Driven thus to bay, the stream at their back rendering farther retreat
impossible, for a few moments the light carbines of the soldiers met
the Indian rifles, giving back lead for lead. But already every chance
for successful attack had vanished; the whole narrow valley seemed to
swarm with braves; they poured forth from sheltering _coulees_ and
shadowed ravines; they dashed down in countless numbers from the
distant village. Custer, now far away behind the bluffs, and almost
beyond sound of the firing, was utterly ignored. Every savage chief
knew exactly where that column was, but it could await its turn; Gall,
Crazy Horse, and Crow King mustered their red warriors for one
determined effort to crush Reno, to grind him into dust beneath their
ponies' hoofs. Ay, and they nearly did it!
In leaderless effort to break away from that swift-gathering cordon,
before the red, remorseless folds should close tighter and crush them
to death, the troopers, half of them already dismounted, burst from
cover in an endeavor to attain the shelter of the bluffs. The deadly
Indian rifles flamed in their faces, and they were hurled back, a mere
fleeing mob, searching for nothing in that moment of terror but a
possible passageway across the stream.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404