Life and Confession of Stephen Dee Richards, the Murderer of Nine persons, executed at Minden, Nebraska, April 26, 1879 with a brief sketch of the following murderous miscreants and their crimes, the famous I.P. Olive and his gang, tried and convicted for lynching and burning Ketchum and Mitchell
Recently featured on the hit series, Paranormal Witness Season 5 Episode 7 entitled: Nebraska Fiend, this book can be obtained at http://tinyurl.com/crimebooks
According to this program the evil still persists.
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Excerpt from the book:
Stephen Dee Richards, who was hanged on the 26th day of April, 1879, at Minden, Nebraska, for the murder of Peter Anderson, was born in the state of Ohio, and came West in 1876, in search of adventure.
Besides killing Anderson, Richards confesses to the murder of the Harlson family, consisting of four persons, the mother and three children, and three other similar crimes committed in various parts of the state, and a cold-blooded murder in Iowa. From this it will appear that the playful Stephen was considerable of a butcher,
"I have killed nine persons," said the arch-fiend, speaking to the author of this sketch, "and I can't say that I feel any the worse for it. I have only one wish now in the world. I wish to kill two more persons."
The writer held his breath. Doubting, wondering, and fearing, he asked "Who?"
"A preacher and a reporter" was the quick reply.
When Richards was interviewed by a Times reporter in Chicago, he threatened to break the young man in two. Just what the grievance was the writer has not been able to discover; but at any rate the Times man went away without so much as a syllable of sensation to give his paper.
Richards^ never had a friendly feeling for any newspaper man, and often expressed a wish to "get away" with some member of the fraternity, which if done, he said he could die happy.
"But how about the preacher, Richards?"
He smiled blandly and said: "It would sort of give 'tone' to my life, if I could kill a preacher, you know."
The murder of Mrs. Harlson and her three children was one of the most brutal affairs that ever happened in this country.
"When you killed the three children of Mrs. Harlson," asked the writer on one occasion, of Richards, "did you not feel conscience-stricken, a pang of awful regret, or that you was committing a terrible wrong?"
The monster laughed sardonically, and with a carelessness that was at once strange and terrible, replied: "Not a d — n bit; just as soon have slaughtered so many pigs. One blow of the axe settled 'em, one after the other, and all was over. The grave was all ready, and I hauled the carcasses out and chucked them in. As for a 'pang,' as you call it, I didn't feel anything only that I had got rid of the crowd."
Richards knew the children of Mrs. Harlson well, and used to play with them, and romp about the room, the little girls laughing and making music with their happy voices — their arms about his neck, their pure, childish faces pressed against his own; and the little boy Jesse clinging about him and filling the room with his childish prattle; and all three innocents trusting in him, believing him, and loving him.
On the day before the murder, this scene took place just as we have described it, and on the following morning Mrs. Harlson and her three children were killed, one after the other, in the most inhuman manner. In his confession, which we give further on, Richards explains very minutely how the deed was done; how in the early morning he rose from his bed, stole softly out and quietly closed the door; looked around to see if He were alone, crept panther-like away, finding the spade, with which he dug the grave of his victims. The sun had not yet risen when he completed his ghoul-like work. He knew the family would not be awake when he returned. He stole back as quietly as he had come. He was not
startled as other men would have been; he was not afraid; he had had a taste of human blood before. He thought a moment as to the weapon he should use to do the deed, and a moment later seized an axe — the weapon of murderers — and again pushed forward, slowly, stealthily, cautiously, like some monster beast of prey. He did not think then of anything but the bloody tragedy he was about to enact; and even the rabbit that bounded across his pathway, or the cock that crowed on the limb above his head, or the wild bird that, startled by some strange foreboding instinct of evil, uttered a sharp cry, and fluttered away out of sight, awakened in him only a momentary surprise. In a moment his hand was on the door; he raised the latch; he stepped in. Then he listened and looked with eager, glittering eyes at his sleeping victims. He could not see the faces of either of the three children or their mother, but their forms were clearly outlined on the coverlet.
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