mediately dashed out to the fallen chief and 
attempted to drag him within the cover of the 
wall The rifle which covered the spot again 
poured forth its deadly contents and the Indian, 
springing into the air, fell over the body of his 
chief, struck to the heart. Another and another 
met with a similar fate, and at last three rushed 
at once to the spot, and seizing the body by he 
legs and head had already lifted it from the 
ground, when three puffs of smoke blew from 
the barricaded window, followed by the sharp 
cracks of as many rifles and the thre'e daring 
Indians added their number to the pile of corpses 
which now covered the body of the dead chief. 
“As yet the besieged had met with no casual¬ 
ties, but after the fall of the seven Indians in 
the manner above described, the whole body o 
assailants with a shout of rage poured in a rat¬ 
tling volley and two of the defenders of the 
mill fell mortally wounded. One shot throug 
the loins suffered great agony and was removed 
to the still-house, where he was laid upon a large 
pile of grain, as being the softest bed to be 
found. „ , 
“In the middle of the day the assailants re¬ 
newed the attack more fiercely than before, their 
baffled attempts adding to their furious rage. 
The little garrison bravely stood to the defense 
of the mill, never throwing away a shot, but 
firing coolly and only when a fair mark was 
presented to their unerring aim. Their ammu¬ 
nition, however, was fast failing, and to a 
to the danger of their situation the enemy set 
fire to the mill, which blazed fiercely and threat¬ 
ened destruction to the whole building. Twice 
they succeeded in overcoming the flames, and 
taking advantage of their being thus occupied, 
the Mexicans and Indians charged into the cor¬ 
ral, which was full of hogs and sheep and vented 
their cowardly rage upon the animals, spearing 
and shooting all that came in their way. _ No 
sooner, however, were the flames extinguished 
in one place than they broke out more fiercely 
in another, and as a successful defense was per¬ 
fectly hopeless, and the numbers of the assail¬ 
ants increased every moment, a council of war 
was held by the survivors of the little garrison, 
when it was determined, as soon as night ap¬ 
proached, that everyone should attempt to es¬ 
cape as best he might, and in the meantime the 
defense of the mill was to be continued. 
“Just at dusk, Albert and another man ran to 
the wicket gate, which opened into a kind of 
inclosed space and in which was a number of 
armed Mexicans. They both rushed out at the 
same moment, discharging their rifles full in the 
faces of the crowd. Albert in the confusion 
threw himself under the fence, whence he saw 
his companion shot down immediately and heard 
his cries for mercy mingled with shrieks of pain 
and anguish as the cowards pierced him with 
knives and lances. Lying without motion under 
the fence, as soon as it was quite dark he crept 
over the logs and ran up the mountain, traveled 
day and night, and scarcely stopping or resting 
reached the Greenhorn almost dead with hunger 
and fatigue. Turley himself succeeded in escap¬ 
ing from the mill and in reaching the moun¬ 
tain unseen. Here he met a Mexican mounted 
on a horse who had been a most intimate friend 
of the unfortunate man for many years. To 
this man Turley offered his watch (which was 
treble its worth) for the use of his horse, but 
refused. The inhuman wretch, however, 
affected pity and commiseration for the fugitive, 
and advised him to go to a certain place where 
he would bring or send him assistance, but on 
reaching the mill, which was now a mass of fire, 
he immediately informed the Mexicans of his 
place of concealment, whither a large party in¬ 
stantly proceeded and shot him to death. 
“Two others escaped and reached Santa Fe 
in safety The mill and Turley’s house were 
sacked and gutted and all his hard-earned sav¬ 
ings which were considerable and concealed in 
gold about the house, were discovered and, of 
course, seized upon by the victorious Mexicans. 
“The Indians, however, met a few days after 
with a severe retribution. The troops marched 
out of Santa Fe, attacked their pueblo and level¬ 
ed it to the ground, killing many hundreds of its 
defenders and taking many prisoners, most of 
whom were hanged.” 
The death of Charles Bent, of his brother 
Robert later in the same year, and of George 
Bent in 1848, left Colonel William Bent to carry 
on alone the business of Bent’s Fort, and the 
trade with Mexico, together with all the other 
operations in which he was engaged. From this 
time forth William Bent worked alone. 
Charles Bent had one son and two daughters. 
Alfred, the son, died some years ago. One of 
the daughters is said to be still living ( 1909 ) 111 
Mexico, very old. Tom Boggs married the other 
daughter. She had one son, Charles Boggs, 
He and his mother are both believed to be dea 1 . 
