Only jeers
rewarded the stirring spectacle,--jeers and a few low-aimed, sputtering
volleys that brought other luckless ponies to their knees and sprawled a
few red riders. But in less than five minutes from the warning cry that
hailed their coming, Lame Wolf and his hosts were lining Elk Tooth ridge
and watching with burning hate and vengeful eyes the swift, steady
advance of Webb's long blue fighting line, and the utter unconcern of
the defence. Even before the relieving squadron was within carbine range
certain of Ray's men had scrambled out upon the northward bank and,
pushing forward upon the prairie, were possessing themselves of the arms
and ornaments of the two dead warriors whom the Sioux had strived in
vain to reach and bear within their lines. Ray and Clayton at the moment
were strolling placidly forth upon the southward "bench" to receive and
welcome the little knot of comrades sent galloping in advance to greet
them. There was perhaps just a suspicion of exaggerated nonchalance
about their gait and bearing--a regimental weakness, possibly--and no
other officer save Lieutenant Field happened to be within earshot when
Winsor's voice on the other front was heard in hoarse command:
"Come back there, you fellows! Back or you're goners!"
The sight had proved too much for some of the Sioux.
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