The patrón called to his boys to move the bodies into the shade, out of the way so that no one could trample them.

HOSTEEN LASKAI John Farnsworth They began taunting the lads as the Indians worked to get things in order for their journey home. Redshirt’s sons were good and were not provoked. They rarely even acknowledge men like these. In this way they avoided having to kill too many loud-mouthed white men. They simply wanted to get on with the business at hand.
Redshirt moved quickly into action. He rode up on the most annoying man, putting himself and his mount between the tormentor and his youngest son.
“You must not do this.” He looked at the man with a countenance that was neither angry nor mean. Redshirt was firm, but was never threatening.
In the span of less than a heartbeat firing erupted and four men lay dead. Redshirt’s sons stood, smoking guns in hand, ready for any other trouble. They did not have to worry, the fifth man ran on urine soaked legs toward the jail. He did not want to fight them now that his pals were done for.
The patrón called to his boys to move the bodies into the shade, out of the way so that no one could trample them. Then they rode out. Allingham