The worst was over, and like
maddened lions, the rallied soldiers of the Seventh, cursing their
folly, turned to strike and slay.
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.
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