By Frances Helm McClure
(Written for my great-grandchildren, Byron Keever Lighty, Jr. Charles McClure Lighty and Louis Porter Guth, May 13, 1934)
 submitted by Carol Lackey

Our men-folks, my father and big brothers -- kept telling them to keep back out of the way and let the women get the cooking done. They paid no attention to these requests though. Finally, one of our men couldn't stand seeing these dirty, naked savages shoving our women around no longer ..... he picked up a piece of flat board from one of our wagons and lambasted one of the bucks, just as he was stooping over to look at something in one of the cooking pots on the stove.
Immediately, the whole lot of the Indians got on their horses and left the camp. Then, because we had heard so many of the awful things they had done to white people who had quarreled with, or attacked them, we knew that our train would now have trouble with them over this blow struck with that flat board.
Our men started getting the camp ready for a battle. They drew the wagons up in a circle, forming a corral. And as other wagons came up and heard what had happened, they joined their wagons in our circle. My brother, Benton, said there were 30 wagons altogether in our camp that afternoon and evening.
In this circle of wagons was where all the women and children were told to stay if an attack was made. And, two men were chosen to act as their guard -- one at one end of the camp, the other at the opposite end. The rest of the men had to stay outside the circle to watch the stock, which had to be fed as long as possible. We all knew that the Indians would try to stampede our animals and drive them off, as soon as they started to attack.
A little later in the afternoon, just as we had expected, the Indians -- now in a large party, which they had probably gone away after -- rushed upon our camp. With whoops and yells, they started circling the camp, shooting with both arrows and guns, though most of them used arrows. And besides shooting at our wagons, they set fire to the grass as they circled about, and the men, who were guarding the cattle, had to fight these fires, as well as fight for their lives and their stock.
As soon as the fight began, all of us children were put into the false bottom of one of the big wagons. Boards were then laid across over us, and bedding and provisions piled on top. I had to take care of my little brother and sister and nephews and niece. It was so hot in there I thought I would smother. And, outside in between the yelling and shooting, I could hear women-folks crying and praying. Some of them, too, were molding bullets as the fight went on; my sister Jane was one of these who helped make these.
Finally, the battle ended. An Indian, who had been fighting from behind a rock and peeking over it, was hit by a bullet fired by one of our men. My brother, Benton, saw him when he was hit, and told us that he seemed to jump up about six feet, and then topple over backwards. Then, as soon as that happened, all the other Indians stopped fighting and we always thought that the one we killed must have been their leader or chief-- for they galloped to him and put his body across one of their horses. Then, with a horrible whoop, they all rode away. We looked for more trouble than ever that night, but they never came back.
When the battle was over, both men who had been guarding the wagons, were found to be wounded. Both had been shot at with guns and they had bullet wounds that had to be taken care of. The men, who had been guarding the stock weren't hurt, although Charles Burton's horse had been shot from under him. He had traded another horse for this much prettier one, from the Indians during that visit earlier in the day. And they seemed to single him out to kill. But loss of the horse didn't make Burton stop fighting for more than a few seconds. The men said that he got to his feet "cussing" as hard as he could, and went right on shooting at the attackers.
After the battle was over, we didn't leave this camp, but stayed there that night. There wasn't much sleeping done, for everyone expected the Indians to come back to fight again and try to wipe out our train, like we had heard stories of them doing. But they didn't bother us any more.
The next morning, Dr. Matthews came to our camp, and took care of the two boys that had been wounded. The Matthews' party had been traveling just one day behind us. He had tried to make our camp the day before -- when he had seen Indians following them, just as we had, and expected trouble with them-- but had been unable to make it. The Indians attacked his party, that same day they did us, and he lost all of his stock. Having these, may have been why the Indians did not try again to drive off ours, our trains being so close together as they were.
Dr. Matthews was a nice-looking man, much younger than my father. And, while he was there, another party came into our camp. These were a woman, two little children, her husband and brother. The Indians had taken everything from them -- their wagons and horses and food. Had just left one old whit horse for the woman and two children to ride. These children were so small, I remember, that she had to hold them both in her lap. And the Indians had taken away every bit of their clothing, leaving them bareheaded and I can see yet how their little faces were all blistered and the skin cracked open and sore. The woman was bareheaded too and the Indians had taken her shoes, and those of her husband and brother -- and these two men were left afoot. The sand was so hot that their feet were burned. They had been trying for three days to catch up with us.
They wanted my father to bring them on to California. They had no money-- the Indians had taken it too. So my father told them he would take them in and feed them and make room for the women and children in the wagons and bring them to California but that the two men would have to walk and help with the cattle. The men said they wouldn't do it. And when they said that, my father told them what he thought of them. Dr. Matthews was there yet and he heard all that was said. And when my father went to pay him for the care of the boy's wounds, he said, "Mr. Helm, you don't owe me a cent--- for telling these men what you thought of them!" So they got in with some other party besides ours. They were two big, stout men, and it looked like they ought to have been glad of the offer my father made them, as they had nothing at all, and with us, they would always have had plenty to eat, and been well taken care of, for my father was a kind and just man though he would not let anyone put anything over on him.