It was 29 November, 1864 in Colorado Territory… A Bone-Chilly Dawn Had Just Cracked.

The sun delivered death that morning. My relatives opened their eyes to the sounds of gunfire, howitzer cannons, and spooked horses. They ran for their lives. Mounted soldiers chased them down. The outnumbered Indian men tried to defend themselves and their loved ones with firearms and arrows. Scattering, many women and children escaped up the creek. Mothers found a bend in the river a mile north and hid with their children there. Brothers and sisters, trained not to cry, held each other in silence while their bullet wounds bled.
Unarmed and unsafe, the hiding families were soon found, with nowhere to run. One eyewitness recounts, “As soon as the troops overtook them, they commenced firing on them. They were terribly mutilated, lying there in the water and sand, dead and dying, making many struggles.” The bed of the creek held the bodies of helpless loved ones while ribbons of red floated downstream….

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