"Plague take the luck, I must git. Sich a good chance thrown away. Now, ye kin bet high on't, Bolly Wherrit's goin' ter have his own rifle back agin, an' resky that gal mighty soon. Whoa, Bess, whoa, old girl. Have they been treatin' ye bad? Away now, an' make the dust fly!" Faithful Black Bess needed no second invitation, but darted away like an arrow shot from the bow, with Bolly swinging his rifle in the air, and shouting defiance to those who followed after. His first thought was to make for the river and join the combatants on the other shore, but upon glancing across, such a mass of surging humanity met his gaze that Bolly was actually appalled. Besides, his pursuers were between himself and the water having come from that direction. "Tarnal death! but it looks hot over thar. Reckon it must be Custer, for I swar no other man wud do sich a dare-devil thing. Ef they get outer thet hole, then I'll guv the general credit fur a heap o' smartness. Oh! yer imps o' Satan. 'Spect ter ketch me, hey? Wal, now we'll see what the hoss has ter say 'bout thet," muttered Bolly. Actions often speak louder than words; if Black Bess could not talk, she certainly showed what she thought of the case by making a streak that promised to carry the ranger out of sight very shortly. The last the score of Sioux saw of him he was waving his old hat in an affectionate farewell, and the exuberant shouts he gave utterance to came faintly across the level ground. Bolly made at once for the hills, which he reached in a short time. Here we will leave the brave old ranger for a time, hatching up daring plans to carry out his singular mission, and return once more to that ravine of death where Custer and the last of his command fell beneath the fury of the Sioux and their renegade friends. CHAPTER VII. ROBBERS OF THE DEAD. Night had closed over the scene of the terrible battle, but the darkness was not intense, as the stars shone out with unusual brilliancy, and the silver crescent of a new moon in the western sky lent its feeble aid. The cold stars looked down upon a fearful sight; such an one as has not been seen in this fair land for many a year. Hundreds of men and horses lying dead in that fatal ravine, and a trail of bodies leading almost in a circle, down to the river and then up the bluffs. Valiant men lay here: heroes whose names shall ever be mentioned with proud honor by their surviving comrades; and yet what a price they paid for that worthless commodity to the dead--immortality. Across the Little Horn could be heard the noises of a great camp, and once in a while the breeze bore the distant crack of firearms. These last came from several miles to the south, where Major Reno had intrenched his command on the bluffs, and from hastily-constructed rifle-pits fought the enemy, who had posted themselves on the neighboring heights, where they could control his position.