gold hunter, flicking open the gleaming case and checking the time.
'Hour and ten,' he said quietly. 'Mount up, men and let's get ready to move out.'
'Didn't the Captain say we was to wait for a galloper, Sir?' asked Baxter.
'Yes. But the man who lives is the one who covers the chances, best he can. If n the Oglala come over that nearest rise there at the charge, we got about eighty, ninety seconds to get movin' and keep them off. Man could waste half that and more just getting up in the damned saddle. You understand me, Trooper?'
The question was gently put, but Baxter flinched as if he'd been slapped.
'Sorry, Sir.'
'Some folks'd say "forget it", Trooper. I'm not one of those folks. I say remember it. Make sure your brain's done the work before you set your mouth flappin'.'
The five men sat quietly, listening to the distant crackle of rifle fire. It didn't sound very much like volleys of shooting from the Springfield rifles of their comrades. Crow was able, even at that distance, to pick out the sound of an occasional Winchester, and even the heavier noise of old muzzle-loaders. It was well-known that few of the Plains Indians had firearms. Perhaps as few as one in fifty.
But the more warlike the tribe, the more guns they had.
The local Oglala, under Crazy Horse, were very warlike indeed and it was reasonable to assume that they would have plenty of guns.
It was difficult to know what to do. If Crow stayed where he was it was quite possible that Menges and his whole command might be wiped out over the brow of the distant hill. With four men there wouldn't be a lot he could do.
But he had to try.
Cursing Menges under his breath for leaving him with such vague and useless orders, Crow stood in the stirrups.
The ridge ahead of him was about six hundred yards away, sloping gently upwards. From their position it was impossible to see over it. Somewhere beyond Menges and the rest of the small command were trapped. Crow didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew enough about the tactics of the Sioux to be sure that Crazy Horse or one of his lieutenants had set this one up and the Captain had gone blundering into it.
'Forward, ho!' he yelled heeling the stallion onwards, waving to the four Troopers to spread out on either side of him. 'Draw your pistols! Don't fire until I tell you!' The Cavalry holsters were clumsy and often stiff to open. In this sort of terrain the Indians could be on top of you and feathering half a dozen arrows into your body before you even drew your pistol. The shooting was still continuing ahead of them. That meant a sizable Sioux attack.
Crow wondered whether the Indians would be aware that he was around with his relief party, small though it was. He guessed that probably they would know.
Crow guessed right.
As they neared the top of the ridge, the Sioux appeared over the top. Crow's quick count made it around twenty of them. He didn't have much choice, drawing his scattergun.
'Charge!!!!'
Chapter Six
'Fire at will!' Crow yelled, spurring his horse on towards the waiting Sioux. And they
were
mainly Sioux. Oglala. Crazy Horse's people. Painted and dressed for war, greeting the appearance of the tiny handful of pony soldiers galloping towards them with whoops and yelps of delight, scenting easy pickings.
'Get through 'em! Don't stop! Empty those guns and then draw your sabers! At 'em!!!'
It was rare for the soldiers to have to actually fight while still mounted. Normally they would slip from the saddles and every fourth man would be detailed to take charge of four horses while his comrades poured in a withering fire.
But this was not the case for Crow and his men. There were enough Oglala warriors to sweep right over them if they tried to dismount.
Seeing that they outnumbered the whites by four or five to one, the Indians didn't hesitate, racing towards them in a loose band, bunching up behind their leader. Crow's lips peeled back from his teeth in a mirthless grin at the sight.
One of
'Hour and ten,' he said quietly. 'Mount up, men and let's get ready to move out.'
'Didn't the Captain say we was to wait for a galloper, Sir?' asked Baxter.
'Yes. But the man who lives is the one who covers the chances, best he can. If n the Oglala come over that nearest rise there at the charge, we got about eighty, ninety seconds to get movin' and keep them off. Man could waste half that and more just getting up in the damned saddle. You understand me, Trooper?'
The question was gently put, but Baxter flinched as if he'd been slapped.
'Sorry, Sir.'
'Some folks'd say "forget it", Trooper. I'm not one of those folks. I say remember it. Make sure your brain's done the work before you set your mouth flappin'.'
The five men sat quietly, listening to the distant crackle of rifle fire. It didn't sound very much like volleys of shooting from the Springfield rifles of their comrades. Crow was able, even at that distance, to pick out the sound of an occasional Winchester, and even the heavier noise of old muzzle-loaders. It was well-known that few of the Plains Indians had firearms. Perhaps as few as one in fifty.
But the more warlike the tribe, the more guns they had.
The local Oglala, under Crazy Horse, were very warlike indeed and it was reasonable to assume that they would have plenty of guns.
It was difficult to know what to do. If Crow stayed where he was it was quite possible that Menges and his whole command might be wiped out over the brow of the distant hill. With four men there wouldn't be a lot he could do.
But he had to try.
Cursing Menges under his breath for leaving him with such vague and useless orders, Crow stood in the stirrups.
The ridge ahead of him was about six hundred yards away, sloping gently upwards. From their position it was impossible to see over it. Somewhere beyond Menges and the rest of the small command were trapped. Crow didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew enough about the tactics of the Sioux to be sure that Crazy Horse or one of his lieutenants had set this one up and the Captain had gone blundering into it.
'Forward, ho!' he yelled heeling the stallion onwards, waving to the four Troopers to spread out on either side of him. 'Draw your pistols! Don't fire until I tell you!' The Cavalry holsters were clumsy and often stiff to open. In this sort of terrain the Indians could be on top of you and feathering half a dozen arrows into your body before you even drew your pistol. The shooting was still continuing ahead of them. That meant a sizable Sioux attack.
Crow wondered whether the Indians would be aware that he was around with his relief party, small though it was. He guessed that probably they would know.
Crow guessed right.
As they neared the top of the ridge, the Sioux appeared over the top. Crow's quick count made it around twenty of them. He didn't have much choice, drawing his scattergun.
'Charge!!!!'
Chapter Six
'Fire at will!' Crow yelled, spurring his horse on towards the waiting Sioux. And they
were
mainly Sioux. Oglala. Crazy Horse's people. Painted and dressed for war, greeting the appearance of the tiny handful of pony soldiers galloping towards them with whoops and yelps of delight, scenting easy pickings.
'Get through 'em! Don't stop! Empty those guns and then draw your sabers! At 'em!!!'
It was rare for the soldiers to have to actually fight while still mounted. Normally they would slip from the saddles and every fourth man would be detailed to take charge of four horses while his comrades poured in a withering fire.
But this was not the case for Crow and his men. There were enough Oglala warriors to sweep right over them if they tried to dismount.
Seeing that they outnumbered the whites by four or five to one, the Indians didn't hesitate, racing towards them in a loose band, bunching up behind their leader. Crow's lips peeled back from his teeth in a mirthless grin at the sight.
One of
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