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Cowboy State Daily is Wyoming’s largest newspaper with Wyoming’s most experienced journalists. 

<title>You Still Here? Sunday, February 18, 2024 | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Now let's all watch more idiots on game shows...

You Still Here? Sunday, February 18, 2024

 Now let's all watch more idiots on game shows...

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's business and tourism reporter, Renée Jean

Renée Jean

Wyoming Life

Around Wyoming

In a modern West where history is increasingly paved over or fenced in, Wyoming’s notorious Hole in the Wall outlaw hideout stands out as one of few places that remains just as wild as it was more than a century ago. 

Here, a towering red rock wall rises 400 feet and stretches, seemingly unbroken, for 35 miles. 

There’s an ocean of blue sky above and a sea of green prairiegrass below without another human soul for endless miles. This cliff appears both seamless and impassible — a beautiful, if formidable, sight.

Hidden within that long wall, however, is a single passage where a man can slip past the rock and simply vanish. 

And that is what gave this place its name, the Hole in the Wall. 

It’s not really a hole in the wall, cowboy historian Clay Gibbons tells visitors on his tours of the remote hideout. It’s more like a notch, just wide enough for a single man on horseback to squeeze through. 

Beyond that notch lies a secluded and lush valley just right for grazing stolen cattle and horses, and impossible to see from the outside.

The narrowness of this nearly invisible notch also makes it easy to defend. A lone gunman with plenty of ammunition can hold off a much larger force. 

That helped keep lawmen at bay for decades, creating a haven for outlaws ranging from Harvey Logan — better known as Kid Curry — to Butch Cassidy. 

Though Cassidy didn’t spend as much time here as he did a place further west called 

 where three states meet, giving him three  directions to escape the law.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Finding The 'Hole'"}]

One of the first things Gibbons does on his tours is teach visitors how to find the nearly invisible passage. 

“So there’s that red wall that has no shadows on it,” Gibbons said, pointing toward the red cliffs. “And then there’s this one that has shadows. You see where it comes together? There’s a triangular shadow. 

"And at the top left of that triangle there’s a little white dot.”

It looks insignificant. In reality, it’s a flat, white rock measuring 12 feet by 15 feet. 

“We’re about 3 miles away from the hole right now, so as we get closer, that will get bigger,” Gibbons said. “But first, we’re going to stop at the Hole in the Wall Fight site, where I put up a state historical marker, and I’ll tell you how I found that location. That’s going to be some story.”

Stories are actually what Gibbons’ Hole in the Wall tours are all about. 

They begin the moment his vehicle lurches onto a rugged two-track — less road and more dry riverbed. It’s a ride that jostles the insides in more than one direction at once, even as an untamed and beautiful landscape unfolds.

Gibbons laughs about the roughness of the ride and admits some would question his speed, given the bumpy terrain. But, he adds with a grin, the pace is absolutely necessary. 

Even by vehicle, this trip to the Hole in the Wall will take every bit of an entire day, from sunup to sundown. There’s a lot to see and a lot of history to tell, so the truck careens onward without slowing down.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Growing Up With History"}]

Gibbons comes by his love of history naturally. His dad loved it, too. 

Growing up, the third-generation Worland native went everywhere with his dad, who owned an implement dealership. To help pass the time, Gibbons’ dad would tell him all kinds of interesting historical tales. 

By the time he was 16, Gibbons had heard so much about the Fetterman massacre, for example, he was timing his entire school day by it on its 100th anniversary.

“I didn’t get anything done in school that day,” Gibbons said with a chuckle. “I stared at the clock and I was thinking, ‘OK, right now Fetterman is doing this. Right now Crazy Horse is doing this.’ I mean, I was just mesmerized.”

For Gibbons, though, it’s never been enough to know what happened when. He also wants to know where it happened. Exactly where.

One day as he and his dad were driving south of Ten Sleep over Spring Creek, a 9-year-old Gibbons asked his father where 

“He kind of waved out to the side,” Gibbons recalled. “Somewhere over there.”

That answer didn’t satisfy Gibbons, and sent him on a lifetime historical search that would eventually uncover lost details of that raid and allow him to pinpoint exactly where it happened.

