rs,
saddles recinched, and curb chains carefully looked after. This was
the work of but a few moments, the half-frozen soldiers moving with an
eagerness that sent the hot blood coursing fiercely through numbed
limbs. To the whispered command to mount, running from lip to lip
along the line, the men sprang joyously into their saddles, their
quickened ears and eager eyes ready for the signal.

Slowly, at a walk, Custer led them forward toward the crest of the
hill, where the Osage guide watched through the spectral light of dawn
the doomed village beneath. To the uplift of a hand the column halted,
and Custer and his bugler went forward. A step behind crouched the
Sergeant, grasping the reins of three horses, while a little to the
right, beyond the sweep of the coming charge, waited the regimental
band.

Peering over the crest, the leader saw through the dim haze, scarcely
five hundred yards distant, dotting the north bank of the Washita for
more than a quarter of a mile, the Indian village. There was about it
scarcely a sign of human life. From the top of two or three of the
tepees light wreaths of smoke floated languidly out on the wintry air,
and beyond the pony herd was restlessly moving. Even as he gazed, half
convinced that the Indians had been warned, the village deserted, the
sharp report of a rifle rang out in the distance.

Hamlin saw the General spring upright, his lips uttering the sharp
command, "_Sound the charge!_" Even while the piercing blare of the
bugle cut the frosty air, there was a jingle of steel as the troopers
behind spurred forward. Almost at the instant the three dismounted men
were in saddle. Custer waved his hand at the band, shouted "Play!" and
to the rollicking air of "Garry Owen," the eager column of horsemen
broke into a mad gallop, and with ringing cheers and mighty rush, swept
over the ridge straight down into the startled village. To Hamlin, at
Custer's side, reins in his teeth, a revolver in either hand, what
followed was scarcely a memory. It remained afterward as a blurred,
indistinct picture of action, changing so rapidly as to leave no
definite outlines. He heard the answering call of three bugles; the
deafening thud of horses' hoofs; the converging cheers of excited
troopers; the mingling ring of revolver shots; a sharp order cleaving
the turmoil; the wild neigh of a stricken horse; the guttural yells of
Indians leaping from their tepees into the open. Then he was