The valley was obscured with clouds of dust and smoke, the day

frightfully hot and suffocating. The various troop commanders, gaining

control over their men, were prompt to act. A line of skirmishers was

hastily thrown forward along the edge of the bluff, while volunteers,

urged by the agonized cries of the wounded, endeavored vainly to

procure a supply of water from the river. Again and again they made

the effort, only to be driven back by the deadly Indian rifle fire.

This came mostly from braves concealed behind rocks or protected by the

timber along the stream, but large numbers of hostiles were plainly

visible, not only in the valley, but also upon the ridges. The firing

upon their position continued incessantly, the warriors continually

changing their point of attack. By three o'clock, although the

majority of the savages had departed down the river, enough remained to

keep up a galling fire, and hold Reno strictly on the defensive. These

reds skulked in ravines, or lined the banks of the river, their

long-range rifles rendering the lighter carbines of the cavalrymen

almost valueless. A few crouched along the edge of higher eminences,

their shots crashing in among the unprotected troops.

As the men lay exposed to this continuous sniping fire, above the

surrounding din were borne to their ears the reports of distant guns.

It came distinctly from the northward, growing heavier and more

continuous. None among them doubted its ominous meaning. Custer was

already engaged in hot action at the right of the Indian village. Why

were they kept lying there in idleness? Why were they not pushed

forward to do their part? They looked into each other's faces. God!

They were three hundred now; they could sweep aside like chaff that

fringe of red skirmishers if only they got the word! With hearts

throbbing, every nerve tense, they waited, each trooper crouched for

the spring. Officer after officer, unable to restrain his impatience,

strode back across the bluff summit, amid whistling bullets, and

personally begged the Major to speak the one word which should hurl

them to the rescue. They cried like women, they swore through clinched

teeth, they openly exhibited their contempt for such a commander, yet

the discipline of army service made active disobedience impossible.

They went reluctantly back, as helpless as children.

It was four o'clock, the shadows of the western bluffs already

darkening the river bank. Suddenly a faint cheer ran along the lines,

and the men lifted themselves to gaze up the river. Urging the tired

animals to a trot, the strong hand of a trooper grasping every

halter-strap, Brant was swinging his long pack-train up the

smoke-wreathed valley. The out-riding flankers exchanged constant

shots with the skulking savages hiding in every ravine and coulée.

Pausing only to protect their wounded, fighting their way step by step,

N Troop ran the gantlet and came charging into the cheering lines with

every pound of their treasure safe. Weir of D, whose dismounted

troopers held that portion of the line, strode a pace forward to greet

the leader, and as the extended hands of the officers met, there echoed

down to them from the north the reports of two heavy volleys, fired in

rapid succession. The sounds were clear, distinctly audible even above

the uproar of the valley. The heavy eyes of the two soldiers met,

their dust-streaked faces flushed.




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