
too young to understand. At the center stands the scaffold,
Stephen D. Richards steps forward, led calmly by the sheriff.
(46:33):
His hands are bound, his eyes steady. He wears a
dark suit and a white collar. He doesn't tremble, he
doesn't resist. The rope hangs to one side, already tied
just for his neck. The preacher, Reverend Franklin, offers final
(46:57):
prayers Richard's bows head, and then raises it again, asking
the crowd for a favor, asking if they're willing to
join him in a final hymn. The crowd stials, then
quietly at first, voices start to rise.
Speaker 2 (47:18):
The hem carries over the planes.
Speaker 1 (47:21):
Some actually sing with some conviction, others choose silence, But
Richards sings each word, his voice clear and unwavering, and
so the hem finally fades out under it the wind.
When the singing ends, Richards turns to the sheriff and says, I'm.
Speaker 3 (47:45):
Ready now, Jesus be with me.
Speaker 1 (47:48):
Now. The hood drops, the rope tightens, and a trapdoor
opens with a sharp crack. People throughout the crowd, before
a hush sweeps back over. Richards hangs motionless. After eleven minutes,
(48:11):
a doctor declares him dead. His body is removed, and
the crowd disperses slowly, some shaken, some strangely unmoved, but
some entertained. No one speaks of justice, only relief. After
(48:54):
the hanging, Richard's body is placed in a plain coffin
and buried without any sarah. There's no headstone, no mourners,
just the name written in court records and a few
lines in the local papers. For a while, pamphlets of
his confessions sold briskly twenty five cents apiece. Some bought
(49:17):
them out of fear, others out of morbid curiosity. Ministers
use this story as a warning, and parents whisper it
to keep children close at night. But over time the
name fades, the railroads grow, new towns rise near the
old killing fields. The farmhouse where the Harrison family died
(49:40):
is torn down within a year, and a new family
moves into its replacement, never asking what came before McGrew.
The constable who helped arrest Richards returns to his rounds
in Mount Pleasant, and he rarely speaks of that winter field.
Richard's name still exists, and ledgers were on microfilm, but
(50:03):
buried deep in archives. Some say his ghost haunts the
Platte River, while others say that's complete nonsense. There are
no monuments, no markers, only fragments, a confession, a grave. Ultimately,
(50:26):
the rope is stored in a county office, but then
it too becomes lost.
Speaker 2 (50:31):
The time.
Speaker 4 (50:33):
I one wish.
Speaker 1 (50:35):
Richards writes before his execution is that they forget me.
They don't, not entirely, but Nebraska stops saying his name
out loud. Thank you so much for checking out. Story
(51:27):
number three of Less Taken Season four, Hololands called the
Nebraska Fiend. Let us know what you think of this
episode by leaving a fair rating and review wherever you're listening.
You can also leave reviews, check out all things Less Taken,
and even suggest future episode ideas at lesstaknpod dot com.
(51:52):
And while you're there, be sure to check out our
merch and our story We currently have a Bogo twenty
percent off on all of our Less Taken bags. Coming
up soon, we'll release our third roads Let's Take an
episode where we travel from Nebraska up to South Dakota,
and for the month of July, we're going to do
(52:12):
something special. We're the seventh month of the year. Instead
of our full length episode, we're going to release seven
seven minute Let's Taken episodes. You guys have seemed to
really enjoy those. So while the summer's busy and there's
plenty to do, we figure will take up less of
your time and give you some quick stories that otherwise
(52:33):
wonn't quite fit the Less Taken mold, but are still
worth telling. And a quick note on our storytelling. While
we do our best to stick to the facts, we
sometimes take creative liberties to maintain narrative cohesiveness, find out
about those things that were excluded from this story in
our next roads, Let's take an episode. I'm Seem Humphreys
(52:58):
and this taken real life horror stories from the Midwest.
Once again, thanks for listening, and I hope you joined
us soon for the next roads Less Taken the episode
as well as an entire month full of seven minute
less taken. One last time, thanks for listening.
