There was nothing about them to indicate that they had made any effort to protect themselves. Every one of the heads was split, showing they had been tomahawked, proving what the two survivors had told us about the suddenness of the attack to be correct. We found their wagons nearly empty. The covers had been torn off, the most of the bedding was gone and some of their clothing. The eatables such as bacon and flour and dried fruit was laying on the ground. I told the men I thought the best way to bury them would be to dig one large grave and put them all into it, and they seemed to be of the same mind. After helping to select a spot for the grave, I left them and rode back to meet the train and report our find. I told Jim all about the condition of things at the dead men's camp, at which he said, "I guess we had better stop there a couple of hours, which will give us time to bury the dead, and we can reach our camping ground before night." On reaching the place Jim corralled the train, and he then went to all the families and told them that two hours was as long as we should stop there. I said, "I will take a stroll around through the brush and see if I can find some of their cattle." I hadn't gone more than a quarter of a mile when I found twelve head of their oxen. When I drove them back to the wagons, the two men said they were just half of the original number. They yoked them up and hooked them to two of the wagons and took what they wanted of the provisions and clothes and left the rest laying on the ground. As we were about to leave Jim said, "It is too dog goned bad to leave all that grub for the Coyotes to eat. That meat and flour will be worth fifty cents a pound when you get to California." Then several of the men and women commenced to gather up the stuff, the men carrying the flour and the women the bacon, and they soon had it all stowed away in their wagons.