Gibbons applied that same mentality to the 1897 Hole in the Wall Fight. 

At first, the location of the gun battle was a mystery.

Newspapers only mentioned the battle’s location vaguely. Locals, meanwhile, would say it was by the Bob Smith Hill, “somewhere over there.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Those were fighting words to Gibbons. "}]

He started digging into old court papers and documents, trying to find something that could help him pin down an exact location. 

From that effort, he learned that county officials at the time weren’t sure whether the shooting was a Natrona County or a Johnson County crime. They sent a surveyor to the scene to find the county line and determine which county had jurisdiction.

Clay was eventually able to track down the surveyor’s century-old field notes, which mentioned a large pile of rocks marking the site of the shooting. 

Gibbons had noticed an unusual pile of rocks when he had visited before. They weren’t like the rock Indian cairns that mark the 1,500-year-old Sioux War Trail that winds through the Hole in the Wall country. And they weren’t like a grave marker either.

Using Bureau of Land Management maps and the surveyor’s legal descriptions, Gibbons was eventually able to verify that the pile of rocks he’d seen was in the same spot indicated by the surveyor’s notes.

A stone monument now stands at the site of the battle on a windswept knob just above Buffalo Creek. 

The marker retells the story of the battle. 

Stock detective Bob Divine of the CY Cattle Co. had ridden up to the Hole in the Wall with 10 cowboys to look for rustled cattle. They met three members of the local outlaw crowd, brothers-in-law Bob and Al Smith and their partner Bob Taylor.

“There was animosity between Bob Divine and Bob Smith,” Gibbons said. “Divine asked if they’d seen any CY cattle and Smith replied, ‘Not a damn one.’”

Smith, believing that Divine was about to pull his weapon, pulled his own gun first. 

“Shots were fired,” Gibbons said. “Horses were pitching and the dust flew. When the smoke cleared, Bob Smith lay on the ground with a bullet through his back and Divine’s horse had been killed, and he and his son Lee had been wounded.”

Al Smith escaped after his gun was shot from his hand, and Bob Smith was taken to the Hole in the Wall Cabin where he died the next day with his young wife at his side.

“Bob Taylor was captured and taken to the Natrona County jail and later released shortly after that,” Gibbons said. “Divine led a contingent with heavily armed men and two deputies through the Hole and drive several hundred cattle out. 

"They were watched closely by a number of armed men, but were not bothered.”

After the sad tale, Gibbons offers a spread of sandwiches and drinks for lunch, and then there are more stories.

Clay shifts seamlessly from outlaw history to the wider, grittier politics of the West at the time and the Johnson County War, when powerful cattle barons brought 32 hired guns up from Texas at $5 a day plus $50 per scalp. 

The siege of the TA Ranch comes alive as he is talking, as does the doomed defense of small ranchers like Nate Champion, who wrote his last words in his diary as gunmen ringed his cabin and finally set it ablaze.

“The cabin's on fire,” Gibbons quotes Champion. “I’m going to have to make a run for it. Goodbye, boys, if I never see you again.”

Champion, Gibbons said, took his boots off before charging out into the gunfire. It’s an odd piece of historical detail that has nagged at Gibbons for years. 

“I always wondered why the hell he took his boots off,” Gibbons said. “Because the people who were there, the invaders, had mentioned that he had his boots off, had a rifle in one hand and a revolver in another, and he goes out the back door shouting.”

Champion was met with a barrage of 28 bullets, Gibbons said. 

“They went up to him and they tied a little note to his vest, ‘Cattle thieves beware,’” Gibbons said. “And so that’s where Nate met his end.”

Gibbons spotted an old frontier saying he believes explains Champion’s bootless feet.

“If you died with your boots on it meant you were an outlaw,” Gibbons said. “A good guy dies in bed, right? You don’t wear your boots to bed. So it finally clicked. Nate stripped those boots off as his final statement. 

"He wanted the world to know he wasn’t an outlaw.”

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Cassidy’s Escape Plan"}]

No Hole in the Wall story can be complete without a Butch Cassidy mention or two. But Clay doesn’t treat Cassidy like a Hollywood myth. Cassidy was a smart, calculating professional.