This take and contains content that may not be suitable
for all audiences. Listeners discretion is advised.
Speaker 2 (00:11):
Less guess.
Speaker 3 (00:18):
I met a man while traveling on horseback through the
Nebraska countryside. We decided to settle down for the night,
set up camp, and gamble.
Speaker 2 (00:31):
A little bit, with me winning most of the time.
Speaker 1 (00:43):
Night has fallen hard beneath the low, gun metal sky.
The Platte River's lazy roar presses close to the camp.
It's current unseen but always present around them. The sand
hills rise like dark waves frozen in time, rolling crest
of scrub and grass that's swaying the chill wind, their
(01:05):
black silhouettes jagged against the sky. Richards sits in an
upturned saddle, shoulders hunched against the cold. His breaths are
deep and puff out in ragged clouds that drift away
as soon as they form.
Speaker 2 (01:24):
Across from him.
Speaker 1 (01:25):
The stranger, gone almost gone enough to pass for a shadow,
counts the coins in his palm. Each metal disc catches
the lantern's pale glow, then clatters onto a split log.
The cards lie face down on the dirt, smeared porcelain
(01:46):
white with dust and pine sap. Richard flicks one over
Jack of Spades. The stranger's jaw tightens. He's realizing just
how many hands he's lost. As the fire turns, the
embers like glow, now a little more than a pinprick
(02:07):
in the night. It all cries out somewhere upwind, a
keening that sends the Stranger's fingers curling in the fist.
He looks like Richard's neither speaks the waiting. The silence
(02:30):
stretches out like a bowstring. Richard shoves his cards toward
the stranger. The man's lips curl into a snarl. He
flips over his last coin, a tarnished half dollar, and
lets it drop onto the log. He says, his voice
(02:53):
low and brittle, and shake. The Stranger's card lands face up,
Queen of Hearts. Richard flips his ace of diamonds. A
sliver of triumph slides into Richard's gaze. In this, Stranger's
hand trembles as he pushes the silver pile forward. Richard watches,
(03:19):
stone faced, while the Stranger's eyes flicker with something dark.
Is a fear fury, It's hard to tell. After the
final hand, Richard stands up and stretches the stranger remains seated,
shoulders slumped. Richard slaps the deck closed and slides it
(03:40):
into his coat. He crouches to feed the fire, stirring
smoldering coals into a weak flame. Hisses the life shadows
scramble across the tree lines. They set out blankets on
the ground, ranging his so that one edge catches the
breeze and flutters.
Speaker 2 (03:59):
Like a dying flow.
Speaker 1 (04:02):
The stranger lies down without another word, eyes fixed on
the dull glow of the embers. Richard slides beside him,
back to back and settles into the strange half sleep
you get when the sky above feels too fast and
the earth too empty. Minutes pass, the wind picks up again,
(04:26):
carrying with a descent of wet earth and distant cedar. Somewhere,
a pack of coyotes hips and circles, The sound faint and.
Speaker 2 (04:35):
Mocking, and the hush.
Speaker 1 (04:38):
Every tweak snap feels like a footstep, Every rustle becomes
something alive. Then, before dawn breaks, Richard wakes up, cold
and alert. The stranger sits up, pressing his hand against
his temples. He pulls his coat tighter. As the morning
air sharpens, Richard remains still gaging him in the dim
(05:05):
wash of the lantern glow. As the morning sun crosses
over them, neither man moves for a long moment. Richards
reaches out and tips the lantern so its flame flickers
and then dies. The river's murmur grows louder as the
(05:29):
night loses its hold on the morning. The stranger pushes
to his feet. He kicks out the dirt, eyes wild,
Give me back what's mine, he hisses, his voice worn.
He thrust his hand toward Richard's empty save for a
(05:51):
scuffed leather pouch. Richard's gaze locks on the pouch. He
tilts his head, listening to the stranger's rapid breaths. The
river sounds distant, now drowned out by the pounding in
both their chests. The stranger stare flickers on something behind
Richard's some kind of dust double swirling through the grass
(06:13):
and trees, and the stranger glances away for a moment.
