The roughs changed their tune, and tried to laugh the matter off, saying they knew all the time the wagons were full of soldiers, and they only wanted to see if I had “nerve.”  I told them they could leave their teams in the stables, as my teamsters told me there was room enough yet remaining for all the mules, but that in the morning they must leave.  At early light they were off, not, however, before I had found out the names of the leaders of the gang.  The doors of the house had been taken off the hinges, and the framed pine used to sleep and chop meat on, all being marked with gashes chopped in them with axes.  The windows were also broken, the glass and sashes gone, and the building as much damaged as if Indians had been there for a month.  I did all I could to save the property scattered over the grounds, and remained at the ranch some weeks, until an order came for me to go to Omaha as a witness before the United States Court.

While the troops lay at Camp Cottonwood, now Fort McPherson, the scurvy broke out among the men and caused terrible suffering.  There were no anti-scorbutics nearer than Leavenworth, Kansas, which could be had for the troops, and before these could be received, the disease increased to an alarming extent.  At last, however, the remedies arrived, and the men began rapidly to convalesce.  The doctor advised them to eat wild fruit and berries, and to take plenty of exercise in the open air.  There was a plum grove about four miles from the camp, and as this wild fruit was very wholesome, the sick men went out nearly every day to gather it.

One morning, Captain Mitchell, of the Seventh Iowa Cavalry, procured an ambulance, and, taking with him a driver named Anderson, an orderly named Cramer, and seven hospital patients, started for the plum grove.  They arrived at the first grove about ten o’clock, and, finding that most of the plums had been gathered, drove on to another grove some three miles farther up the canyon.  They were now about seven miles from camp, too far to be safe, but, as no Indians had been seen lately in the country, they did not feel uneasy.  At the upper grove they found two soldiers of the First Nebraska Cavalry, named Bentz and Wise, who had been sent out by the quartermaster to look for stray mules, and they had stopped to gather some plums.  As both these men were well armed, Captain Mitchell attached them to his party, and felt perfectly secure.

Bentz and Wise went up the canyon a little way, and while eating fruit were suddenly fired on from the bushes by almost a dozen Indians.  At the first volley Bentz had his belt cut away by a ball, and lost his revolver.  The soldiers turned to fly, but, as they galloped off, another ball entered Bentz’ side, desperately wounding him.  They now rode down the canyon, hoping to rejoin Captain Mitchell’s party, but soon saw a body of Indians riding down the bluff ahead of them,