“He understood one thing, and that’s a fresh horse will outrun a tired horse every day of the week,” Gibbons said. “So when he would pull his jobs, whether it’s a bank job or a train job or whatever, he always knew where he was going after he got the cash. 

"He knew where they were headed, and so what he’d do is take a horse and ride the hell out of him and about 15 miles away … to a fresh horse.”

By planting fresh horses every 15 miles or so along his escape route, Cassidy guaranteed he would stay ahead of law enforcement and ultimately get away. 

The law didn’t know where he was going and had no fresh horses to keep up. 

Fast horses could take Cassidy to a hideout like Hole in the Wall where sheriff’s deputies feared to travel. 

“For hell’s sake, how do they expect us to ever catch these outlaws once they get into the Hole in the Wall?” an exasperated sheriff wrote in a bitter letter to the Pinkertons and the Wyoming governor after the Wilcox Train Robbery. “There’s nobody will talk. Everybody protects them. It’s a den of thieves.”

Locals had their reasons for protecting the outlaws who used the Hole in the Wall.

For one, they paid well for fresh horses. 

In an anecdote Gibbons found, one ranch wife told a visiting writer she could leave a coffee can of coins on her mantle, and if outlaws passed through while the family was away, they’d cook themselves a meal, leave the house tidy and sometimes even add to the can of coins.

“Who is going to turn in the men who treat you better than some of the big outfits do?” Gibbons asked.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"An Unfolding Mystery"}]

Not all of Gibbons’ stories are settled history. Some are still unfolding. 

Like the one he tells at the remnants of Alex Ghent’s ranch. 

The cabin and barn look like a heap of breaking grey bones, bowing to the inexorable years and slowly sinking into the earth. 

In this place, Ghent once raised fast horses for the Hole in the Wall crowd, including the mounts that helped the Wilcox train robbers disappear into this country.

At some point, a second man named Joseph “Joe” Bowie bought into the ranch. The two bachelors ran cattle together until Bowie went back East, married a schoolteacher and brought her home to this lonely, but spectacular, place.

Cheyenne newspapers of the time gushed over the new Mrs. Bowie. She was so vibrant, charming and beloved by everyone she met, and they wished the couple “the best of luck in their new home in the Hole in the Wall.”

Not long after that, however, there’s a legal notice in the same paper. Mrs. Joseph Bowie is filing for divorce due to abandonment. She hasn’t seen her husband in over a year.

The notice had to run three times in the newspaper before a judge granted the divorce. The very next day after that, Mrs. Bowie became Mrs. Alex Ghent.

Gibbons has always wondered about that. Did Bowie really walk away from his equity in the ranch he’d worked so hard for and the wife he’d married from back East?

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Or had something else happened …"}]

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"A Tin Cup Clue"}]

One weekend while Gibbons was camping over the Fourth of July, he decided to do a little poking around with a metal detector. He found a dump near an outhouse with shards of pottery, old medicine bottles, and old tools. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"He also found a tin cup in that trench."}]

It was nearly intact, save for one single neat bullet hole punched through the bottom and existing just above the rim.

It was exactly the trajectory one might expect if someone were holding that cup to his lips and taking a drink.

“If you’re this far from town, you don’t use a perfectly good cup for target practice,” Gibbons said. “If you’re going to use it for target practice, you’re gonna shoot the living hell out of it right? Not just one hole and throw it away.”

Gibbons realizes he can’t prove anything based on that. But he’s learned of suggestive anecdotes that make him believe Bowie didn’t abandon his wife at all.

“There was word that Ghent left the ranch one day and he came back and threw his gun on the bed and said, ‘I never want to see that gun again,’” Gibbons said. “And then one of the hired men caught him down at the crick crying.”

What Gibbons wants to do next is a little more digging in the privy area to see if he can find a revolver that matches the bullet in that tin cup.

“If we do, then I think we’ve solved a murder mystery,” Gibbons said. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Letting The Past Live"}]

Hole in the Wall 20240612 154811 6 28 26

<title>A Day At Wyoming’s Notorious Hole In The Wall Outlaw Hideout | Cowboy State Daily</title>

In a modern West where history is increasingly paved over, Wyoming’s notorious Hole in the Wall outlaw hideout remains just as wild as it was more than a century ago. Here, a towering red rock wall rises 400 feet and stretches for 35 miles. 

