own horse in instant readiness for action. Not a few, wearied with the
day's work, while still clinging to their bridles, wrapped the capes of
their overcoats over their heads and threw themselves down in the snow,
and fell asleep.

At the first sight of dawn Hamlin was sent down the line to arouse
them. Overcoats were taken off, and strapped to the saddles, carbines
loaded and slung, pistols examined and loosened in their holsters,
saddles recinched, and curb chains carefully looked after. This was
the work of but a few moments, the half-frozen soldiers moving with an
eagerness that sent the hot blood coursing fiercely through numbed
limbs. To the whispered command to mount, running from lip to lip
along the line, the men sprang joyously into their saddles, their
quickened ears and eager eyes ready for the signal.

Slowly, at a walk, Custer led them forward toward the crest of the
hill, where the Osage guide watched through the spectral light of dawn
the doomed village beneath. To the uplift of a hand the column halted,
and Custer and his bugler went forward. A step behind crouched the
Sergeant, grasping the reins of three horses, while a little to the
right, beyond the sweep of the coming charge, waited the regimental
band.

Peering over the crest, the leader saw through the dim haze, scarcely
five hundred yards distant, dotting the north bank of the Washita for
more than a quarter of a mile, the Indian village. There was about it
scarcely a sign of human life. From the top of two or three of the
tepees light wreaths of smoke floated languidly out on the wintry air,
and beyond the pony herd was restlessly moving. Even as he gazed, half
convinced that the Indians had been warned, the village deserted, the