Reliable accounts of Battles, Wars, Adventures, Forays, Murders, Massacres, Etc. with Biographical Sketches of the Most Noted Indian Fighters and Frontiersmen of  Texas by J. W. Wilbarger (1889) Pages 493-498

The particulars of this bloody fight have also been furnished us by Mr. J.T. DeShields. It was in the fall of the year 1866, about the time that the early settlers of a new country were wont to lay in their supplies for the coming winter that Colonel William Stone, an old frontiersman, made ready his wagons and teams and started them to the San Saba mills, in San Saba County, to procure his supplies and breadstuffs for thecoming winter. There are two wagons and three men, Frank Brown, Larkin Stone and another gentleman whose name we do not remember. Larkin Stone was the brother of Colonel William Stone, who died not long since in Comanche County. The road leading from Comanche to San Saba passed through a noted Indian gap. Some sixteen miles southwest from the town of Comanche is a small pool or water hole, the only water on the road from Comanche to the mills. The boys had stopped here to water and graze their teams and to take lunch, when up drove John Roach, who was on his way returning from San Saba to Comanche. The friends had soon heartily dined, and after preparing their pipes for their accustomed smoke were lazily grouped around their wagons, admiring the beauty of the surrounding country. Just as they were thinking of renewing their journey, they were charged upon by a band of Indian warriors, painted up in the most hidious styles and colors. They were a party of  Comanches who were down from Uncle Sam's reservation on a prospecting tour, looking at the country and intent on carrying back to their homes a few white scalps and a bunch of horses to show their kinsmen that the whites were not all gone yet. In other words, they were out upon the warpath for the purpose of stealing horses and carrying off captive women and children, to be reclaimed at a high ransom. Besides this, they did not hesitate to murder any helpless victim that they might come upon.

There were twenty-five or thirty of the red devils, all well mounted on the best American horses they could find in Brown, Hamilton, Lampasas, and Coryell counties. They were armed with the latest improved guns and pistols. On seeing that there were only four whites, and knowing that they had good teams, the Indians thought it would be an easy matter to pounce down upon their unsuspecting victims, kill and scalp them and take four white scalps along with the other booty to their chief as trophies of their valor. In this they were mistaken, for they met with a most determined resistance by the four white boys, who also were well armed with guns and pistols and who were all brave, cool and determined men.

Instead of giving up and suffering themselves to be murdered in cold blood, the boys answered the Indians' volley of shot with powder and lead, that carried death and destruction with them. At the first fire, three Indians reeled in their saddles, which showed the accuracy of the Texans' aim. The second volley caused one to fall from his horse. He was immediately picked up and carried by his comrades, but Frank Brown had taken true aim and his trusty rifle had done goos service. The spirit of the Comanches' brave chief had been wafted to the "happy hunting grounds." During the short time the Indians had been kept busy and their rapid firing had not been without effect. Roach had been badly wounded and Brown had received an ugly and painfull wound in the face. However, the fall of their leader had thrown the Indians into considerable confusion, and seeing that the entire party had withdrawn a short distance, the boys took advantage of the opportunity and secured their animals, each man mounted a horse or mule and made a break for liberty.

Brown, Stone and the gentleman whose name is not remembered, each made his escape, and succeeded in reaching the settlements without any further injury, except a few scratches. They, however, had a close ride and a bad scare.  Roach was not so fortunate. There he was, thousands of miles away from the Emerald Island, surrounded by a body of Comanche Indians, who were maddened beyond reason by the escape of the other three men, and who were intent upon having his scalp locks and of knowing that one of the white braves had shared the fate of the dead chief. The Indians were too close to him to allow him to get a good start, and after reaching his mule and mounting it, the animal became unruly. It was shot with an arrow, and commenced pitching, throwing Roach off. He had already received one or two shots through the body, and after falling he was shot time and time again, but he made his way off, and by the hand of God alone succeeded in getting out of range of the savages' guns, and by crawling and dragging himself along on the ground he succeeded in making his way some distance, where he was found, a bloody, hideous looking mass, shot all over, and suffering a thousand deaths from his wounds, and almost dying for water.

The three other men having reached the settlement of old Captain James Cunningham, Sr., who lived about four or five miles from the scene of the attack, sounded the alarm that Indians were in the neighborhood, and related the tragic death, as they supposed, of their comrade, Roach.

Under the leadership of old Uncle Jimmy Cunningham, a company of tried and true men was soon in readiness, and immediately went in pursuit of the depredators. About one mile from the wagons they found poor Roach more dead than alive, as above described. Arriving at the scene of the attack the party found the broken and demolished wagons still there, but the mules and horses had been carried off by the red fiends, who had left for other scenes. The trail was quickly found and followed up by the scouts, recruits coming in from all quarters. After following the trail for some three miles it entered the mountains. Just at the foot of the mountains was found a newly made grave. Upon examination it was found to cantain the body of the lamented chief, whose death had been caused by Frank Brown's superior marksmanship. As is their custom, the chief had been buried with all his arms and equipments, among other things was found a very fine iron shield, through which the fatal ball had penetrated, entering the heart of the chief.

