As the men lay exposed to this continuous sniping fire, above the surrounding din were borne to their ears the reports of distant guns.  It came distinctly from the northward, growing heavier and more continuous.  None among them doubted its ominous meaning.  Custer was already engaged in hot action at the right of the Indian village.  Why were they kept lying there in idleness?  Why were they not pushed forward to do their part?  They looked into each other’s faces.  God!  They were three hundred now; they could sweep aside like chaff that fringe of red skirmishers if only they got the word!  With hearts throbbing, every nerve tense, they waited, each trooper crouched for the spring.  Officer after officer, unable to restrain his impatience, strode back across the bluff summit, amid whistling bullets, and personally begged the Major to speak the one word which should hurl them to the rescue.  They cried like women, they swore through clinched teeth, they openly exhibited their contempt for such a commander, yet the discipline of army service made active disobedience impossible.  They went reluctantly back, as helpless as children.

It was four o’clock, the shadows of the western bluffs already darkening the river bank.  Suddenly a faint cheer ran along the lines, and the men lifted themselves to gaze up the river.  Urging the tired animals to a trot, the strong hand of a trooper grasping every halter-strap, Brant was swinging his long pack-train up the smoke-wreathed valley.  The out-riding flankers exchanged constant shots with the skulking savages hiding in every ravine and coulee.  Pausing only to protect their wounded, fighting their way step by step, N Troop ran the gantlet and came charging into the cheering lines with every pound of their treasure safe.  Weir of D, whose dismounted troopers held that portion of the line, strode a pace forward to greet the leader, and as the extended hands of the officers met, there echoed down to them from the north the reports of two heavy volleys, fired in rapid succession.  The sounds were clear, distinctly audible even above the uproar of the valley.  The heavy eyes of the two soldiers met, their dust-streaked faces flushed.

“That was a signal, Custer’s signal for help!” the younger man cried, impulsively, his voice full of agony.  “For God’s sake, Weir, what are you fellows waiting here for?”

The other uttered a groan, his hand flung in contempt back toward the bluff summit.  “The cowardly fool won’t move; he’s whipped to death now.”

Brant’s jaw set like that of a fighting bulldog.

“Reno, you mean?  Whipped?  You have n’t lost twenty men.  Is this the Seventh—­the Seventh?—­skulking here under cover while Custer begs help?  Doesn’t the man know?  Doesn’t he understand?  By heaven, I ’ll face him myself!  I ’ll make him act, even if I have to damn him to his face.”

He swung his horse with a jerk to the left, but even as the spurs touched, Weir grasped the taut rein firmly.