Richard moves his hand, draps to the leather pouch at
his side, then slides past it to the single shop
pistol tucked underneath his coat. The stranger spins panic in
his eyes, but it's too late. Richard brings the barrel
(06:33):
up in one practiced motion, and then I shot.
Speaker 4 (06:38):
Him above the left eye, killing him instantly.
Speaker 1 (07:16):
You're listening to The Nebraska Fien, the third full length
story from Less Taken Season four, Shadowlands and the Wide
Nebraska Plains. A polished drifter named Stephen D. Richards hides
a killer's heart beneath his handsome exterior. Between eighteen seventy
(07:39):
six and eighteen seventy eight, Richards, later dubbed the Nebraska Fiend,
confesses to murdering at least nine lone.
Speaker 2 (07:48):
Travelers across Nebraska and Iowa before fleeing east.
Speaker 1 (07:54):
We'll explore and trace his first fatal duel by the
Platte River, the brutal slaying of the harl And family,
and the ensuing manhunt. Let us know what you think
of this episode by leaving a fair rating a review
wherever you're listening.
Speaker 2 (08:11):
You can also leave reviews.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
Check out all things Less Taken, and even suggest future
episode ideas at lesstakanpod dot com. Follow us before we
follow you on Facebook, Instagram, and threads under the handle
at Less Taken Pod. And a quick note on our storytelling.
While we do our.
Speaker 2 (08:30):
Best to stick to the fects.
Speaker 1 (08:32):
We sometimes take creative liberties to maintain narrative cohesiveness. I'm
seem Humphreys and this is less taken Real life horror
stories from the Midwest. Thanks for listening, and I hope
you enjoy Nebraska fiend an a modest home in Ohio,
(09:44):
Stephen d Richards grows up knowing poverty, discipline, and little else.
His father, a hard man with harder fist, and forces
said discipline through harsh punishments, ones that resonates through the
wooden walls, but who dares to listen. Young Stephen quickly
(10:07):
learns that silence is his strong as ally, so he
buries his emotions deep inside and locks away his fears
behind an emotionless facade. At night, Stephen hides under thin
warren blankets, reading dime novels. By flickering candlelight. Outlaws and
(10:29):
killers become his heroes, men who are feared and respected.
Answering to no one. He dreams not of adventure, but
of power, not of freedom, but of dominance. These stories
provide an escape, and in addition to his father's influence,
they teach him that strength equates to control, and his
(11:11):
modest Ohio home young Stephen sits silently as his neighbors
gather around his mother's coffin. It's difficult to tell whether
he's in mourning or just bored. It's as though his
distant gaze can see right through the walls. The room
is filled with hissing condolences and an odd musk from
(11:35):
all the different floral arrangements. His father's stoic demeanor offers
no comfort, and Stephen feels a void that words cannot fill.
Perhaps this is another thing that his father will never
speak of, will never speak of anything that hurts. He
(12:08):
watches as the only person who showed him kindness is
lowered into the ground, a dark moment that must etche
itself into his memory. Years later, Stephen reflects on that day,
(12:31):
the image of his mother's grave still vivid. He recalls
the warmth of her touch, the softness of her voice,
and the way she shielded him from his father's harshness.
Her death marks a turning point that leaves Stephen Richards
down a path of emotional isolation. Sensations of isolation only
(12:55):
deepened for Stephen Richards during his adolescence. By sixteen, he's
completely withdrawn and detached regarding others with chilling indifference. Stephen
leaves home quietly one night, taking nothing but resentment and
an increasing desire for control with him. Ohio fades away
(13:17):
behind him as he's consumed by darkness during his travels
westward toward vast emptiness and the promise of anonymity. When
he leaves home, he has no fondness left for anyone.
(14:08):
After leaving Ohio, Stephen D. Richards moves westward, where he
quickly learns about the more transient nature of the frontier life.
