Custer’s brother nodded and rode off to get one of his men to send the message. Custer waved his hand and the column moved off at a gallop to the north, hidden from the action below by the high bluffs lining the river.
Martin reached down to his saddle and made sure the strange satchel he’d been given by the half-breed scout was still tied off securely. He’d promised the man, in exchange for a ten dollar gold piece, to carry whatever was in there and not look inside for the day. A strange request, but Martin thought all the red-men were quite strange and this Bouyer fellow was half red.
Martin spurred his horse and followed after Custer as the general rode north.
Corporal Henry Scollen was in the second rank of riders in · M Troop, which led the way for Reno’s battalion. He was very unhappy. A Troop was behind his troop. And G Troop brought up the trail. Scollen’s distress came from his mount. His own horse had come up lame just prior to the departure from Fort Lincoln, and the new mount the quartermaster had pressed upon him had been an unending source of trouble. It was with great difficulty that he kept it in line as the column rode onto the broad open plain to the east of the Little Big Horn River.
Scollen had never been fired at, so it was with great surprise that he realized the snapping sound in the air was bullets flying by. There were Indians all about in the distance, darting in and out of the rolling terrain to his front. He could see the tops of lodges a long way ahead. He ran his bands nervously across the leather satchel he’d tied tight to his saddle. Whatever was inside was hard and a little bigger than a mess tin. It was also warm, which was strange. A ten dollar gold piece. That was what Bouyer had given him to carry this for the day. Why? Scollen had no idea, nor had he asked any questions, eagerly taking the gold.
“McIhargy!” Reno· cried out, and Scollen watched a trooper ride up to the major. Scollen was close enough to hear what Reno was saying. ‘’Go find General Custer. Tell him I have everything before me and the enemy is strong. Go, man, go!”
“Where is he, sir?” McIhargy asked.
Reno pointed east. “In those hills.”
McIhargy spurred his horse and galloped off to the east. Reno then began yelling orders, putting A and M Troops online with G Troop in support. The wide river valley extended mead for a couple miles, then there was a line of trees coming out from the river across their front. The village was on the other side of that.
The battalion broke into a gallop, and the tired horses did their best, gobbling up terrain with long strides. Scollen’s arms ached from keeping his horse in its proper place in the advance. He could see warriors now, much closer. They appeared to be naked, their bodies painted. Some brandished guns, which they fired at the advancing soldiers. Others had spears and bows. But they all were giving ground to the blue onslaught. Perhaps they would all run, Scollen thought. Perhaps the fight would be over quickly.
Reno was spending as much time looking over his shoulder to the southeast as he was making his advance to the north. Scollen could understand the major’s concern. Scollen had heard the orders Cooke had given the major. Where was Custer? If he was indeed in the hills on the other side of the Little Big Horn, he was too far away to be in immediate support as promised.
The valley widened, and Reno could no longer keep a company in reserve. G Troop was also brought on-line. The scouts were off to the left. More and more Indians were ahead, several times the number of troops that were charging. The edge of the village was not far now.
A piece of lower ground straddled the ground in front of the advancing line of troops, and Reno brought the command to a halt with his hand raised in the air. “Form a line of skirmishers!” he screamed.
Scollen pulled back on his reins, but the horse bucked and the leather slipped out of his hands. The horse bolted forward, smelling the gunpowder and dust in the air.
“Scollen, get back here!” the M Company first sergeant bellowed.
Desperately Scollen grasped for the leather rein, but even when he got it in his hand, the horse was too far gone. Full speed it galloped across the open ground between Reno’s halted force and the Indian village.
Scollen dropped the rein and grabbed for his carbine, but in his tenor, he dropped the rifle as the horse jumped a gopher hole and the satchel slammed into his hands. A painted figure flashed by to his right, then one to his left. He felt something tear by his shoulder, a spear, just missing him.
“Oh, Jesus!” Scollen screamed as he was surrounded on all sides by hostiles. He reached for his pistol as a daring brave jumped up and tried to grab the reins. The horse rode over the brave, leaving him screaming in pain.
Scollen’s hand closed on the butt of his Colt as an arrow thudded into his horse’s chest. Another, then another. A large brave came running forward. A long spear in his hand. Scollen raised the pistol and fired. The brave was still coming. Scollen fired again, but he must have missed, as the brave kept charging.
The horse collapsed to its front knees as the brave slammed the spear into its chest. Scollen fell, rolled on the ground and got to his knees. His hands were empty. In a panic he felt the ground to his side for his pistol as his eyes were mesmerized by half a dozen braves coming toward him, weapons at the ready.
“Please!” Scollen yelled, putting both his hands up in entreaty.
Something slammed him in the back, feeling like the kick f a horse, and Scollen’s eyes widened in amazement as the tip of a spear came out of his chest, soaked in red blood. He looked up and was as startled to see a woman, a female warrior, standing in front of him, staring at him intently.
He was surprised he felt no pain. The surprise vanished as another Indian slammed a hatchet into his left side and skin, muscle, and bone gave way. Scollen screamed, his hands still held up in entreaty. He was still screaming as a brave began scalping him. It was only when another slammed a club down on his head that the screaming stopped and blessed darkness came.
The Sioux who killed Scollen were impressed with his bravery, charging their line all by himself. It was a feat worthy of a warrior. But that didn’t stop one of them from using his hatchet to slit open his stomach, cut off his bead and stick his head into the opening in his stomach.
Standing back from the mutilation was Buffalo Calf Road Woman, the hero of the battle of the Battle of the Rosebud, known among her people by her feat, the Battle Where the Girl Saves Her Brother.
She walked over to the dead man’s horse, noting the satchel tied off to the dead animal’s saddle. She took it off, ignoring the warriors who were tearing the man’s body apart. She immediately felt the warmth in her hands. She peeked inside and gasped. Powerful medicine.
Buffalo Calf Road Woman took the crystal skull, hidden inside the satchel, and moved forward into the battle.
Gall was walking back from visiting relatives in the middle of the great encampment when he heard the first shots. He paused, hoping it was simply hunters returning. But as the shots continued, he realized that today there would be a battle.
From the sound, the fighting was in the valley to the south, which caused him some concern. As his people were camped the farthest in that direction. He wondered why there had not been an alarm of soldiers approaching, but he supposed it was due to everyone relaxing after dawn had passed and no blue coats had shown up. No one could believe that the soldiers would attack this camp in the light of day when the full force of the mighty Sioux nation and the other tribes here could be seen by any foe approaching.
So much for beliefs, Gall thought as he tried to make his way through the sudden bedlam in the camp. Women were screaming, trying to track down children. Dogs were barking and warriors were grabbing weapons and running to the sound of the gunfire.