Trooper Tales — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

I00 Red Brennan of the Seventh. saw nothing. Then Dad Evans told of a way the body was mutilated—so horrible were his words that we turned away shuddering. “Only a squaw does the trick,’ Evans explained. “We thought Kate Poison-Water had made possible the escape of Rain-in-the-Face, because of the manner of the deed. This idea grew upon us. Meanwhile, that day of history dawned.” Custer’s command was four miles from Reno’s camp. Every trooper felt that there were hordes of red men in the surrounding foothills. Not a white man guessed their numbers. The Indian scouts were puzzled by cross trails. They hugged the vanguard and could not be pushed ahead. The troopers were attentive and quiet. No jests were exchanged that morning. The sun rose high and hot. The wind blew strong and fitfully. No steady or rapid firing was distinguishable from any direction. Reno’s division formed skirmish lines. No. 4 in each set stayed back with the horses. Ragged volleys were poured down upon them from rocks and woody places. Few of the fours lived when the sun’s rays were slanting that afternoon. Camp was struck at sundown. No bacon sputtered in the mess tins, and weary soldiers rolled them- selves in their blankets without a smoke that night. The Red Cross men did not sleep. No one believed the courier who rode into camp before midnight, with the word that Custer and all his band had been slain that day by the Sioux, and that their bodies lay scattered about in the moonlight four miles away. GComicdookszco