After a short pause here the trail was again resumed. The force having now increased to thirty or fourty men, it was thought best to devide up into two companies, each to go a different route, and to meet at the Salt Creek mountains, in Brown County, and, if possible, to get in ahead of the Indians and cut them off. So, they devided, Old Uncle Jimmy Cunningham taking twelve or fifteen men and going a near way, leaving eighteen or twenty men under command of his son, David, and his company being well mounted, and all being young men who were eager for a fight and an Indian scalp, now began traveling at a rapid gait. Among the company were several good trailers, and as they were assisted by several good blood hounds (negro dogs) they had no trouble in following the trail, and by traveling until far into the night, they found themselves near Salt Creek mountains. Being well acquainted with the locality of the country, and thinking that the Indians had camped in the immediate vacinity, Captain David Cunningham ordered a halt, and at the same time detailing two of his men to go forward and spy out the enemy, reconnoiter their position, and if possible, to ascertain their number. The two spys soon made their rounds and returned to their company, reporting that they had discovered twenty-five or thirty Indians with a herd of about two hundred head of horses, encamped on the creek below the gap in the mountains.

It was now 4 o'clock a.m. Captain David Cunningham ordered his men to keep perfectly silent and to be ready to make a  charge at the break of day. They had not long to wait, and with the first faint streams of light the boys charged down upon the Indians with a regular Texan yell. The Indians had just risen and were bust preparing their breakfast. The surprise was complete, and before the Indians were aware of their presence the boys were among them shooting right and left. At the first charge five Indians fell, and their scalps were soon dangling to the six shooter belts of the rangers as trophies of their marksmanship. Among others, Larkin Stone had secured a scalp. William Cunningham, one of Old Jimmy's boys had two. The boys had done good service and continued the fight.  But let us see what damage the Indians had done. We find that one of the Indian's bullets had laid one of the rangers -Freeman Clark- low, and just as the Indians commenced to retreat, poor Clark was borne away by his comrades in the last agonies of death. The poor fellow was a brave and daring youth of seventeen or eighteen years of age. He was riding a splindid horse, and was armed with a good shotgun. In the first charge, Clark rushed ahead into the midst of the Indian's camp. Singling out a warrior, the youth cocked his gun and took deliberate aim, but the cap snapped and the gun failed to fire. Poor Clark had no chance for his life now. His would-be victim had his gun cocked  and ready to fire, and when Clark's gun failed, the warrior placed his gun a few feet from the ladd and fired.  There was a loud report, the aim was fatal, and Freeman Clark reeled in his saddle and fell from his horse. Just at this instant some of the boys came up, and seeing Clark shot they rushed upon the Indian, and in less than a minute his body was riddled with bullets, and his spirit had taken it's flight with poor Clark's. The fight lasted about two hours, the Indians retreating for several miles, followed by the rangers, who kept up a running fight.

The Texans killed and scalped seven Indians besides wounding several. The result was a complete victory for the Texans, with the loss of only one man killed and one wounded.

During the engagement some of the boys had several narrow escapes, which deserve a passing notice. Lark Stone's life was saved by the bullet striking the handle of his six shooter. The wood was shattered to pieces, but the force of the ball was spent. Joel Neighbors, Uncle Jack's oldest boy, had his noble horse, Old Smoke, shot from under him. Old Jimmy Cunningham and his party did not reach the place in time to take part in the engagement. They came up just as the men were returning from the pursuit of the discomfited and fleeing Comanches. This engagement was said to have been one of the best managed fights that has ever occured on our frontier, and the honor and management of the well laid plans are due to Captain Dave Cunningham's skill and energy.

Captain David Cunningham still lives on his old homestead place, some sever or eight miles south of Comanche town, on the waters of the South Leon, in Comanche county. He is loved and respected by all who know him. He has filled several important official positions in his county. He was sheriff of his county one term, during which time  he made a brave and vigilant officer, and it is often said of him that many of the inmates of the penitentiary can look back and curse Dave and his vigilance.

Poor Roach lay for weeks and months between life and death, but having a strong desire to live and have revenge upon his assailants, he finally recovered and was once more able to arm himself and to help his country in following up and slaying the devils who had used him up so unmercifully. The mill trip was abandoned and the provisions were not obtained until a more convenient season.

Colonel William Stone** came to Comanche County at an early day, and settled on his ranch in the county in 1858 or 1859, where he died not long since. Larkin Stone** and Frank Brown still live in Comanche County. The latter has held several positions of honor and trust in his county, and is, at this time, a prominent business man of DeLeon, in Comanche county. Old Uncle Jimmy Cunningham also still lives in Comanche County, an honored old citizen.
 

** The author is mistaken; William Stone lived until 1900 and his brother, Larkin, was the one who "died not long ago". Larkin died in 1874.