TRUCKEE, Calif. — On a crisp autumn morning, sunlight spills across the grass at Truckee Cemetery. Among the weathered stones and whispering pines, Greg Zirbel, president of the Truckee Donner Historical Society and cemetery manager, pauses before a grave marked “Teeter.”

In 1881, pioneer John Reed stepped into William Hurd’s saloon in the heart of downtown Truckee and ordered a drink. Among the patrons was Constable Jacob Teeter — bold, confident, and already on edge. Words were exchanged, tempers flared, and in the chaos that followed, both men drew their guns. Teeter fired first, his shots missing Reed entirely, striking the wall above him. It was Reed’s bullets that night that would end Teeter’s life.

Yet, just a few headstones away lies another bearing the name “Reed.“ 

On March 25, 1905, the Truckee Republican ran the headline: “Pioneer James Reed Dies of Old Age.” The article described how Reed had lived the lonely life of a hermit in a small Truckee cabin for more than a decade — haunted, perhaps, by the memory of the man he killed.

Tombstone by tombstone, Truckee’s story unfolds across this quiet hillside. For more than 150 years, gunfighters and botanists, ice harvesters and lawyers, lumberjacks, and railroad workers — have been laid to rest at Truckee Cemetery. Together, their lives form the patchwork of Truckee’s past.

But time has left holes in the record. Wooden markers have decayed. Stones have crumbled. And some graves — like so many stories — have no names at all.

“We don’t know how far the bodies go out yet,” Zirbel said. “Back in the day, if you didn’t have money to bury someone in the cemetery, you’d bury them outside the fence.”

Before the neighboring SpringHill Suites by Marriott was built, Zirbel used a specialized ground-scanning technology outside the cemetery’s edge. The search uncovered 12 unmarked graves — and Zirbel believes there are more still hidden beneath the soil. 

The cemetery’s roots trace back to 1870, when the Masonic and Odd Fellows lodges each established burial grounds for their members. Catholics soon followed, creating their own cemetery nearby. Prominent pioneers rested inside the fenced area, while the less reputable — and those who could not pay the fee — were laid to rest beyond it.

Today, the cemetery stands as a quiet monument to the lives — and deaths — that built Truckee. On foggy mornings, the pines sway softly, and the air hums with the kind of stillness that makes you wonder who’s really at rest.