The cañon was a gloomy gorge in the Big Horn Mountains. A swift, ice-bound river rushed over the rocks between precipitous walls, which soared into the sky for perhaps a thousand feet on either side. Numberless icy brooks poured their contents into the main stream through lateral cañons scarcely less forbidding in their appearance than the main one, and which made the trail of the creek almost impossible. Here and there the cañon widened, and in one of these open places the Cheyennes, under the leadership of Dull Knife, had pitched their camp. They fondly believed the place impregnable—as, indeed, with careful guarding it would have been. The greatest precaution was taken by Mackenzie to prevent his men from making any noise. They stood in ranks by their horses in the snow in that polar cold, waiting for the order for the advance. Presently the moon rose, flooding the recesses of the ravine with silvery light, which sparkled with dazzling brilliancy upon patches of snow here and there on the dark walls. Mackenzie, calculating that day would be breaking just about the time he would reach the camp from his present position, at last gave order to take up the march. With what relief the benumbed troopers sprang to their saddles and urged their shivering horses forward, can scarcely be imagined by dwellers in peaceful lands around warm firesides. As they struggled up the cañon they could hear the sound of dancing and revelry in the Indian camp, faintly blown back to them by the night wind. They learned afterward that the Cheyennes had just returned from a successful raid on the Shoshones, and that the dance was in celebration of an important victory they had gained. They halted again, therefore, until all was silence, before they once more advanced. Day was beginning to break as they reached the village. The sleeping Indians in the camp had not the slightest suspicion that the enemy was within a hundred miles. The troops, cheering and shouting, burst upon them like a winter storm. Indians, when not apprehensive of attack, invariably sleep naked. The Cheyennes had just time to seize rifles and cartridge belts, while the women caught hasty blankets about the children, when the soldiers were upon them. Indeed, so quick and sudden was the attack that some of the warriors could not get out of the tepees. With their knives they slashed the wigwams, and from these openings fired upon the soldiers as they galloped through the village. Many were shot dead where a few moments before they had slept in peace. Most of the pony herd was captured, and the village in a short time was in possession of Mackenzie. The Cheyennes, though overwhelmed, were undismayed. They had retreated headlong up the cañon, but were soon rallied by their subchiefs. Dull Knife, their leader, was found in the village with half a dozen bullets in him. He had fought gallantly in the open until he died.