He moves from town to town, never calling one place
home for too long. He takes on odd jobs branch
hand laborer hired help to adapt and squeeze by In
(14:35):
his increasingly more common solitude. Richard reflects little on his upbringing,
allowing those memories to fade deliberately into distant shadows. On occasion,
Richard dreams vivid dreams of his father's fist, and he
typically wakes up in a cold sweat and a bit
(14:56):
of rage, reinforcing his belief that violence is merely the
natural order of things. Richard's journey west continues to shape him.
Encounters with outlaws and drifters reinforced his belief that morality
is a luxury strength, cunning and ruthlessness are far more important.
(15:19):
He starts carrying a pistol openly, practicing daily until it
feels like a part of him. As he approaches Nebraska's
sand Hills, Richards realizes that he may be evolving. In
this someone knew, someone darker, someone capable. He no longer
sees himself as the quiet boy from Ohio and fully
(15:43):
embraces this transformation. Whoever he is now, this version of
Richard's is far less forgiving and more determined to do
absolutely whatever it takes to survive, even if that means
someone else doesn't. Most jobs are soul breaking, or have
(16:16):
the potential to be, but the work Richard soon finds
the sense much lower than that. In moult Pleasant, Iowa,
Richards finds himself brief employment as a groundskeeper at They'll
Stay Asylum. He digs, graves and hauls wood, is quiet nature,
going unnoticed among the institutional gloom. Each morning, the scent
(16:48):
of bleach and rock fills his lungs as he wheels
away corpses. No one claims, and sometimes bodies. The asylum
doesn't want anyone to claim. He observes patients behind iron gates, shouting, weeping,
clawing at the invisible threats. Their suffering doesn't disturb him.
(17:09):
If anything, he grows more curious. What broke them, Why
did no one come to save them? And how can
these doctors just leave young men to dispose of the
bodies when disease breaks out or the doctors are simply
done with them. Richard drives countless bodies than a tarpaulin,
(17:45):
lowers them in too shallow graves, and buries the dead
in frozen dirt. He doesn't know many of their names,
just the numbered blackened onto their pale hands. Their ritual
becomes macare hannicle and then meaningless, like this is any
other mundane job.
Speaker 4 (18:08):
I could watch a man die with no more feeling
than I would have for a hog.
Speaker 1 (18:15):
He does this until eventually he's dismissed. No was specific
reason given. Just one day, he's told not to come back,
and he doesn't protest.
Speaker 3 (18:58):
I shot him about the left eye, killing him instantly.
Speaker 1 (19:06):
Richard stares down at the stranger's lifeless body, the lantern's
flame flickering in the wind.
Speaker 2 (19:13):
The silent stuff follows the shot is deafening.
Speaker 1 (19:17):
He noticed his own calm breathing, Feeling only a faint
surprise at how easily killing comes to him. He kneels down,
removing the leather pouch heavy with coins. His heart beats steadily,
no guilt, no remorse, only quiet satisfaction. He pockets the coins,
(19:41):
carefully concealing the evidence within his coat. As moonlight bleeds
over the prairie grass, Richard feels strangely peaceful. He tells
himself that it's all in the name of self defense,
and if he didn't kill the gambler first, who knows
what that man would have done that him Dragging the
(20:24):
body the Platte River, Richard feels the weight scrape against
the earth and stone. It creates a fleeting trail, but
it's something that's easily concealed by kicking up a little
loose dirt at the river bank, cold water laps his
ankles as he pushes the corpse into deeper water. He
(20:49):
watches that disappear beneath the rippling darkness. Then he erases
the footprints, wipes blood from his boots, and ensures no
trace of him remains. By sunrise, He moves onward, leaving
the scene as though nothing occurred. Richard moves cautiously after
(21:39):
his first killing, careful to avoid raising suspicion. It becomes
quieter and more observant, studying faces closely for any signs
of recognition or doubt, but none appear. Instead, Richard experiences
an increasing sense of power, realizing how effortlessly he can
(22:01):
manipulate perception and merge into complete obscurity the coins that
he takes. It's not strictly about the money. The ones
he takes from his victim become a sort of talisman,
a silent reminder of his abilities. Each night, he turns
(22:22):
one of the coins over in his fingers, reassured by
its cold solidity, until the significance becomes clear. It's about power,
control and survival, and admittedly it's easier to take money
(22:43):
than to earn it. At an inn near Kearney, Richard
(23:17):
truly embodies a sense of quiet professionalism that earns him
the trust of those around him. He repairs fences, he
fixes tools, and he tends to maintain a polite, yet
reserved demeanor. A lot of folks appreciate Richard's efficiency, and
they have the faith in him to complete task. Richard
(23:39):
observes all of this amused by the trust that in
his eyes might be a little misplaced. And one of
his neighbors that respects him the most is a young
cowboy named Bill. And at night he observes Bill sleeping
peacefully in the barn. He realizes what an easy target
(24:03):
he is and potentially an inconvenient witness. Richard quickly rationalizes
killing this young cowboy is practical and a necessary precaution.
