WAGNER, S.D. — Federal officers used pepper spray and shot and killed a young man with a criminal history moments after he livestreamed himself brushing his teeth in the basement of a tribal housing unit on the Yankton Sioux Reservation.

Zander Zephier, 23, died Nov. 27 just north of this southeast South Dakota town, about 40 minutes after the U.S. Marshals Service arrived to arrest him on outstanding warrants.

What is not clear from the live video feed and additional security footage outside the house is why marshals used force to apprehend Zephier, especially when his wheelchair-bound, 90-year-old great-grandmother was still in the house.

Federal officials haven’t responded to inquiries about the timing of the operation and what circumstances led to Zephier being shot and killed.

A retired chief inspector with the U.S. Marshals Service raised questions about the use of pepper spray and the decision to enter the house without more attempts at negotiation, possibly involving tribal police.

“Tactically, it gives the impression of deputy marshals operating in the wild, wild West,” said Jason Wojdylo, who worked for the Marshals Service for nearly 25 years and now lives in Tampa, Florida.

“If the fugitive is holed up in the house, our procedures were always to back out, set up a perimeter and contain the fugitive in the residence, not just lob munitions into the house.”

The U.S. Marshals Service, an enforcement arm of the federal judiciary, is primarily responsible for locating and arresting federal suspects and carrying out fugitive operations.

Based on text messages from neighbors and interviews with family members, the law enforcement team arrived at the residence at 8:37 a.m. the day before Thanksgiving and began lobbing gas grenades into the basement at 9:11 a.m.

Shots were fired five minutes later, after at least one deputy marshal entered the house. At 9:46 a.m., Zephier was pronounced dead at Community Memorial Hospital in Wagner.

Zephier’s great-grandmother was on the main floor of the residence when the OC (oleoresin capsicum) gas grenades were tossed into the basement to render “an intense respiratory effect to an non-compliant subject,” according to product materials.

The sound of canisters crashing into the basement through windows is heard on a livestreamed video that Zephier made of himself that morning.

Much of the law enforcement activity and conversation outside the house was also captured on motion-activated security footage that was obtained and analyzed, shaping a basic timeline of events.

In the livestreamed video, Zephier brushes his teeth as officers outside call for him to give himself up. The sound of breaking glass is heard, after which Zephier says “Oh s—!” and eventually begins coughing and holding a rag to his nose and mouth.

“Come out with your hands up, Zander!” an officer calls out in the video. “We have all day. I have 10 more of these (gas grenades).”

Minutes later, at least one deputy marshal enters the front door with a protective shield, gas mask and firearm. The remaining officers complain about how long it’s taking the family to get Zephier’s great-grandmother, Conceta, out of the house.

Then one of the deputy marshals in the driveway says, “Shots fired!” to a fellow officer. The other officer replies, “Good guys or bad guys?”

“We’ve got to get him out of there,” an officer says later.

Video footage shows Zephier being wheeled down the driveway on a gurney, shirtless and in jeans with bandages on his chest.

He was pronounced dead at the hospital by Charles Mix County coroner Chad Peters, who told said he transported the body to Sioux Falls for an autopsy to be performed by forensic pathologist and Minnehaha County medical examiner Kenneth Snell.

Zane Zephier, a University of South Dakota employee and Zander’s older brother, said his family wants to see the autopsy report to determine how many times Zander was shot and the location of the bullet wounds.

Officers discussed body cams

The Zephier family does not dispute Zander’s lengthy criminal record and fugitive status.

At the time of his death, he was considered an escaped prisoner from Charles Mix County Jail in Lake Andes because he was granted furlough in July to attend a family funeral and never returned.

Zander was also on the federal sex offender registry after pleading guilty in 2023 to abusive sexual contact with a minor, for which he was sentenced to 21 months in prison.

Despite his checkered past, family members are calling for an independent investigation into the 23-year-old’s death. They said they don’t trust law enforcement to conduct an impartial inquiry, especially when it comes to operations on tribal land.

The security camera footage reviewed by News Watch shows the following:

• A deputy marshal approaches the front door of the house, hears something over his radio and then appears to say, “Shoot him.” Faint shots can be heard from the house in the video.
• A deputy marshal emerges from the house and says “Little spicy down there!” to another officer in the driveway, likely referring to pepper spray. “Who was involved?” the other officer asks, to which the deputy marshal responds, “Me.” “Are you all good?” he is asked. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says.
• Moments later, the deputy marshal involved in the shooting says, “Are you still live?” to another officer in the driveway. He then points to the man’s body camera and repeats the question.

News Watch has filed a Freedom of Information Act request to the Marshals Service through the Department of Justice to obtain body cam footage from the operation.

U.S. Attorney Alison Ramsdell, the chief federal law enforcement officer in South Dakota, did not respond to an interview request for this story.

— This story first appeared on southdakotanewswatch.org.

Mary knew it was time before I did. Or maybe I should say she admitted it before I could.

Giving up on a dog, even when it’s pretty clearly time, can be difficult. And I needed some help from my wife, and from our vet, in recognizing the obvious.

