The Roswell daily record. [volume] (Roswell, N.M.) 1903-current, 1907-09-03
XXI.
The Fight in the Valley.

Far below, in the heart of the sunny
depression bordering the left bank of
the Little Big Horn, the stalwart
troopers under Reno's command gazed
up the steep bluff to wave arewelI to
their comrades disappearing to the
right. Last of all, Custer halted his
horse an instant, silhouetted against
the blue sky, and swung his hat be-
fore squirting out of sight.
The plan of battle was most simple
and direct 1t involved a nearly SIM
%ultaneous attack upon the vast Indian
village from below and above, success
depending altogether upon the prompt
cooperation of the separate detach-
ments. Scarcely had Clusters slender
column of horsemen vanished across
the summit before Reno's command
advanced, trotting down the valley,
the Arikara scouts in the lead. They
had been chosen to strike the first
blow. to force their way into the lower
village, and thus to draw the defend
ing warriors to their front, while Gus
ter's men were to charge upon the
real.
A half-mile, a mile, Reno's troops
rode, with NO sound breaking the 81
lence but the pounding of hoofs, the
tinkle of accoutrements. Then, round
ing a sharp projection of earth and
rock, the scattered lodges of the In
dian village already partially revealed
to those in advance, the riders were
brought to sudden halt by a fierce
cracking of rifles from rock and ra-
vine. Men fell cursing, and the fright
ened horses swerved, their riders
struggling madly with their mounts,
the column thrown into momentary
confusion. But the surprised cavalry
men, ~quailing beneath the hot fire
poured into them, rallied to the shouts
of their officers, and swung into a
slender battle front, stretching out
their thin line from the bank Of the
river to the sharp upliSa of the west
ern bluffs. Scarcely $50 white troop
ers waited to stem as best they might
hat fierce onrush of 1000 battle
crazed braves.
For an almost breathless space those
mingled hordes of Sioux and Chey-
ennes hesitated to drive straight home
their death-blow. They knew those
silent men in the blue shirts, knew
they died hard. Upon that slight
pause pivoted the fate of the day;
upon it hung the lives of those other
men riding boldly and t~rustfully across
the sunlit ridges above. "Audacity,
always audacity," that is the accepted
motto for a cavalryman. And be the
cause what it may, it was here that
Maj. Reno failed. In that supreme in
tai he was guilty of hesitancy,
doubt, delay. He chose defense in
preference to attack. dallied where he
should have acted. The observing
savages, gathering courage from his
apparent weakness, burst forth in re-
s~istless torrent against the slender,
unsupported line, turned his flank by
n fierce charge and hurled the
struggling troopers back with a rush
into the narrow strip of timber border
ing b river.
The whole narrow valley seemed to
swarm with braves; they poured forth
from sheltering coulees and Swallowed
~ravines; they dashed down in count
less numbers from the distant village.
Custer, now far way behind the
bluffs, and almost beyond sound of
the firing, was utterly ignored. Every
savage chief knew exactly where hat
column was, but it could wait it's turn.
In leaderless effort to break away
from that swift-gathering Gordon, be-
fore the red, remorseless folds should
close tighter and crush them to death,
the troopers, half of them already dis
mounted, burst from cover in an en-
deavor to attain the shelter of the
bluffs. The deadly Indian lilies
famed In their faces. and they were
hurled back, q mere fleeing mob,
searching for nothing in hat moment
of terror but a possible passageway
across the stream. Through some
rare providence of God, they CHANGED
to strike the banks at a spot where
the river proved fordable. They
plunged headlong in. oficers and men
commingied, the Indian bullets churn-
ing up the water ON every side. The
loss in that wild retreat (which Reno