There is a grave that sits up on Toppenish Ridge, my father found it
when he was a youth and it is located just above where the Chisholm
Ranch was on the Satus. My dad always said he was an uncle. It turns out
that my dads aunt married A.J. Hembrees nephew. The grave belongs to A.
J. Hembree. There is a memorial in the town of Toppenish to him. I am
encluding a pic of the memorial. The following was taken out of the book
A Little War of Destiny by John C. Jackson.

The morning sun was already slanting in at six o'clock when Captain
Hembree forked his sorrel mule. Captains. Wilbur and Wilson and
Lieutenants Hutt and Stllwell, with four privates were going up the
mountain for a quick once over. About a half mile from camp they came
into a flat between two ridges and noticed some stray horses. Suddenly
Indian warriors rose from a ravine on their left and pumped a volley
into the scouting party. fifty or sixty hostiles rode out from behind
the decoy poinis and charged the little group. As they wheeled to flee a
shot knocked Hembree from his mule. Although shot through the hips and
paralysed, the country Captain scrambled to pull his pistols and belly
around to face the chargers. Responding to his desperate call"my God
boys, don't leave me. : five of his friends rallied on him and fired
their rifles and pistols into the mob of Indians. But the hostiles came
on whooping liek fiends and flapping blankets to stampede the horses.
    Stillwill hit one of the chargers and checked the frontal attack but
the flanks closed in. Lacking the firepower to make a stand the five
sprinted for their lives. Stillwell's last glimpse of Hembree saw him
propped on his right elbow firing his navy colts into the chargers.
    As he plunged down the hill Lieutenant Stillwell was closely pressed
by a pursuing Indian. When the nose of the warrior's pony brushed his
leg, Stillwell swung his own horse on its haunches and the surprised
Indian was thrown off the pony.
    Surprised by the tableau of the sudden attack, the troopers in camp
snatched their rifles and splashed across the creek. The first of them
were startig up the hill as the fleeing survivors plunged down and
Captain Wilson wheeled to lead reinforcements back up the hill. Aimed
rifle fire at close range was more that the Indians wanted and they fell
back abandoning the boyd of Hembree which lay white and naked, scalped
to the neck. He was the last of the old pioneers. Captain Haller wrote a
letter of consolation to Nesmith which stated in pre-Victorian
romanticism, "death loves a shinging mark