Page:Eleven years in the Rocky Mountains and a life on the frontier.djvu/538

54 "He next comes to the fight on the Little Big Horn, and describes the Indian village, which was six miles long and one wide. He then speaks of Custer's approach and fight with its tragic details as an unwilling spectator, rather than a participant, who, during its progress, remained quietly in his lodge in the centre of the Indian village. The fight with Reno commenced about noon, the Indians all rushing to oppose his advance, until the approach of Custer toward the lower end of the village was announced, when the wildest confusion prevailed throughout the camp. Lodges were struck and preparations made for instant flight. Vast numbers of Indians left Reno's front and hastened to the assistance of their red brethren engaged with Custer, who was steadily forced back and surrounded until all were swept from the field by the repeated charges of the Indians.

"He described the firing at this point as simply terrific, and illustrated its force by clapping his hands together with great rapidity and regularity. Then came a lull in the fearful storm of iron hail and his hands were still again. The storm beat fast and furious as the thought of some loved one nerved the arm of each contending trooper. Then the movement of his hands slackened and gradually grew more feeble. A few scattering shakes, like the rain upon a window pane, and then the movement ceased as the last of Custer's band of heroes went down with the setting sun.

"It was dusk as the successful combatants returned to camp littered with their dead and wounded. 'We have killed them all,' they said, 'put up your lodges where they are.' They had just began to fix their lodges that evening, when a report came that troops were coming from toward the mouth of the creek. When this report came, after dark, the lodges were all taken down and they started up the creek. 'I told my men,' says Kill Eagle, 'to keep together, and we would try and get away. Some one told on me, and they said let us kill him and his band, we have lost many young men to-day, and our hearts are bad. We travelled all night and next day; after crossing the Greasy Grass we encamped near the foot of the White Mountains. That night, when I was asleep, I heard a man calling. I woke up my people and this man proved to be a Cheyenne Indian, belonging to a party that had been off on the war-path in the White Mountains.'