that followed, a young man named Aldrige was killed and Jim Clark’s horse shot from, under him.  He escaped into the brush and defended himself so successfully, more than one of the redskins biting the dust, that when night closed in he made his way on foot through the brush to the river and followed the stream all night, wading and swimming it twenty-six times.  The balance of his command escaped by outrunning their pursuers and all reached the valley in safety.

As soon as the news spread, the women and children were sent to Canyon City and something over a hundred men gathered at the ranch of a man named Cummins.  The latter had seen some service and was elected captain.  Some were horseback and others had come in wagons.  While the men were making final preparations for starting out in search of Jim Clark, a horseman was seen riding along the side of the mountain to the east of the Cummins ranch.  Warren Cassner pointed to the horseman and asked Cummins what it meant.  “Oh, I guess it is a sheep herder,” replied the old man.  “A queer looking sheep herder,” replied Cassner, and mounting his horse started out to make an investigation.  West of the Cummins house the river was lined with tall cottonwoods which obscured a view of the bald mountain side beyond.  As Cassner raised the side of the mountain, enabling him to look over and beyond the cottonwoods, he discovered that the whole mountain side was covered with Indians.  Twelve hundred Indians and eight thousand head of horses blackened the side of the slope.  He called to the men below to get out.  At the same time he saw a party of Indians cutting him off from his men.

Then began a race seldom witnessed in Indian or any other kind of warfare.  Men on horseback fled for dear life, while others piled into wagons and followed as fast as teams could travel.  But Cummins was a brave man and had a cool head.  He succeeded in rallying a half dozen horsemen and at points on the road made such a determined stand that the wagons were enabled to escape.  At one point Emil Scheutz was standing by the side of Cummins, when some Indians that had worked around to the side fired a volley, one of the bullets ripping a trench in Scheutz’s breast that one could lay his arm into.  Scheutz staggered and told Cummins he was shot.  The latter helped him to mount his horse and amid a rain of bullets fled for life.  That was the last stand.  But only for the fact that Bernard had followed the Indians closely, preventing them from scattering, all would have been massacreed.  As it was most of the men kept running until Canyon City was reached, each imagining the fellow behind an Indian.