The next morning, the weather being bitterly cold, the men moved out to attack the Indian camp. Crazy Horse’s warriors numbered between eight and nine hundred. He had posted his men on the cliffs surmounting a valley in the Wolf Mountains, a spur of the Big Horn Range, not far from Crook’s battle-ground on the Rosebud. The troops entered the valley in full view of the Indians occupying the heights. The position was well chosen; for in order to make the attack, the soldiers would have to climb straight up the walls to get at the Indians, who were enabled, by the configuration of the ground and by their numbers, almost to surround the soldiers. One reason why Crazy Horse was willing to fight was because of his great desire to get possession of the Indians recently captured. Seeing that Crazy Horse was willing to accept battle, Miles made his preparations deliberately. The troops, out of range of the Indians, calmly had breakfast and made their camp secure. Having done everything at his leisure, Miles moved out to the attack. The Sioux were plainly visible on the cliffs. They could be seen shaking their fists and brandishing their rifles as the soldiers slowly advanced through the deep snow which covered the ground. The Indians seemed absolutely confident that Miles was marching into a trap, that when he got into the cañon he would be unable to scale the slopes, and they would have him at their mercy. There was no ambush about it. The whole thing was open and plain. They had chosen their position and had invited the soldiers to make at them. There was, indeed, no other way for Miles to get to them, so cunningly had they taken advantage of the ground, except the way which lay open before them. As the troops drew nearer, the gestures of defiance and contempt were accompanied by yells and jeers. Among the things they shouted in their confident assurance of success were these significant words: “You have had your last breakfast!” Indeed, the grim prophecy did not seem unlikely of fulfilment. It might have been supposed that men, encumbered as were the soldiers with their heavy, winter clothing, could never have scaled those heights, especially in the face of such opposition as the redoubtable warriors of Crazy Horse would offer. If they did not succeed in clearing the cliffs of the Indians, they would probably be shot down in scores in the valley. They would then be forced to retreat to their train, if any of them were left alive to do so, and stand a siege; and as they were three or four hundred miles from any possible relieving force, and in the depth of a Dakota winter, that would mean a speedy annihilation. It was a serious risk to take, but no battle was ever won without taking risks, and the nice art of the soldier consists in knowing what risks to take and when to take them. Not the least of Miles’ claims to admiration as a commander was his determination, under all circumstances, to fight then and there.