Shadowy figures glided hither and thither over the field of battle, for that it was a battle, though a very uneven one, I do affirm, in spite of the constant appellation of massacre indulged in by the newspaper men. The very word massacre brings to mind the idea of a wholesale butchery of helpless people. Historians are prone to be partial in its use. We always find the affair termed a massacre when the Indians are victorious; but when the tables are turned it is "a splendid campaign," "a hard-fought battle," and "a glorious victory for the troops." If the word massacre does not mean a one-sided butchery, then every world's battle has been such. As to Custer's particular case, did he not move forward with the intention of attacking the village, and though every man fell, did they not slay at least their own number of redskins? Then this proves the affair a battle and not a massacre. Having carried my point, I beg pardon for the digression. These shadowy figures gliding over the scene of death were robbers of the slain, and having no compunctions of conscience, if a coveted ring refused to come off, the finger was at once severed in order to obtain the bauble. Noble Custer and most of his officers lay close together, just as they had fallen. Near by was a heap of slain, which included troopers, Sioux and horses. One of the robbers of the dead approached this pile, and began pulling the bodies about in a promiscuous manner, his eyes busily engaged searching for plunder. Under this pile a form lay, which, as the heavenly lights fell upon it, revealed the features of the boy who had been beside General Custer when he fell. Something gleamed from the little finger of his left hand, and as this sparkled in the light of the moon, the prowler uttered a delighted exclamation that at once proved him to be a white man. Seizing hold of the hand, he at once attempted to pull the diamond solitaire ring off, but this proving fruitless, he felt for his knife. Just as this was drawn, his hand was tightly clutched by the one he held. The truth of the matter was, that the boy had been rendered insensible by being struck with a bullet, that glanced from his forehead without breaking the bone. Others, killed later in the desperate struggle, had fallen upon him, and here for several hours he lay at the door of death. When the heap that pressed upon him had been removed by the robber, the fresh air served to partially revive him, and the twisting of his finger by the desperado finished the business. Mason, as I shall call my boy hero, for Custer had given him that name when addressing him, opened his eyes. By the dim light of the stars and the new moon combined, he saw the figure of a man kneeling over him. That it was a white man was evident from his clothes and hat, and also the bushy beard.