his steed.

A few notes from the trumpeters, and the regiment was again in motion.

Onward at a gallop went the troops.

The valley of the Little Horn was reached, and where the great trail entered it, another halt was made.

Now the immense village was in sight: large bands of warriors made their appearance on all sides, some of them mounted, others on foot.

That there was serious business before them every man in that regiment saw by intuition; bloody work that would ring from one end of the land to the other, and yet how few of them suspected in what a terrible way it would end.

Custer was reckless; every military man has agreed upon that.

He possessed a willful trait in his character that at times showed itself, and when the occasion presented, as it was fated to do before this day was over, merged into an indomitable stubborn nature. This one serious fault was generally hidden beneath his dashing spirit, and it would be a difficult thing to have met a more social companion than this hero of the last Indian war.

There was something wrong about him on this day when he committed his fatal error.

United in a solid body, the regiment might have cut its way through the Indian camp, and in the end come out victorious.

Custer either considered his force stronger than it really was, or else underestimated the fighting powers of the enemy.

He was too confident, and, in order that the Indians should not escape, ordered Major Reno, with three companies, to enter the valley where the trail struck it.

The yellow-haired cavalry leader took five companies himself, numbering over three hundred men, with the avowed intention of entering the village some three miles further down.

Major Reno could offer no remonstrance to his superior officer, although perhaps he may have felt that this plan was a most dangerous one.

His lips and those of his fellow officers were sealed by military discipline. Not so, however, with Pandy Ellis.

He had gazed upon the tremendous Indian village as it could be seen from their elevated position with something akin to amazement. Never before in all its vast experience had the veteran ranger witnessed such a gathering of redskins, and his usually smiling face clouded with apprehension.

None knew the reckless, dashing nature of Custer better than Pandy, and he heard the orders for a division of the regiment with dismay.

He even ventured to remonstrate with the general, but the latter turned upon him fiercely, and, although his sudden anger suddenly cooled down without a word being spoken, the look was enough to inform the ranger that he was meddling with affairs in which he had no part.

All the censure of the rash act must fall upon one pair of shoulders, where the glory also rests.

Pandy fell a little behind when the detachment struck off behind the crest of the high bluffs marking the right bank of the Little Big Horn. The old fellow had grown more cautious in his advancing years, and although at one time, in his career, this daring assault would have filled him with thoughts of glory, it now had an effect quite the reverse. He could only deplore the fact that Custer would take no warning, but persisted in riding directly into the jaws of death. Duty seemed to stand out before the ranger, and dashing alongside the general, he once more begged him to consider the situation. Something was certainly wrong with the usually gentlemanly general.

"Old friend," said he, "if you fear for your own safety, there is plenty of time to join Reno yonder. If for my welfare, I beg of you to let the subject drop."

"General, if 'twar any other man az sed that, he shud never live ter see another sunrise. Ye know Pandy Ellis better than that," said the old man, reproachfully. Custer moved uneasily in his saddle.

"Forgive me, Ellis; I meant nothing. Some devilish humor seems to possess me to-day, and I must let it out in fight. Besides, there is no danger."

"No danger!" muttered Pandy, falling back again, "no danger. Cuss me ef thet don't sound odd. Three hundred agin three thousand! Taint like ther old days now; then reds war reds, but now az they've got rifles and kin use 'em better than our men, ther devils. Lord forgive me, but I must say that I never hearn o' sich a reckless thing. Pandy Ellis air a goin' ter see it through, though, ef he does go under. Time's 'bout nigh up anyhow, might az well larf an' grow fat, az ther feller sez. Don't think o' Bolly, but jist yell an' sail in. Hooray!" and the ranger gave a subdued shout as the wild excitement seized upon him.

Major Reno was left behind with his three companies. Further to the left, some two miles away, was Captain Belton with three more companies.

As Custer and his ill-fated three hundred rode gallantly away, vanishing behind the crown of the bluffs, some of those who remained may have entertained suspicions of the dreadful result that was soon to follow, but no time was granted to realize what these conjectures amounted to.

The Indians had gathered thickly on the opposite bank, and Major Reno at once gave the word to go forward.

Fording the river in the midst of a fire so deadly that several saddles were emptied, the soldiers reached the other shore. Once on terra firma they formed and then charged.

As the bugles rang out it was a glorious sight to see that compact body of men dash forward like an avalanche, clearing the way before them as if they were invincible.

Alas! that such a gallant charge should have been in vain.

Overwhelming numbers opposed the troops; the horses could not even move forward, and, brave to the core, the men threw themselves to the ground and fought on foot. It was a terrible struggle, but could not last long.

Finding that the number of the Indians was far more than had been even imagined, and realizing that to continue the struggle would mean the sacrifice of every man in the command, Major Reno reluctantly gave the order to remount, and the three companies crossed the river again under a harassing fire, sadly depleted in number.

Just then Captain Belton came up with his men, but seeing the madness of attempting to assail the infuriated horde of red demons, savage at their success and the sight of blood, he wisely retired, and joined Reno, who had taken up a position on one of the bluffs back of the river bank.

CHAPTER IV.

BRAVE CUSTER'S LAST SHOT.

—Charge of the Light Brigade.

The Crimean war may have presented its phases of reckless daring to the world, but I doubt if such a case as Custer's gallop to glory and death has been paralleled since the days of Leonidas and his deathless Spartans in the world-famed pass of Thermopylæ.

They literally rode to destruction, as may be seen when it is officially stated that not one regular soldier in the whole command lived through the battle.

After leaving the attack at the upper end of the village to Reno's case, Custer and his men struck along the route selected, at as rapid a pace as the nature of the ground permitted.

This line of travel was just beyond the crest of the high bluffs, and no doubt the leading principle that actuated the general into selecting it, was an idea that their movements might be concealed from the enemy.

In this, however, the project failed utterly,