“Wait! I’ll get one of those red beggars,” exclaimed Private Burns. From his place he crawled forward, hugging the brush, for better aim. On he went, peering; but see! Half-up he sprang, and fell, crumpled into a lax heap. With exultant whoop a painted, glistening coppery figure darted toward him, speeding like a deer, coupstick, ten feet long, out-stretched to touch his body and claim a scalp. But half a dozen carbines spoke together, and the painted, glistening coppery figure collapsed to a dully red mass. Bold? Yes. There between the lines lay soldier and Sioux, while over them passed and repassed bullet and arrow, shout and groan. Truly, the fight was growing more desperate. “That won’t do,” spoke Captain Benteen. Major Reno had come over. “We’ll have to act quick, or they’ll be running into our lines. We must drive them back, major; drive them back.” “Get your men ready for a charge, then,” directed the major. “All ready, men,” called the captain, briskly. “Now’s your time. Hip, hip, here we go! Give it to ’em! Give it to ’em!” “Hurrah!” cheered Lieutenant Gibson. Out from shelter and down the sagey slope surged the blue-shirted line. Ned took no time to blow the “Charge”; he was shooting. Lead and not brass was needed. The carbines roared, the men shouted fiercely, and for the river broke the Indians. “Back, men! Get back!” ordered Major Reno, following with the other officers, close behind. So it was into the rifle-pits again. Noon was near; either the Indians were out of ammunition, or else they were exhausted, for the firing by them slackened. Acting Adjutant Hare came hastening to Captain Benteen. “The major’s compliments, and will you advance your skirmish line to cover volunteers getting water.” The water-getters were making way, by hollow and ravine, toward the river in front. They carried camp-kettles and bunches of canteens. Dangerous work was this, and some of them were wounded; but they filled the canteens. These were handed along the lines. Ah, but it was good, to have a drink at last! The sun had traveled from east across to the west. The afternoon waxed and waned: sometimes the Indians shot angrily; sometimes they seemed to be resting. What was to occur next? What were they scheming? The officers walked about, bidding the men be ready and not afraid. “Sure, but looks to me as if the beggars were leavin’,” mused Private McDermott, gazing puzzled. Then, toward sunset and the close of this the second day of fighting, from the bluff arose a murmur and a cry. The Indians were quitting, and riding off! ’Twas too good to be true; but nevertheless tipis were falling, as the squaws labored hard to pack the village. Soon billows of fresh smoke rolled up. The grass had again been fired; figures could be seen behind it, fanning it with blankets.