"Cook wrote it, and addressed it to Benteen. It read: 'Come on. Big
village. Be quick. Bring packs.' And then, 'P. S.--Bring packs.'
That means they want ammunition badly; they're fighting to the death
out yonder, and they need powder. Oh, the coward!"

Brant's eyes ran down the waiting line of his own men, sitting their
saddles beside the halted pack-animals. He leaned over and dropped one
hand heavily on Weir's shoulder. "The rest of you can do as you
please, but N Troop is going to take those ammunition packs over to
Custer if there's any possible way to get through, orders or no
orders." He straightened up in the saddle, and his voice sounded down
the wearied line like the blast of a trumpet.

"Attention! N Troop! Right face; dress. Number four bring forward
the ammunition packs. No, leave the others where they are; move
lively, men!"

He watched them swing like magic into formation, their dust-begrimed
faces lighting up with animation. They knew their officer, and this
meant business.

"Unsling carbines--load!"

Weir, the veteran soldier, glanced down that steady line of ready
troopers, and then back to Brant's face. "Do you mean it? Are you
going up those bluffs? Good Heavens, man, it will mean a
court-martial."

"Custer commands the Seventh. I command the pack-train," said Brant.
"His orders are to bring up the packs. Perhaps I can't get through
alone, but I 'll try. Better a court-martial than to fail those men
out there. Going? Of course I 'm going. Into line--take
intervals--forward!"

"Attention, D Troop!" It was Weir's voice, eager and determined now.
Like an undammed current his orders rang out above the uproar, and in a
moment the gallant troopers of N and D, some on foot, some in saddle,
were rushing up the face of the bluff, their officers leading, the
precious ammunition packs at the centre, all alike scrambling for the
summit, in spite of the crackling of Indian rifles from every side.
Foot by foot they fought their way forward, sliding and stumbling,
until the little blue wave burst out against the sky-line and sent an
exultant cheer back to those below. Panting, breathless from the hard
climb, their carbines spitting fire while the rapidly massing savages
began circling their exposed position, the little band fought their way
forward a hundred yards. Then they halted, blocked by the numbers
barring their path, glancing back anxiously in hope that their effort
wou