The casualties were remarkably disparate for an Indian fight. As I.D. Ferguson said, “We had traveled [sic] 300 miles to catch the Indians, and just let them loose, leaving twenty-two men dead on the field and over sixty wounded.” Some reported the casualties much higher–36 killed and over 100 wounded. The Kickapoos claimed to have lost only fourteen killed when they were interviewed several weeks later in Piedras Negras, Mexico. While their estimate might be too low, even Fossett did not think that they had lost more than thirty.

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But the privation and dying were not yet over for the weary soldiers. The night after the battle was a nightmare. The whistling wind did little to silence the cries of the wounded and the groans of dying horses. Few had blankets, and those who did gave them to the wounded. The temperature continued to fall so that by morning the snow-covered mounds of frozen horses dotted the camp ground. The next day the snow hardly abated, falling so heavily that a man at twenty feet was invisible. In the few intervals when it lightened, the men cut and trimmed pecan poles to make litters for the wounded. Regardless of the weather, they would have to leave the next day. They were 100 miles from the nearest settlement and had not eaten since the seventh.

Early on January 10 the snow stopped. It was hip-deep, the heaviest ever seen by most of the men. Standing one horse in front of a second, the soldiers lashed the ends of the pecan poles through the stirrups of both saddles. Then a rope was tied back and forth between the poles and covered with wet blankets. IN these crude stretchers severely wounded men traveled 100 miles. The men still mounted on serviceable horses were sent forward to break the snow, while those on foot led the litter horses, front and rear.

Floundering through snow-filled gullies, on the first day they made five miles; on the second, eight. On January 12 the sun began melting the snow. On the 13th, after they had traveled fifty miles, they spotted the Tonkawa scouts who still herded the 250 Indian ponies. It was a fortunate reunion. The column’s horses were totally worn out, the men fatigued and famished. From the herd the soldiers were remounted, and each company was given an Indian pony for meat. Although at first some of them rejected the idea of eating horseflesh, when they smelled it roasting, they changed their minds.

Paradoxically, as conditions improved, the severely wounded began dying and were buried by the side of the trail with what military honors could be mustered. Finally on January 17 under a bright sun, the column reach John Chism’s ranch, adequate medical care, and food. Their physical ordeal was over, but their chagrin at having participated in the most disastrous Indian fight in Texas during the Civil War, if not all of Texas history, was only beginning.

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