On August 27, 1868, the Cheyennes and Arapahoes killed Mrs. Henrietta Dieterman and her five-year-old son on Comanche Creek, about twenty-five miles northeast of Colorado City, in a peculiarly atrocious manner. The Dieterman household consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Dieterman, a daughter about twelve years old, a son of five years, a sister of Mr. Dieterman's, and a hired man. The sister was soon to marry the hired man, and he and Mr. Dieterman had gone to Denver to buy furniture for the new household, leaving a German farmhand temporarily in charge. On the morning of the 27th, something happened to alarm Mrs. Dieterman. She evidently believed the Indians were near, for she hurriedly started with her sister-in-law and the two children for a neighbor's house some distance away. After having gone a few hundred yards she remembered that she had left a considerable sum of money in the house, and with her small son went back to get it. They reached the house, got the money, and started away again, but had gone only a short distance when they were overtaken by the Indians, who at once shot and killed both of them. The savages shot the boy repeatedly and finally broke his neck. The mother was shot through the body, stabbed, and scalped, and the bodies of both were dreadfully mutilated. Those who afterwards saw the victims said that it was one of the most horrible sights they had ever looked upon. Meanwhile, the sister-in-law and daughter ran to where the German was working in the field near by. He stood the Indians off by pointing the handle of his hoe at them, making them believe it was a gun. In that way he covered the retreat of himself and the others to a neighbor's house. Mrs. Dieterman had formerly lived near the northern line of El Paso County, and was well known to many of the old settlers. The awful tragedy of her death created a great sensation, not only in that county, but also in Denver and throughout the entire State. News of the killing of Mrs. Dieterman and of the other outrages perpetrated by the Indians in that region reached Colorado City late in the evening, a day or two afterwards. As there was a possibility of the savages appearing at any moment, messengers were at once sent throughout the county notifying the people of the great danger that confronted them. At that time I happened to be at home with my father and other members of the family on our Bear Creek ranch. About eleven o'clock at night, we were aroused from sleep by the messenger sent to warn us and were advised to go immediately to Colorado City for protection. We appreciated the danger of our situation and quickly hitched up our team, put a few necessary articles of wearing apparel and bedding into the wagon, and started for town, three miles distant. It was a dark night, which made the trip a weird as well as an anxious one. With my sisters and younger brothers in the wagon, my father and I marched along behind, each with a rifle in hand, knowing