Asked for an account of the massacre, the native said it was nearly dark when the Indians, numbering from twenty-five to fifty, charged the camp and uttered such horrid yells that everyone took to his heels and was soon in the chaparral. The speaker saw his pobrecita papa (poor papa) running, with the Indians about to lance him, and knew that he and the remainder of the party were killed. He himself only escaped. As he mentioned the tragic death of his beloved parent the tears rolled down his cheeks. Lieutenant Baylor comforted the weeper as best he could and asked if the Mexican would not guide the rangers to the raided camp, but the survivor declined with thanks, saying he must stay to help the station keeper take care of the stage mules, but he directed us to the ranch where some of the dead men's families lived and at which a guide could be obtained. When we arrived at the ranch below Hawkins Station it was sunrise and we halted for breakfast after a night ride of forty miles. The people at the ranch were very uneasy when we rode up, but were rejoiced when they realized we were Texas Rangers and learned our mission. They showed us every attention. Among the first to come out to us was an old Mexican who had been in the hay camp when it was attacked. He gave a lurid account of the onset. His son had been one of the grameros, and when he mentioned this the tears began to flow. "Ah, hijo de mi cara Juan. I shall never see him again," he lamented. "All were killed and I alone escaped!" Lieutenant Baylor then explained to the weeping father that his son was very much alive and that we had seen him that very night bewailing the death of the father he thought killed. And it now developed that all the dead men were alive! When the camp was attacked each Mexican had scattered, and the Apaches had been too busy looting the stores to follow the fugitives. Moreover, those ranchers would fight and the Indians did not care to follow them into the brush.