That evening, shortly after sundown, a group of fifteen riders slowly crept up upon the BAR-O ranch-house and outbuildings. Dismounting some two-hundred yards from the buildings, they secured their horses and began approaching stealthily on foot.

Joe Bolton, had given his men that day off, along with the following as well. He had however, ordered them to stay clear of town. In order to make up for it, had provided them with a generous supply of fine whiskey from his own reserves. They could get drunk and play cards all night, or whatever suited their fancy. He himself, had been drinking brandy, at a rate that he was unaccustomed to, and was beginning to feel its effects. He was sinking into depression despite the liquor however. The loss of his son was weighing more heavily upon him now than ever. Briefly, he considered wandering out to the bunkhouse and playing cards with the hands. He soon discarded that idea though, feeling that his presence would throw a damper on their party. He called his negro cook Erastus in and bade him sit down.

Erastus was a kindly man in his late fifties, graying at the temples and bulging slightly at the middle. He had drifted around aimlessly at first, after the war. Having once worked as a cook on a large Georgia plantation which Sherman's men had burned to the ground, he had found himself a free man, but with no means of support. He had been highly regarded and well treated on the plantation. In fact, the owner, having taken a particular liking to him, had even taught him to read and write.

He met Bolton in Ellsworth Kansas where Bolton had driven his cattle in '66. Bolton's own cook had been cantankerous and none of the cowboys liked him. Thus, Bolton had fired him and had been looking for a replacement when he met Erastus. Erastus had turned out to be not only an excellent cook, but a fine conversationalist and good friend as well. Although Bolton hated to cry on anyone's shoulder, he needed the man's emotional support now, as he had never needed such support before in his life. Erastus understood, and was about to oblige when they heard a knock upon the door.

Thinking it to be one of his cowhands, Bolton rose up and answered it. Immediately upon opening the door, he was knocked unconscious by the barrel of a pistol and four men rushed in with their guns out. The man in front was Emillio Esperanza, and he quickly spied Erastus who was reaching up above the mantle of the fireplace for a ten-gauge Greener shotgun.

"Thas far enough, meester! Eef joo value joor life, poot joor hans een the air." Esperanza ordered. Then, several shots were heard coming from the bunk-house some fifty yards away.

Muerte and about eleven men had kicked in the door and surprised the six remaining BAR-O cowhands who had not been expecting anything of the sort. Two of them had had their guns on and went for them, only to be cut down instantly. They were the fortunate ones.

Esperanza ordered Bolton and the cowboys tied up outside to the corral fence, with two armed men watching them carefully. In the distance, the sound of cattle being driven could be heard distinctly and one of Esperanza's men produced a young steer. They built a large fire, slaughtered the steer, and began roasting it on a spit. As the outlaws began drinking, they untied two cowboys along with the elderly Sam Cummins. The party was about to begin, as far as Muerte was concerned. Joe and his men gaped in horror and disbelief at the atrocities being perpetrated upon the ranch-hands who were being systematically tortured. Old Sam Cummins' agonized screams rent the air as Muerte began his grim work. "Please, not him. Take me instead!" pleaded Bolton.

"Not to worry Senor, we no forget joo. Joo get joor turn een a leetle while. Pleese be patient. Everyone geets a turn." Emillio said as he broke out into laughter.

One by one the cowboys were mercilessly tortured until only Erastus and Bolton remained alive. By that time, the steer had been cooked enough to remove from the spit. Muerte signaled for a man to bring him some bailing wire. He then thoroughly bound Joe Bolton to the crosspiece of the spit with the wire, and set it back over the fire and began roasting the hapless rancher alive. Bolton fought back the pain at first, with everything he had. But as the flames licked his body and his flesh began to blister and bubble up, his will departed him and he began screaming in agony. His pitiful tormented cries mingling with the sickly-sweet smell of burning flesh simply added to the merriment of the gang. They decided to spare Erastus and take him along as a prisoner. After all, it never hurt to have a decent cook on hand.

They finished their party around one the next morning and headed out. One of the gang had started to set fire to the buildings but Emillio had stopped him. He feared that such a large fire would draw attention. That, he didn't want. With any luck, it would be at least a couple of days before the massacre was discovered, enough time for the Esperanza gang to be well away from the area. The other half of his gang, was presently driving a large portion of Bolton's cattle south, toward Casa Bonita (not too far from the present day town of Marfa), where a buyer awaited them.

About an hour later, Emillio Esperanza and his group came across a small house on the prairie. The lights were on and a horse was outside saddled up and ready to travel from all appearances. He motioned for his men to surround the place.

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