Scarcely one hundred and fifty
white troopers waited to stem as best they might that fierce onrush of
twelve hundred battle-crazed braves.
For an almost breathless space those mingled hordes of Sioux and
Cheyennes hesitated to drive straight home their death-blow. They knew
those silent men in the blue shirts, knew they died hard. Upon that
slight pause pivoted the fate of the day; upon it hung the lives of
those other men riding boldly and trustfully across the sunlit ridges
above. "Audacity, always audacity," that is the accepted motto for a
cavalryman. And be the cause what it may, it was here that Major Reno
failed. In that supreme instant he was guilty of hesitancy, doubt,
delay. He chose defence in preference to attack, dallied where he
should have acted. Instead of hurling like a thunderbolt that handful
of eager fighting men straight at the exposed heart of the foe, making
dash and momentum, discipline and daring, an offset to lack of numbers,
he lingered in indecision, until the observing savages, gathering
courage from his apparent weakness, burst forth in resistless torrent
against the slender, unsupported line, turned his flank by one fierce
charge, and hurled the struggling troopers back with a rush into the
narrow strip of timber bordering the river.
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