He stands silently for a moment, pistol poised and breathing evenly.
(24:26):
Then he fires without any hesitation. Richard quickly buries the
(24:59):
cow boy beneath loose earth outside of town, ensuring that
he's completely concealed. Back at the end, Richard calmly finishes
his chores, quietly packs his belongings, and departs unnoticed. Richard
(25:25):
knows now that with each murder becomes easier to him.
His heartbeat used to be rapid, but now it's steady.
His mind doesn't run. It's now cold and pragmatic. Healing
is reduced to nothing more than a necessary task. There
(25:46):
is no regret, only relief. The cowboy's murder near Kearney
represents a turning point. Richards observes from a distance as
the townsfolk gathered, confused and scared. He anticipated this response,
prepared for it mentally rehearsing every necessary step for escape.
(26:12):
Richard quietly leaves Kearnie before anyone can suspect him, comforted
by how easily he can slip from town to town unnoticed.
This ease Foster's confidence, reinforcing his dangerous sense of invulnerability.
Camping alone beneath the vast Nebraska sky, Richard reflects on
(26:34):
the ease of killing. With each murder, he realizes it's
a lot simpler and he's less burdened by hesitation. Guild
doesn't exist, and remorse is a foreign concept. Murder is practical,
like removing obstacles and ensuring survival. For him, at least,
(27:01):
He sleeps soundly beneath the indifferent stars, pistol close to
him at hand, feeling neither fear nor regret, only Grim's
satisfaction in the control he now wields over life and death.
(28:05):
In eighteen seventy eight, Richard finds a place to stay
in some work at the Harrison family home. November third,
eighteen seventy eight, Richards wakes up early in the morning,
and waits until one of his working partners, a man
named Brown, leaves the house to feed the horses and
(28:26):
complete other chores around the farm. Richards himself decides to
go out, retrieve a spade, dig a hole, and then,
when Brown's not looking, sneak back into the house. Richards
moves through the house like fogg, unhurried, as though he's
(28:49):
calculated this a million times in his mind. The pistol
is already drawn warm in his palm, he finds jasper firm,
The child sleeps curled, and the threadbare quilt. One thumb
in the mouth. One shot, one small body laying still,
(29:11):
nearly no other sound maybol stirs in the next robe,
eyes half open, confused. Another shot, another whimper cuts short.
Daisy is already awake, crouched at the top of the
(29:32):
stairs and trembling. Her voice catches on a scream that
never comes. Mary is last. She stumbles out of her
room in a robe, hair loose, screaming their names. She
doesn't even see him first, but when she does, blood
(29:58):
glistens on the floorboards like build ink. Richards doesn't tremble,
he doesn't speak, He simply stands there. A moment listening
nothing but the clock ticking on the wall. Then he
gets to work. He drags each body outside beneath the
(30:19):
grain pre dawned sky, behind the house, in a patch
of cold root, stiff soil. He digs further. His hands
start to blister, dirt clings beneath his nails. He works steadily,
pausing only to check the horizon. By the time the
(30:39):
sun rises, the harlcins are gone, replaced by disturbed earth
and scattered straw. And then he washes his hands. He
returns to the kitchen and lights the stove. Richards fries
bacon and eggs and a cast eye and pan, and
(31:01):
hums quietly as the grease pops. He butters a heel
of bread and pours coffee, thick and bitter. And he eats,
not rushed, not ravenous, It's just breakfast, as he choose.
