Meanwhile the sufferings of the men were terrible. The horse meat had become putrid and unfit to eat. The days were hot and the nights were cold, and there was no surgeon to alleviate the sufferings of the sick and wounded. Major Forsyth had given up hope of relief and begged us to leave him and cut our way out, but we said, “No, we have fought together, and if need be, we will die together.” When relief came some of the men wept for joy. It was I who suggested the island as a place of defense at the first attack. It was seconded by Jack Stillwell. A reunion of Forsyth’s men was held on the historic island September 17, 1905, when a monument given by the state of Colorado and the state of Kansas was unveiled, bearing the names of all who participated in that famous fight. * * * * * “It seems to me people were happier in Colorado City in early days than now,” said J. B. Sims, a pioneer of the sixties. “At Christmas times we had shooting matches, a horse race or two, plenty of Tom and Jerry, and usually wound up the day with a dance at the Anway Fort and a supper at Smith and Baird’s hotel. Often half a dozen families would arrange a friendly dinner at some neighbor’s house, and the hotel men would make a big dinner and invite the ranchmen to come in and enjoy the festivities. “The pious people who were averse to horse-racing would generally pitch horseshoes and sometimes end the day in a big game of draw poker. There was not much money in circulation, and the betting on a horse race was commonly a sack of flour, a side of bacon or a shotgun. “No, we never hung the horsethieves on Christmas. Those festivities were held until the new year, so as to start the community off with good resolutions. “A premonition of danger warned me once of lurking hostile Indians on Cottonwood Creek on the morning of December 26, 1868, resulting in a preparation for battle that probably saved my life. “It was the day after Christmas. I was in the employ of the Beatty Brothers Cattle Company and was looking up some stray cattle near the head of the Cottonwood Creek, twenty miles north of Colorado City. “I had been riding through the timber and was about to emerge into the open when a premonition of danger came over me. The feeling was so strong that I loosened my Henri rifle from the saddle holster and looked to the two heavy Colt revolvers I carried about me. “Half an hour passed and while I had not yet seen anything, I could not shake off the feeling of approaching danger. Twenty minutes more and sure enough, from out of a ravine came about sixty Cheyenne and Arapahoe Indians in their war paint, riding rapidly toward me. “I instantly wheeled my horse and rode for a rocky butte about half a mile distant. My horse climbed the butte almost with the agility of a goat. As the bullets tore up the ground about us I led him behind some big rocks and then paid my respects to the advancing war party.