Burials at Dead Swede Campground

Deep within the Bighorn Mountains, where nature's raw beauty meets the wild spirit of the American frontier, lay markers that whisper tales of those who once struggled, lived, and ultimately perished in this unforgiving wilderness. These towering peaks and dense forests have seen generations of pioneers and settlers, each driven by the allure of opportunity, adventure, and the hope of carving out a life in the wild. Over time, the Bighorns became more than just a landscape—they became a final resting ground for many whose dreams were extinguished by the harsh realities of frontier life. The Sheridan County section of the Bighorn National Forest holds some of these graves, each offering a poignant glimpse into a past where survival was a daily battle and the mountains were both protector and predator. In the section of the campground known as Dead Swede, these graves—one marked with a name and the other two lost to time—stand as enduring symbols of the resilience and determination of those who dared to carve out lives in this remote and rugged corner of the world.

Dead Swede Campground sign in the Big Horn Mountains.

The Tale of George B. Hinton

At Dead Swede Campground, nestled deep in the Bighorns, visitors might unknowingly pitch their tents just steps away from a small, weathered cemetery. Here, three graves stand as silent witnesses to a tragic past: two marked only as "Unknown" within a fenced plot, and one lone grave bearing the name George B. Henton (real name George B. Hinton), who died on February 24, 1910. But the story of George B. Hinton is anything but ordinary. It is a tale of despair, confusion, and a life that ended in a grim and solitary act. The story of George B. Hinton, is shrouded in mystery and marked by a tragic end. A logger at the Woodrock tie camp, Hinton embarked on a prolonged drinking binge that led him to quit his job and squander his savings in Ranchester—or was it Dietz? Confusion surrounds his identity, with various reports referring to him by different names: E.P. Hinman, George F. Hilton, and even G.B. Henton, as inscribed on his gravestone. Despite these discrepancies, the most plausible conclusion is that his real name was George B. Hinton. George was one of those elusive figures who left a faint yet indelible mark on Sheridan County. Little is known about his life, and what few records exist are sparse and fragmented. However, it is known that he had at least one sibling who had a family of their own. Through the digital corridors of Ancestry.com, I managed to trace a descendant linked to George’s name. This descendant, who shared a faded photograph, also recounted the story of George’s death at a railroad tie camp in Wyoming in 1910—a detail that aligns with the scant facts we have.

Above: The man second from left is George Hinton. This photo came from www.wyohistory.org/encyclopedia/ tongue-river-tie-flume. The caption online says: Dayton, Wyo., saloonkeeper William Wondra, in white shirt, and some of his best customers —tie hacks from the Bighorn Mountains, with their jam pikes. No date. Sheridan County Museum. I received a small torn copy of this photo from Michelle Grogg. The note with the photo from Michelle said “The man on the far left with the visible face is my great uncle, George Hinton. He passed away in 1910 at a railroad tie camp in Wyoming. - This note was originally written on the back by my great-great-grandmother, Ida Hinton Grogg.”

The grim details of George's death are captured in the headlines of the time. "TIE CUTTER AT WOODROCK CHOPS OFF HAND; BLEEDS TO DEATH," blared one account in the Sheridan Daily Enterprise.

Above: Headline from The Sheridan Daily Enterprise, February 25, 1910, page 4.