He glances toward the barn, the cow's knee, tending the
(31:26):
chickens too. Life continues, an order must be kept. By
the time a neighbor passes that afternoon, Richards is outside
splitting Kindling, who is very headed off to Illinois.
Speaker 3 (31:44):
Takes the kids with her, that she wasn't coming back.
Speaker 2 (31:48):
For a while.
Speaker 1 (31:51):
The neighbor nods, waves and rides on. Richards doesn't watch
him leave, wipes swipe from his brow. It swings the
axe again. The graves behind the house are shallow but kneat,
(32:38):
just deep enough to hide what's beneath. Strawn lumber cover
the disturbed earth, the final domestic touch in a house
that no longer belongs to a living family. Inside, the
kitchen smells faintly of coffee and ash. Richard sits alone
at the table. It played scrape in front of him.
(33:02):
He shaved. The stove is warm. The children's toys have
been gathered and placed in a small chest in the corner.
The table has been scrubbed. A rag hangs on the
door frame like a forgotten fly. He cleans, skillfully, wipes
(33:23):
the floorboards, scours to earth, even polishes the brass knob
on the front door. Outside, he tends to the chickens
and cows, draws water from the well. From a distance,
the place looks alive. And later that afternoon, another neighbor
(33:46):
rides by as.
Speaker 2 (33:48):
Mary headed back east.
Speaker 1 (33:49):
Already, Richards doesn't hesitate, said she was headed.
Speaker 3 (33:56):
Back to Illinois, looked the little ones with her too.
Speaker 4 (34:02):
Honestly, I'm not sure she's coming back any times soon.
Speaker 1 (34:06):
The neighbor squints and thinks, but eventually he shrugs and
tips his hat. Jane is hoping that she makes me
up some of her biscuits. Richard nods but doesn't say
anything else. He watches until the rider crests the far hill.
(34:30):
Then slowly he turns back toward the house. That night,
he sleeps in the same bed he dragged Mary from outside.
The frost settles again over the graves. He stays for
two more days, never in a hurry, never looking over
(34:52):
his shoulder. By the time he saddles the horse and
rides off west, the harl sins have vanished, swallowed, but
his silence they once filled, and for a while no
one asks Again. Night hangs quiet. Near a remote stretch
(35:33):
west of Grand Island. Richards and Peter Anderson's share a fire,
not as friends, but as travelers by necessity. There's no
warmth between them, only the brittal civility of strangers in
dangerous country. They've spoken little, and Richards prefers it that way. Anderson,
(35:57):
though has watched him. He's noticed things. Earlier that day,
Richards caught him, glancing at his boots mud caked with
dark streaks, saw his gaze linger on a rolled up
coat with something too rigid hidden inside, and now at camp.
(36:21):
Anderson stirs the fire absently, his jaw tight. He doesn't
ask questions, He just keeps looking, looking too long. Richards
lies still in his bedroll eyes half litted, unmoving, and
(36:43):
his confession later Richards will be clear.
Speaker 3 (36:47):
He suspected me, and I thought it best to kill
him before he gave me away.
Speaker 1 (36:55):
He waits until Anderson finally sleeps. Then he rides, says quietly, deliberately.
The shot is close and fast. Richards drags the body
(37:18):
to a shallow depression just beyond the firelight. No words spoken,
no further explanation needed. It buries Anderson under dry soil
and brush, stamping in flat with the heel of his boot.
When he's done, down comes grain thin, and Richards is
(37:43):
already saddled up in writing west and he doesn't look back.
(38:27):
Stem hisses as a train pulls into the depot. In
the distance. There's the sound of horse hoofs and the
faint chatter under a cloudy sky. It's late November when
Stephen D. Richards steps off the train in Mount Pleasant, Iowa.
