Dear sir- On the night of my fathers murder . . . there was no one at home but father, mother, me, and a Negro woman named Jane. About half past nine o'clock the robbers came up hallooed out "hello! We went to stay all night; we can't cross the river, and it's to cold to camp." My farther caught his six shooter at first call, but it was in the scabbard with a string over the hammer. I took it and moved the string so it would come out of the scabbard. The robbers kept calling out, "Please let us stay all night; it is too cold to turn a man away such a night as this." My father then said: "I guess their all right," and then he opened the door, drove away the dogs, which were barking furiously, and told them to come in. I told him not to let them in, but he said they were all right and handed me the revolver and went to open the door. I gave the pistol to my mother, who was in bed. Three men came in first; two sat down and began to warm their hands at the fire, and one stood up. I thought I had seen them all before and knew them. One Al Hazlitt, and the others were named Bangs and Gunter. Suddenly Hazlitt drew his pistol and cocked it, and said to my father , "You are my prisoner." Then I broke out of the house on the porch; one of the robbers called to me to stop, and just then I fell down, and immediately I heard the pistol shot that killed father. I am sure it was Al. Hazlitt shot him and not Bill Beckford; the shot was fired from a small five-inch Colt's pistol, and the ball went through his heart. When shot he was standing up in the west corner of the fire-place and fell where he stood. He called out to my mother,"I am gone," and died instantly. The only word I heard him say was when Hazlitt drew his pistol. I had a small single barrel pistol, but my father had taken it away from me, for fear I would shoot myself, and when Hazlitt drew his revolver father said to me, "Where is it?" and I suppose he meant my revolver. When his body was found next day it was close to his pistol. Father and I where both in our shirts and our drawers and barefoot. Farther's pants were on a chair by the bed and the robbers took $30 in gold out of the pockets. We had quite a sum of money buried in the saddle house, which they did not get.
I was 13 years old. When I heard the pistol fire I arose and ran as fast as I could. I started for Allen Mitchell's. It was three miles but the way I went was about five miles. The snow was at least six inches deep and the night was bitter cold. I was barefoot and in my night clothes, but I felt no pain until after I got to Mitchell's by the fire, although my feel felt as big as bushel baskets . . .
When the robbers were warming at the fire the Negro woman, Jane, came and looked through the window at them and laughed and went back to the kitchen and began to pack up. I think she went willingly. She told my mother "good bye" and said, "I wish George was along." She took with her $60 in money part hers and part my mother's, and all her own clothing, bed and bedding, and also George's clothing; all these where put in one of our wagons and hauled away, with many other things. George was not at home when the robbers came; he had slipped off and gone over to Mr. Martin's, a mile and a half away; he was "sparking" Mr. Martins black woman, Charlotte.