Slowly they drew
their lines closer about the troops like the clinging tentacles of some
monster devilfish, and about eleven o'clock, _Bang!_ and the battle was
on.
"Husband your fire, men. Don't shoot until you have taken deliberate
aim, and can see the object aimed at," was the word passed along the
line by Colonel Clarke.
Behind hastily constructed shelter trenches the soldiers fought off that
encircling band of Indians, with a desperation and valor born of an
almost hopeless situation. Ever and anon, from across the river came the
ping of a Winchester bullet, proving that retreat was cut off that way.
The Indians had completely marched around them.
Where was the re-enforcement? Why didn't it come? Was this to be another
Little Big Horn, and were these brave men to be massacred like the
gallant 7th Cavalry under Custer? As long as his ammunition held out
Colonel Clarke knew he could stand them off, but after three days of
hard fighting, resulting in the loss of many brave men, the situation
was becoming desperate. Fires could not be lighted and more than one
brave fellow went to kingdom come in filling the canteens at the river's
bank.
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