Trooper Tales — page 113: what you’re looking at

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

Red Brennan of the Seventh. IOI Before daybreak Reno’s men were on the march. The silence in front was deathly and ominous. Wary and cautious was the advance. The weird, crooning mono- tone of the Indian death song was not heard, nor were cross trails encountered this day. The turf was marked with mute indications of a hasty flight. The scouts hugged closely the forward fours. The silence frightened them. An odor was in the air which they alone distinguished. White men cannot use their noses like animals. | The body of a trooper, gashed, perforated and dismem- bered, was strewn across the line of march. Hard and unsmiling were the faces of Reno’s cavalrymen now. Signals from high points brought back no answer from Custer’s corps. The troops paused again to cover up red stains upon the earth. The words of the courier were now partially believed. Great and awful thoughts were crawling into the soldiers’ minds. Where was Yellow Hair, the intrepid, the invincible? Where were the friends of yesterday? oe More blood in the path. Tainted was the air that men breathed and ghastly white their faces. : A low hill stretched before them. Upon its summit shimmered the pitiless heat. Flies buzzed about the sweating horses, and great, black birds made circling shadows beyond the hill. Soldiers tried not to breathe the sickening air, yet they advanced. Horror and fascination enthralled them. Countless red devils might be marshaling in the surround- ing hills, yet the most despicable of cowards would have CONnnic DOOKS.COnn