A Day At Wyoming’s Notorious Hole In The Wall Outlaw Hideout

Kolby fedore

Kolby Fedore

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's managing editor, Greg Johnson.

Greg Johnson

Crime & Courts

Public Safety

Erin Mills was driving from Casper to Riverton on Friday afternoon when she found herself just behind a devastating multivehicle crash involving a semitruck that killed two people.

She stopped, “thinking I was waiting on the pilot car since they were doing construction,” she wrote in response to a Facebook post about the crash by the 

Wyoming Department of Transportation District 5

. “People started turning around (and) I was about 7 cars behind the wreck.”

Mills said that it appeared that “a huge tanker plowed into what I thought was about 6 cars,” she wrote. “I have never seen such a terrible accident. I am praying so hard for all involved and their families.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"“I was sick to my stomach all night.”"}]

Krista Nethercott, an owner with Grand Teton Funeral Home in Jackson, responded to Mills saying she was even closer to the crash when it happened.

She wrote that she got out of her vehicle and “helped assess people with another guy who was with the construction crew.”

“I am a funeral director, so I’m used to seeing stuff like this, but it was one of the worst accidents I’ve witnessed in person,” Nethercott wrote. “There was a man who ran up who was a pediatric doctor who helped.”

She described a scene where a number of people sprang into action in the aftermath of the crash.

“It was amazing seeing so many people trying to help in a crisis, and we stayed with the survivors until the ambulances finally arrived,” Nethercott wrote. “It took a very long time because the accident was in the middle of nowhere.”

The Wyoming Highway Patrol or WYDOT hasn't yet reported any other details about the crash other than confirming the two fatalities, "numerous injuries" and that the "crash involved a semitruck and a handful of vehicles."

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Highway Closed"}]

Just before 2:50 p.m. Friday, the Wyoming Department of Transportation issued an urgent alert: U.S. Highway 20/26 was closed in both directions near Hiland after the catastrophic crash involving a semitruck and multiple passenger vehicles.

For motorists headed between Casper and Riverton on Friday afternoon, the highway suddenly became a parking lot. The highway was closed for nearly 12 hours before it was reopened after 2 a.m. Saturday.

By the time emergency crews arrived on the scene, dark thunderstorm clouds were rolling across central Wyoming, Casper resident Chris Turk told Cowboy State Daily.

Turk said he had been returning from a service call in Riverton when traffic ground to a halt near the crest of a hill only a short distance from the wreck.

"We were following the pilot car through," Turk said. "It happened right on top of that hill. I wasn't far enough over the top to actually see what was going on."

He said law enforcement arrived within minutes, followed shortly by a medical helicopter.

[{"type":"text","text":"Then the weather changed."}]

"A crazy storm just came in out of nowhere," Turk said. "The wind was rocking that camper that was in front of me. I honestly didn't think they'd be able to take off."

Instead, the helicopter lifted off after only about 10 minutes on the ground, carrying one of the injured before the storm intensified.

"I was impressed," Turk said about the response. "The pilot knew what he was doing." 

Turk said conflicting reports quickly spread among stranded motorists about how many vehicles were involved.

"The only thing that seemed to have matched up was two people died," he said. 

By Sunday, the Wyoming Highway Patrol had not released an official statement detailing how the collision happened, how many vehicles were involved, or the total number of people injured.

According to the agency’s online fatality crash summary, Friday’s crash represents the 55

 deaths on Wyoming roads so far this year. That’s up from the 51 people killed on state roadways through the same time in 2025. 

As investigators worked to determine exactly what happened, Turk said he was left with the same thought shared by many motorists stranded on the highway that afternoon.

[{"type":"text","text":"\"I hope everybody's OK,” he said."}]

Highway 2026 crash Natrona county sign J Stephen Conn via Flckr 6 27 26

<title>Witness To Double Fatal Crash Says ‘A Huge Tanker Plowed Into' Construction Scene | Cowboy State Daily</title>

“A huge tanker plowed into what I thought was about 6 cars,” is how one witness described the scene of a devastating double-fatal crash Friday on Highway 20/26 in Natrona County. “It was one of the worst accidents I’ve witnessed in person,” said another.

