It was a step nearer the
end, yet those who fought scarcely realized its significance. Exultant
over their seemingly successful repulse, the men flung themselves again
upon the earth, their cheers ringing out above the thud of retreating
hoofs.
"We can hold them here, boys, until Reno comes," they shouted to each
other.
The skulking red riflemen crept ever closer behind the ridges, driving
their deadly missiles into those ranks exposed in the open. Twice
squads dashed forth to dislodge these bands, but were in turn driven
back, the line of fire continually creeping nearer, clouds of smoke
concealing the cautious marksmen lying prone in the grass. Custer
walked up and down the irregular line, cool, apparently unmoved,
speaking words of approval to officers and men. To the command of the
bugle they discharged two roaring volleys from their carbines, hopeful
that the combined sound might reach the ears of the lagging Reno. They
were hopeful yet, although one troop had only a sergeant left in
command, and the dead bodies of their comrades strewed the plain.
Twice those fierce red horsemen tore down upon them, forcing the thin,
struggling line back by sheer strength of overwhelming numbers, yet no
madly galloping warrior succeeded in bursting through.
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