age from his apparent weakness, burst forth in resistless torrent
against the slender, unsupported line, turned his flank by one fierce
charge, and hurled the struggling troopers back with a rush into the
narrow strip of timber bordering the river.

Driven thus to bay, the stream at their back rendering farther retreat
impossible, for a few moments the light carbines of the soldiers met
the Indian rifles, giving back lead for lead. But already every chance
for successful attack had vanished; the whole narrow valley seemed to
swarm with braves; they poured forth from sheltering _coulees_ and
shadowed ravines; they dashed down in countless numbers from the
distant village. Custer, now far away behind the bluffs, and almost
beyond sound of the firing, was utterly ignored. Every savage chief
knew exactly where that column was, but it could await its turn; Gall,
Crazy Horse, and Crow King mustered their red warriors for one
determined effort to crush Reno, to grind him into dust beneath their
ponies' hoofs. Ay, and they nearly did it!

In leaderless effort to break away from that swift-gathering cordon,
before the red, remorseless folds should close tighter and crush them
to death, the troopers, half of them already dismounted, burst from
cover in an endeavor to attain the shelter of the bluffs. The deadly
Indian rifles flamed in their faces, and they were hurled back, a mere
fleeing mob, searching for nothing in that moment of terror but a
possible passageway across the stream. Through some rare providence of
God, they chanced to strike the banks at a spot where the river proved
fordable. They plunged headlong in, officers and men commingled, the
Indian bullets churning up the water on every side; they struggled
madly through, and spurred their horses up the steep ridge beyond. A
few cool-headed veterans halted at the edge of the bank to defend the
passage; but the majority, crazed by panic and forgetful of all
discipline, raced frantically for the summit. Dr. De Wolf stood at the
very water's edge firing until shot down; McIntosh, striving vainly to
rally his demoralized men, sank with a bullet in his brain; Hodgson,
his leg broken by a ball, clung to a sergeant's stirrup until a second
shot stretched him dead upon the bank. The loss in that wild retreat
(which Reno later called a "charge") was heavy, the effect
demoralizing; but those who escaped found a spot well suited for
defence. Even as they swung down fr