Witness To Double Fatal Crash Says ‘A Huge Tanker Plowed Into' Construction Scene

Business & Tourism

The first time Farmstead Cider went after old apples in Jackson Hole, it was just for the flavor. 

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"It soon became about the bears. "}]

Every fall as apples drop and ferment in the backyards and ghost orchards of Jackson Hole, grizzlies and black bears do what comes naturally. They follow their noses straight into trouble — calorie-rich fruits that taste oh-so-good when you’re a bear desperate to fatten up for winter. 

The first harvest, though, was all about the homesick wives, Farmstead Cider’s co-owner Orion Bellorado said. They had grown up on the East Coast, where apple harvests are a big deal. 

“We started harvesting the apples in our neighborhood off of peoples’ trees that were kind of derelict,” he said. “And they were tiny, so we pressed a bunch of juice and made some cider out of it.”

The party was great and word soon got around. 

“Someone from the county found out about it and said, ‘Hey, you should really put in for this community grant to start a business,” Bellorado recalled. “‘Because we’ve really been having issues with bears.’”

That was in 2016, and the business has been going ever since, bottling 5,000 to 7,000 gallons of native-yeast cider a year and selling it across Wyoming as well as other states such as Washington and Montana. 

In the process of climbing into backyards and abandoned orchards, Bellorado stumbled onto a bigger realization. Wyoming is curiously — if quietly — rich in apples across the state.

“They are everywhere,” he said. “I mean, Lander was called Apple Town before it was called Lander. It’s full on part of this interesting tidbit of our culture and our history that’s really been left behind.”

That history is being rediscovered thanks to a project called the Wyoming Apple Project. Through it, researchers have been cataloguing a hidden network of heritage and volunteer trees that have somehow survived a century or so of drought and neglect. Researchers say these hardy survivors might point the way to a new kind of apple economy in one of the harshest fruit-growing climates in America.

You wouldn’t know it from today’s landscape of hay bales and cattle, but Wyoming was once thick with apples. Homesteaders brought apple seeds to plant in their new homes, carving out orchards that were just as essential as a root cellar to their survival.

Apples meant sauce, butter, cider, vinegar and livestock feed. They were essential calories, but also comfort — the kind that could be stored up through a long, hard winter.

By the early 1900s, experimental orchards and private growers had tested at least 218 named apple cultivars across Wyoming, including 11 that were Wyoming-bred. 

Among the most ambitious of the early apple pioneers was an experimental fruit farm in Lander, which trialed 175 different cultivars under superintendent John Steinbrecht, who also developed 10 of the 11 Wyoming-bred cultivars. 

Not far away from Steinbrecht was Lander orchardist Ed Young, who planted a prodigious 3,000-some apple trees in 1882 — an act of faith in a place better known for blizzards than fruit blossoms.

At the time, Wyoming was held up as a national example of what’s possible on the frontier. 

“A lot of those early settlers, such as Ed Young, and their success in growing apples was used in news articles back east, to bring hope to people thinking about moving West,” University of Wyoming graduate and plant physiologist Jonathan Magby told Cowboy State Daily. “It helped show them that you can successfully inhabit this remote location of the United States.”

Wyoming’s apples at that time came from everywhere — Minnesota, Wisconsin, New York, Canada and even Russia. Several nurseries were involved in seeing which varieties could stand up to Wyoming’s brutal mix of cold, drought and wind, including 

At one point, at least 70 out-of-state nurseries and 20 in-state nurseries across 11 Wyoming cities were selling apple stock to Wyoming growers.

Then, slowly, the state forgot about its apples.

Wyoming’s agricultural identity shifted solidly toward cattle and general row crops. Many orchards were abandoned. Irrigation ditches shifted. Families moved away or sold off land.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"}],"text":"Winters kept coming. "}]

And the apple trees that had been left behind continued growing. They became part of an unintended Darwinist experiment — one where only the fittest would survive. 

What’s left of the apple trees that once dotted Wyoming are now the toughest of the tough. Trees too full of Wyoming grit to give up and die.