This version of events paints Hinton as despondent and halfcrazed by drink. Alone in his cabin at the Woodrock tie camp, he placed his arm on a block of wood and severed the arteries in his left wrist with an axe. He then lay down on his bed, awaiting the inevitable. Death came long before he was found the next morning. This bleak picture is further colored by reports that Hinton had worked at the camp for several months before leaving for Dietz, where he indulged in a heavy drinking spree. Upon his return to Woodrock, penniless and despondent, he ended his life in a brutal and solitary act. Different accounts offer variations on this morbid tale. In one version, after eating supper, Hinton retreated to his isolated cabin. When he didn’t appear the next morning, concerned workers forced open his door and found him dead, his left hand nearly severed, blood staining the floor, bed, and porch. The axe, still covered in blood, lay nearby. In another account, Hinton, seemingly determined to die, first attempted to sever an artery in his leg with an axe. When the wound didn’t bleed enough, he resorted to chopping off his right hand. He then lay down on his bed and bled to death. His body was discovered the next morning, his severed hand still clutched in his other hand—a tragic testament to his final moments. The inquest into Hinton’s death revealed further details. It was said that after Hinton—or Hilton, as one report referred to him—had first tried to end his life by cutting into his leg, the bleeding didn’t satisfy him. He then turned the axe on his wrist. Coroner George Levi Smith, who faced significant challenges due to snow-blocked trails, eventually conducted the inquest several days after the suicide. Hinton, around 45 years old, had worked at Woodrock for several years, but his final days were consumed by a grim determination to end his life. Hinton’s grave, the only one with a known identity at Dead Swede Campground, became a subject of curiosity in the 1950s when visitors noticed the tombstone and speculated about his death. When weather records from the day of Henton's death were checked, they revealed calm conditions with a high of 36 degrees and a low of zero. Clearly, a natural disaster hadn’t claimed his life.

Above: Headline from Sheridan Post, February 25, 1910, page 6.

Above: Headline from Sheridan Daily Enterprise, March 2, 1910, page 4.

The U.S. Forest Service and Forest Ranger John F. Douglas later uncovered more details about Hinton’s life and death, revealing that he had been struggling with his mental health while employed as a tie cutter in the area. Yet, despite these findings, his death certificate offers little insight into his life. It simply states that he was about 50 years old, possibly single and a laborer—barely a whisper of the man who once walked the earth.

Why was George Hinton shrouded in so much mystery?

Did those who knew him simply forget his life, or was it never fully relayed?

These are questions we may never have answers to.

Above: The Unknown Graves at Dead Swede Campground in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. Photo Courtesy of the Michael Dykhorst Collection.

Nearby, two other graves belong to unknown timber workers whose stories have been lost to history. Despite inquiries made years later, no one could recall their names or the exact circumstances of their deaths. They, like Hinton, were part of the logging community that once thrived in the remote wilderness of the Bighorn Mountains. One possible connection to these graves is a man mentioned in Charles Rawlings' memoir, In Our Neck O’ the Woods. Rawlings recounts the death of a man known as "Deafy," who died of pneumonia after standing in a pond to escape a fire that destroyed the mill in 1898. While it’s unclear if Deafy is one of the unknowns, his story adds another layer to the history of this place. Further records reveal that the Bighorn Mountains hold other graves, each with its own lost story. Years later, a ranger named Dickson marked the graves at Dead Swede with concrete headstones and fenced them off, ensuring that these early pioneers would not be forgotten. These graves stand as a testament to the grueling and dangerous work that defined the lives of early loggers and tie cutters. The conditions they faced were as unforgiving as the wilderness itself, and many who ventured into these mountains never made it out alive. The newspapers of the time described Hinton’s actions in graphic detail, painting a vivid picture of a man pushed to the brink.

Above: The Fenced in Graves of the Unknown at Dead Swede Campground in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. These markers and fences were originally placed by Forest Ranger Dickson. Photo Courtesy of the Michael Dykhorst Collection.

Reports from The Sheridan Post recount how Henton, driven by hopelessness and a failed attempt to procure poison, took the most extreme measures to end his life. The image of him severing his own hand with an axe, then calmly lying down to bleed to death, speaks to the intense mental anguish he must have endured. But Hinton’s story is just one of many. The unnamed timber workers buried alongside him likely met their ends in similarly harsh conditions, whether through accidents, illness, or the cumulative toll of hard labor and isolation. These men, whose names have been lost to time, were once part of the bustling but perilous industry that powered the region’s development. Today, the graves at Dead Swede Campground and others scattered across the mountains stand as silent monuments to the human spirit's endurance. They remind us that behind the peaceful landscape we see now lies a history filled with struggle, hardship, and the occasional moment of triumph. As we walk through these mountains, it’s worth pausing to remember the lives that once pulsed with energy and the stories that, though faded, still linger in the rustling leaves and whispering winds of the Bighorn Mountains.

Above: Grave of G.B. Henton (Hinton) located at Dead Swede Campground in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming. Photo Courtesy of the Michael Dykhorst Collection.