(38:49):
He knows the place. He once worked here as an
attendant at the Iowa Hospital for the Insane. It's where
he've learned how to move quietly, to speak plainly, and
to avoid attention. He assumes it will help him now,
but he might be wrong. The ballroom am unpleasant as
(39:25):
modest but alive. Gaslights glow against frosted windows. Locals laugh, sip, punch,
and twirl beneath painted rafters. Stephen Richards stands at the
edge of the room. He watches, hands folded, face unreadable.
(39:49):
His coat still carries prairie dust, but he's managed to
blend in. Beside him, two women dress simply begin to whisper.
He's told them little said. He was headed east and
avoided many of the details. But he dances once, just once,
(40:13):
a slow waltz. Observers later recall he seemed pleasant enough,
if a little distant. What no one knows yet is
that a constable named McGrew is also there or nearby,
and McGrew has seen the wanted bullets and sent for Nebraska.
(40:46):
Later that evening, as the guests scattered into the cold,
McGrew retrieves his pistol. He joins up a fold a
local penitentiary guard, and together they set out across the
snow dusted outskirts. Richards is walking to two women back.
The prairie is flat and quiet, the sky low and cloudy.
(41:12):
When the two lawmen appear from the darkness, guns drawn.
The women freeze. Steven D Richards, you're under arrest, Richard stiffens,
then slowly turns.
Speaker 2 (41:29):
I thought about running, who'll later say, but the.
Speaker 3 (41:33):
Women wouldn't leave, and I didn't want.
Speaker 2 (41:36):
To see them shot.
Speaker 1 (41:38):
Richard says nothing else, as the two women cry silently.
The prairie is still again, only the wind and the
heavy sound of boots as they walk him back toward town.
And that night, Stephen D Richards begins to write under
(42:32):
dim lantern light. There's the scratch of a pen across paper,
and wind taps at the window panes. The room is sparse,
bare walls, a single chair, a desk, and the accused
Stephen D Richard, sits calmly pen in hand. He's twenty
(42:57):
three years old. The door remains open, and Deputy marsh
observes from the corner silent. Richards leans forward Resting his
elbows on the table, he.
Speaker 3 (43:15):
Writes, I was born in Jefferson County, Ohio, in eighteen
fifty six. I saw there was a strict man, a
stern disciplinarian. There is no affection in our home. It
worked at the Iowa Asylum for the Insane for nearly
(43:37):
three years. But I saw they were hundred to me
the dead, that they were nothing more.
Speaker 2 (43:46):
Than meet the sun.
Speaker 1 (43:50):
He doesn't flinch. He continues to write.
Speaker 3 (43:55):
The first man I killed was near Kearney. He was
a gambler. I shot him about the left eye while
he slept. I wanted his money. But if I didn't
kill him, who knows what he would have done to be.
Speaker 2 (44:16):
I stayed at.
Speaker 3 (44:16):
Bill's ranch afterwards. The cowboys there began asking questions, and
I thought it was best to stop his mouth. And
there was a farmer near Grand Island. He picked me up,
gave me work. I killed him and his son. I
(44:38):
don't know why I did it. They were nice to be.
Speaker 1 (44:44):
He won't admit to killing the Harleston family. However, he
does admit to making breakfast that morning, sitting at a
table and eating his film, noting a bit of unusual
silence that morning. Richard continue use.
Speaker 3 (45:01):
I had killed nine persons. I was only twenty three.
Speaker 1 (45:10):
He places to pend Down hands the marshal of the confession,
almost twenty pages in his handwriting. He doesn't speak back
to Richards, He just folds the paper carefully. Richard leans
back in his chair.
Speaker 3 (45:31):
I regret nothing. They were all in my way, most
of this self defense.
Speaker 2 (45:42):
The ball will do what it must.
Speaker 1 (45:44):
The lanterns above continue to flicker, and the wind continues
to claw out the window as the room falls completely silent.
