d the Major to speak the one word which should hurl
them to the rescue. They cried like women, they swore through clinched
teeth, they openly exhibited their contempt for such a commander, yet
the discipline of army service made active disobedience impossible.
They went reluctantly back, as helpless as children.

It was four o'clock, the shadows of the western bluffs already
darkening the river bank. Suddenly a faint cheer ran along the lines,
and the men lifted themselves to gaze up the river. Urging the tired
animals to a trot, the strong hand of a trooper grasping every
halter-strap, Brant was swinging his long pack-train up the
smoke-wreathed valley. The out-riding flankers exchanged constant
shots with the skulking savages hiding in every ravine and coulee.
Pausing only to protect their wounded, fighting their way step by step,
N Troop ran the gantlet and came charging into the cheering lines with
every pound of their treasure safe. Weir of D, whose dismounted
troopers held that portion of the line, strode a pace forward to greet
the leader, and as the extended hands of the officers met, there echoed
down to them from the north the reports of two heavy volleys, fired in
rapid succession. The sounds were clear, distinctly audible even above
the uproar of the valley. The heavy eyes of the two soldiers met,
their dust-streaked faces flushed.

"That was a signal, Custer's signal for help!" the younger man cried,
impulsively, his voice full of agony. "For God's sake, Weir, what are
you fellows waiting here for?"

The other uttered a groan, his hand flung in contempt back toward the
bluff summit. "The cowardly fool won't move; he's whipped to death
now."

Brant's jaw set like that of a fighting bulldog.

"Reno, you mean? Whipped? You have n't lost twenty men. Is this the
Seventh--the Seventh?--skulking here under cover while Custer begs
help? Doesn't the man know? Doesn't he understand? By heaven, I 'll
face him myself! I 'll make him act, even if I have to damn him to his
face."

He swung his horse with a jerk to the left, but even as the spurs
touched, Weir grasped the taut rein firmly.

"It's no use, Brant. It's been done; we've all been at him. He's
simply lost his head. Know? Of course he knows. Martini struck us
just below here, as we were coming in, with a message from Custer. It
would have stirred the blood of any one but him--Oh, God! it's
terrible."

"A message? What was it?"