Among the most interesting is a gnarled apple tree in Lander. Its limbs curl up to the sun like an insect on its back, and its trunk is so hollowed out, one wouldn’t be surprised to find a hobbit — or some other creature of legend — sleeping inside.

Somehow, though, this ancient tree is still alive, still leafing out, still stubbornly insisting on producing apples, despite a century or so in a place that routinely tries to freeze them to death.

Wyoming is not a state known for hardy trees. It is, after all, among the coldest and driest of states in the Lower 48. And apple trees aren’t known for being especially long-lived, either. Most never see a 100th birthday.

That makes this particular apple tree special. It’s passed a 100-year stress test, one where Wyoming wind and drought are separating the true pioneers from the pretenders.

To Magby, the Lander tree is far more than a curiosity. It’s a symbol of what Wyoming apples once were, as well as what they could be again. 

These survivors could help develop ever more hardy Wyoming stock, making apples a potential new and viable agricultural commodity. Because of that, the tree’s tissue was pulled and grafted onto new stock, so it can keep growing for another 100 years.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"Like A CSI Detective"}]

Magby has been searching out all the old heritage apple trees of Wyoming using DNA finger-printing techniques more often associated with crime shows like CSI. 

So far he’s sampled 510 trees at 91 locations in 19 cities, from Lander and Sheridan to Buffalo and Casper, to figure out which trees match known cultivars and which might be lost or forgotten varieties. So far he’s found more than 150 unique genetic fingerprints that don’t match anything in old reference collections. 

Some of those varieties show up in multiple towns, suggesting they are long-lost cultivars that no longer exist anywhere else. hey are a living link to an era when Wyoming was serious apple country.

Two varieties that keep showing up, meanwhile, are Wealthy and Haralson, both bred in Minnesota. They are roughly one-third of all the identified surviving trees in his data set.

[{"type":"text","marks":[{"type":"textStyle"},{"type":"bold"}],"text":"More Than Charming History"}]

Magby doesn’t see Wyoming apples as a charming historical footnote. He believes these survivors are pointing the way to a viable agricultural commodity for the state, one that could lead to more products that are made in Wyoming, such as Farmstead Cider in Jackson Hole. Making products in Wyoming — referred to as value-added products — is a better bang for the buck. It keeps most of the economic value chain in-state.

Apple cider production makes a lot of sense in Wyoming, alongside the growing microbrewery scene, Magby said. People also just enjoy fresh produce that’s been grown in Wyoming, whether that’s an apple or other fruits.

“We take pride in anything that’s been produced in Wyoming,” Magby said. “So I’d love to see someone take a strong stance of producing and backing development of cultivars and revamping testing of grape and pear varieties and other small fruits, just to provide that diversity, not just in fresh food products, but also diversity of economies.”

Bellorado is already living that future at Farmstead Cider, thanks to bear-safety grants that helped launch a business to haul apples out of backyards and ghost orchards. 

Now, instead of attracting trouble, those apples are a useful and delicious product in a growing business. It’s more joy to the human world, all from abandoned, pioneer apple trees.

Apples Ian Mc Gregor co owner of Farmstead Cider Courtesy Photo 6 27 26

<title>Wyoming’s Ghost Apple Orchard Trees Have Been Rediscovered And Are Producing | Cowboy State Daily</title>

Wyoming was once thick with apples. In fact, it was a top apple producer. Now those forgotten apple trees are being rediscovered by small cider houses. "They're everywhere," said one cider house owner. "Lander was called Apple Town before Lander."

Wyoming’s Ghost Apple Orchard Trees Have Been Rediscovered And Are Producing

Headshot of Cowboy State Daily's Feature Reporter, Andrew Rossi.

Andrew Rossi

The Fry family lost their 14-year-old corgi Lola on May 16. She was wandering near her home along Wyoming Highway 50 south of Gillette when she disappeared without a trace.

Nearly a month later, Lola turned up in a Facebook Classified post in Wisconsin, more than 1,000 miles away.

When Gillette's Kimberly Fry got a phone call at 8:15 a.m. that someone had found their 14-year-old corgi in Wisconsin, she started crying. An hour later, her family was on the road and drove more than 1,000 miles straight to get their rescued dog.

You Still Here? Sunday, February 18, 2024

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