Once he looked down through a wide cleft in the
face of the bluff, and could perceive the head of the slowly advancing
pack-train far below. Away to the left something was moving, a dim,
shapeless dash of color. It might be Benteen, but of Reno's columns he
could perceive nothing, nor anything of Custer's excepting that broad
track across the prairies marked by his horses' hoofs. This track
Hampton followed, pressing his fresh mount to increased speed,
confident that no Indian spies would be loitering so closely in the
rear of that body of cavalry, and becoming fearful lest the attack
should occur before he could arrive.
He dipped over a sharp ridge and came suddenly upon the rear-guard.
They were a little squad of dusty, brown-faced troopers, who instantly
wheeled into line at sound of approaching hoofs, the barrels of their
lowered carbines glistening in the sun. With a swing of the hand, and
a hoarse shout of "Despatches!" he was beyond them, bending low over
his saddle pommel, his eyes on the dust cloud of the moving column.
The extended line of horsemen, riding in column of fours, came to a
sudden halt, and he raced swiftly on.
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