Barricades of boxes and horse carcasses were being piled up, and the order went forth to scoop out rifle pits, for the next day’s fight. The darkness gradually settled. There was no water for coffee, and every mouth was too dry to chew bread. The bluff was miserable, but the village below was gay. Great fires flared redly; and about them the Indians were prancing and yelping in a tremendous scalp dance. With flames and shrieks and hoots and firing of guns and beating of tom-toms the dances lasted all night. But the Indians were not unmindful of the watchers on the bluff; for when Major Reno sent out scouts to find an open way they speedily crept back, with word that they had encountered nothing but Sioux, Sioux, Sioux, everywhere. No matter; Custer would come, in the morning; and soon would come Terry and Gibbon, and Crook the Gray Fox. The digging of the little rifle-pits took most of the night. Ned had been helping one of the squads. They had finished their pit, and he had closed his eyes, for a moment (he was so tired!), when he wakened with a jump. Two rifle-shots echoed in his ears. To the signal up-swelled a hideous clamor again, of whoops and rapid reports; the bullets pelted in, ringing upon the rocks and cutting the dry earth and the brittle sage. There was no need for “Assembly”; into the pits dived the men. The east was barely pink. Dawn scarce had arrived. The hour must be very early. But for white and red the day had begun. “Give it to ’em, men; give it to ’em, but be careful how you shoot. Make every bullet tell.” The sharp words of Captain Benteen and Lieutenant Gibson, as they walked up and down behind Troop H, steadied the nerves of all. How fast the bullets rained in! They struck from before and from behind. As the dawn brightened, the feathered chiefs could be seen gesturing and commanding, while hither-thither ran their naked warriors, to occupy better positions. There were swarms of them; _swarms_! “For the love o’ Saint Patrick, but they’re all sharp-shooters!” gasped Private McDermott, at Ned’s elbow. “An’ half o’ them are out o’ range of us, wid these sawed-off carbines.” So they were—all sharp-shooters. Fast and true their lead picked, picked, at the rifle-pits and barricades; searched the hollow where were herded the pack-mules and the extra horses. Along the line of H company men were being killed, some by bullets from behind. Mules and horses screamed with wounds. Powder reek filled the still air. One’s head ached with the noise, one’s throat smarted with the smoke. Major Reno, in his position to the north, must lie low; must lie low Captain Benteen and every other officer. The Indians were creeping closer. By little dashes and rushes they stole up, through the brush. With whish and patter arrows began to eke out the hail of bullets. “Must be short o’ ammunition,” muttered Private McDermott.