(46:12):
It's just past eleven o'clock on a cold spring morning
in Minden. Nearly two thousand people gather, farmers, townsfolk, children
too young to understand. At the center stands the scaffold,
Stephen D. Richards steps forward, led calmly by the sheriff.
(46:33):
His hands are bound, his eyes steady. He wears a
dark suit and a white collar. He doesn't tremble, he
doesn't resist. The rope hangs to one side, already tied
just for his neck. The preacher, Reverend Franklin, offers final
(46:57):
prayers Richard's bows head, and then raises it again, asking
the crowd for a favor, asking if they're willing to
join him in a final hymn. The crowd stials, then
quietly at first, voices start to rise.
Speaker 2 (47:18):
The hem carries over the planes.
Speaker 1 (47:21):
Some actually sing with some conviction, others choose silence, But
Richards sings each word, his voice clear and unwavering, and
so the hem finally fades out under it the wind.
When the singing ends, Richards turns to the sheriff and says, I'm.
Speaker 3 (47:45):
Ready now, Jesus be with me.
Speaker 1 (47:48):
Now. The hood drops, the rope tightens, and a trapdoor
opens with a sharp crack. People throughout the crowd, before
a hush sweeps back over. Richards hangs motionless. After eleven minutes,
(48:11):
a doctor declares him dead. His body is removed, and
the crowd disperses slowly, some shaken, some strangely unmoved, but
some entertained. No one speaks of justice, only relief. After
(48:54):
the hanging, Richard's body is placed in a plain coffin
and buried without any sarah. There's no headstone, no mourners,
just the name written in court records and a few
lines in the local papers. For a while, pamphlets of
his confessions sold briskly twenty five cents apiece. Some bought
(49:17):
them out of fear, others out of morbid curiosity. Ministers
use this story as a warning, and parents whisper it
to keep children close at night. But over time the
name fades, the railroads grow, new towns rise near the
old killing fields. The farmhouse where the Harrison family died
(49:40):
is torn down within a year, and a new family
moves into its replacement, never asking what came before McGrew.
The constable who helped arrest Richards returns to his rounds
in Mount Pleasant, and he rarely speaks of that winter field.
Richard's name still exists, and ledgers were on microfilm, but
(50:03):
buried deep in archives. Some say his ghost haunts the
Platte River, while others say that's complete nonsense. There are
no monuments, no markers, only fragments, a confession, a grave. Ultimately,
(50:26):
the rope is stored in a county office, but then
it too becomes lost.
Speaker 2 (50:31):
The time.
Speaker 4 (50:33):
I one wish.
Speaker 1 (50:35):
Richards writes before his execution is that they forget me.
They don't, not entirely, but Nebraska stops saying his name
out loud. Thank you so much for checking out. Story
(51:27):
number three of Less Taken Season four, Hololands called the
Nebraska Fiend. Let us know what you think of this
episode by leaving a fair rating and review wherever you're listening.
You can also leave reviews, check out all things Less Taken,
and even suggest future episode ideas at lesstaknpod dot com.
(51:52):
And while you're there, be sure to check out our
merch and our story We currently have a Bogo twenty
percent off on all of our Less Taken bags. Coming
up soon, we'll release our third roads Let's Take an
episode where we travel from Nebraska up to South Dakota,
and for the month of July, we're going to do
(52:12):
something special. We're the seventh month of the year. Instead
of our full length episode, we're going to release seven
seven minute Let's Taken episodes. You guys have seemed to
really enjoy those. So while the summer's busy and there's
plenty to do, we figure will take up less of
your time and give you some quick stories that otherwise
(52:33):
wonn't quite fit the Less Taken mold, but are still
worth telling. And a quick note on our storytelling. While
we do our best to stick to the facts, we
sometimes take creative liberties to maintain narrative cohesiveness, find out
about those things that were excluded from this story in
our next roads, Let's take an episode. I'm Seem Humphreys
(52:58):
and this taken real life horror stories from the Midwest.
Once again, thanks for listening, and I hope you joined
us soon for the next roads Less Taken the episode
as well as an entire month full of seven minute
less taken. One last time, thanks for listening.
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