After going through the same manoeuvres as the morning before, the war-woops rang out loud and shrill, and again the arrows began to fly.  The contestants fought hard all day again, without ceasing.  About the middle of the afternoon the Comanches made a desperate charge on the Utes, crossing the creek and fighting them at close quarters.  Among the Comanches was one Indian in particular that I was acquainted with, that I saw engaged in a number of hand-to-hand fights, and always came out victorious, but he got badly used up during the day.  This Indian went by the name of White Bird, and he was beyond doubt the worst disfigured piece of humanity I ever saw, but he fought on, and he seemed to say by his actions: 

“I am slightly disfigured, but still in the ring.”

About sundown the two armies again withdrew for refreshments and repairs.

That evening after eating my supper! went over to White Bird’s wick-i-up and found him sitting there, bloody from head to foot, with a huge cut on one cheek, another on one side of the head, and numerous other wounds, making him the most horrible specimen of humanity that I had ever seen living.  He had not even washed the blood from his face or hands, but was sitting there telling his squaw and children how many Utes he had killed during the day, apparently as cool and unconcerned as though nothing had happened him.  But he was not able for duty the next day, and died about ten o’clock.

We never learned where the Indians buried their dead, for they took them away during the night and disposed of them in some manner.

There were more Indians killed and wounded the second day than the first, and that night the Comanches had a big war-dance over the scalps they had taken.

The morning of the third day each tribe marched down at about the usual hour and resumed their positions in the line of battle, and that morning they fought more cautiously than before, until about ten o’clock, when the Utes made their first big charge on the Comanches, and they had a hard fight, which resulted in the death of many Indians, and the Utes retreated with considerably the worst of it.

In this charge we counted over forty Utes that were killed and scalped.

After the Comanches had driven the Utes back, Johnnie West and I went down within about fifty yards and sat there until the war was ended.  About the middle of the afternoon of the third day, the old war-chief of the Comanches rushed up and commenced to shout, “Co-chah!  Co-chah!” which meant to go ahead, or, in other words, to charge.  Johnnie West, who understood the language, turned to me and said: 

“The Comanches are going to make another charge.”

Sure enough, they did; crossing the creek and made a desperate rush for the Utes, but the Utes could not stand the pressure and retreated, the Comanches following them to the top of the hill where the Utes were camped, it being understood between the two chiefs that, when either army or tribe was driven back to the top of the hill, they had lost the battle.