So the time for Rosie, our 14-year-old springer spaniel, came one day last week, after a two-year decline that accelerated over the last six months and especially the last six or eight weeks.

Mary was home sick, so I sat alone with Rosie in an examination room at the animal clinic, talking to her and stroking her head and side as she drifted off, giving in peacefully to the sedative the vet had injected a few minutes earlier. Then I started to sob as I touched the call button summoning the vet and her assistant, who was pushing a cart that would take Rosie into the room where the final drug would be administered.

“I’m so sorry,” the vet said. “We’ll take good care of her.”

I left Rosie in their gentle hands and wept my way out of the exam room, down the hall, through the lobby and on to my pickup.

And when I settled in behind the wheel, I felt Rosie’s leash in the pocket of my jacket and acknowledged through my tears that a dog that had been such an important “is” in my life had become a “was.”

I do not mean to overstate the emotions of this. Obviously, the loss of a dog is not the same as the loss of a human being. But it is the loss of a life. A life that mattered.

For most of her 14 years with us, Rosie was a high-energy force of nature in our home and out across the wild lands of our state, leading me with the gift of her nose through mucky cattails and dense upland grasses and deep-woods aspen groves.

East River. West River. Missouri River country. Black Hills highlands. We explored them all, wet and dry, windy and calm, hot and cold and quite a bit in-between.

She loved best the kind of difficult-to-traverse coverts that Pennsylvania writer Charles Fergus called “thick and uncivil sorts of places,” and I got to know them better and love them more deeply by sharing them with her.

Oh, the things you can learn by going afield with a good dog. Magical, enduring things, about the outdoors, about the dog, about yourself.

We watched more sundowns together than I could count, usually when a bird hunt was done, we were both tired and fulfilled and often enjoying the added gift of coyote song. Rosie always raised her ears and cocked her head at the music, listening intently as if trying to decipher some canine-encrypted code.

The call of the wild? Of course. And she understood it much better than I did.

But she wasn’t just a strong bird dog. She also was a talented backyard escape artist and unreconstructed garbage gut with a special affinity for kids’ sweat socks, the sweatier and dirtier the better.

I’ll skip the undignified details about how those socks, once swallowed, worked their way out, one way or the other. But Rosie processed a dozen or so over the years, with great effort but without requiring emergency room care.

She was a licker, not a fighter, that dog, known in our family and throughout our neighborhood for her sweet, outgoing personality. And she was especially fond and tolerant of the 19 grandchildren — now ranging in age from a gainfully employed college graduate to a toddler — who got to bask in her affection and be her pal.

I bought her from a kennel out in the James River breaks when she was eight weeks old and officially named her James River Rose. But I rarely called her anything but Rosie.

She was the most headstrong and challenging dog I’ve had to train, or to control in the field, but also the most athletic and relentless on bird scent. And despite the occasional adrenaline-driven indiscretion, at her core Rosie aimed to please.

She was six months old when she flushed and retrieved her first prairie grouse and a few weeks older when she did the same with her first rooster pheasant. And a year or two later, she led me to three ruffed grouse — a noteworthy limit on the first day I ever saw a Black Hills ruffy — in a disorderly gathering of willow and aspen and birch deep in a spring-fed hollow up off Tinton Road south of Spearfish.

She made a four-hour round-trip drive for a two-hour hunt worth it every time, even if all we trailed and flushed were a couple of hen pheasants. “No shot, girl,” I would say, and I praised her just as effusively as if we’d bagged three roosters.

She was puzzled whenever I missed a bird, ecstatic when I hit one and even in the most inhospitable of cover rarely missed a retrieve.

When we weren’t hunting pheasants or grouse, we were often up on the trails in the forest above our house in Rapid City, where Rosie maintained her nosy optimism, fervently believing — despite overwhelming odds to the contrary — that there was a pheasant or grouse waiting to be flushed around the next bend.

Never a slacker, she stayed blue-collared busy, whether snuffling her way through a Lyman County sorghum field or — in her younger days, at least — frantically chasing butterflies and even bird shadows back and forth across the backyard grass.

She was unremittingly upbeat and never failed to lift my spirits, even at the lowest of times.

Then came the decline, slow at first, much faster near the end. It was nothing out of the ordinary: an old dog with a bunch of old-dog ailments that finally reached her time.

And an old-dog lover who needed some help in admitting it.

ST. GEORGE, Utah — — Noa Gonsalves’ 22 points helped Utah Tech defeat South Dakota 92-87 on Thursday.

Gonsalves shot 6 for 13 (6 for 11 from 3-point range) and 4 of 4 from the free-throw line for the Trailblazers (4-10). Beon Riley scored 21 points while going 7 of 11 and 6 of 9 from the free-throw line and added 14 rebounds. Samuel Ariyibi shot 5 of 7 from the field to finish with 11 points, while adding 12 rebounds.

Kaleb Stewart led the Coyotes (9-5) in scoring, finishing with 26 points and two steals. Chase Forte added 24 points, six rebounds, four assists and two steals for South Dakota. Isaac Bruns also had 12 points and six rebounds.

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The Associated Press created this story using technology provided by Data Skrive and data from Sportradar.