George Bent, the brother of William W. and 
Charles, had two children, Robert Bent and a 
daughter. Robert died at Dodge City, Kansas, 
in 1875 - 
The Old Homestead. 
What thronging memories cling around the 
old homestead near the bank of Elkhorn Creek 
—the place where, in the days of the long ago, 
childhood’s prank and prattle led the way to 
youth’s more buoyant and elastic visions of hope 
—and later, where at last, when the storms of 
life fell pitilessly, the mother was laid to rest 
in the graveyard just beyond the fence in the 
orchard nearby. Twenty years before, the father 
had preceded her. 
I was prompted to revisit this old homestead 
which I had known ere the shadows fell that 
closed its family reunions and left its members 
scattered. Leaving the pike and entering the 
farm gate I followed the path by the old oak, 
crossed the now almost dry brook, and ascend¬ 
ing the oblique path up the face of the rocky 
bluff, I was near the old home that had stood 
for nearly a century unwrecked by the storms. 
A sense of loneliness seemed to pervade the air 
and to oppress the thoughts. Backward to the 
old days when music and laughter, when cheer¬ 
ful voices and gay footsteps, mingled with the 
hum of homestead activities, filled the listening 
air - backward to the times when the stars came 
out’ at night and the family group gathered by 
the fireside to talk of absent ones or follow the 
trend of social events; backward to the family 
reunions when, tired in body and spirit, the ab¬ 
sent ones came home fpr rest and recreation. 
Up the brook and at the end of the house pat r 
is the old stone spring house with its square 
walls, smooth rock floor and circular water 
basin. Overhead is a cozy retreat made by cap¬ 
ping the walls with wooden parapet and floor, 
rustic benches and conical roof on corner posts, 
within whose protecting environment love swains 
were often wont to softly whisper their mystic 
vows. Near the corner of the house the ancien 
cedar whose top was shattered and limbs bent, 
bowed and twisted by the sleet and storms of 
many winters, and whose trunk was seamed and 
gnarled by the winds’ wrath, seemed yet to stand 
in grim defiance to nature’s elemental strife. The 
old locust in the center of the yard, and e 
pear tree on the edge of the garden, tall and 
stately, probably dating its birth near a century 
ago and annually dropping its golden fruit on 
the ground beneath, alike demonstrated their in¬ 
vincibility to the tooth of time. 
From the board room beyond the kitchen, 
where, in her last days, ere the death angel came, 
the mother had woven the scarlet rag carpet so 
much" admired, there now came no strike of the 
loom arm nor sound of the shuttle. Most of 
all was missed the flock of snow-white geese 
whose noisy alarum notified of stranger intrusion, 
and which, as the sun went down, came march¬ 
ing homeward in single file with stately step an 
sober mien. 
Bordering the yard was the brook, now almost 
dry, but at times a torrent, stealing its devious 
way after a circuitous journey until it dropped 
its waters over a shelving rock and lost them in 
the historic creek. Across the yard and down 
by the mouth of the brook over the big rocks 
that lay at the roots of the old sycamore, and 
along the rocky benches at the foot of the cliff, 
led the path to the Spout spring, whose pure, 
cold waters had been the central drawing car 
for many an old-time barbecue on the level plat 
above. The creek that drank the waters of the 
spring seemed little changed in its succession of 
riffles and pools, of rocky ledges and pebbly 
shoals, but the stories of its angling days were 
now memories only. A cataract of liquid poison 
had swept away the finny warriors that had 
tested the strength of hook and line and electri¬ 
fied the angler’s heart. < . 
The old homestead was plain and simple in 
architectural outlines, but beneath its protecting 
shingle roof and between its primitive stone 
chimneys youth had grown to manhood and 
womanhood, and the long years from its days 
of pioneer erection till now seemed to invest it 
with mystic respect. 
While quietude reigned about the old home¬ 
stead and the bustle and social charm of other 
days were absent, there was evidence of indus¬ 
trial thrift in the productive acreage of the little 
farm. Across the red blossoms of the clover 
field, knee deep in luxuriant growth, could be 
seen’ the yellow golden leaves of the ripening 
tobacco on the hillside. The wheat was gar¬ 
nered, but the tasseling corn, with its heavy 
pendant ears, and the acres of ripening toma¬ 
toes, ready for the cannery, gave promise of 
fruitful result. Clinging with natural tenacity 
to the old farm where she was born, a single 
member of the old family that traced its lineage 
back to the Virginian stock of frontier days, was 
tilling the family soil and working out her life 
problem R- S. 
*The waters of the creek were poisoned by a deluge of 
whisky from distillery warehouses that were burned on 
the bank several mile s above. _ 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
