Fearful lest he should meet with one such and be murdered for want of weapons, he crawled over to where the renegade lay and secured his revolver.
Not content with this, he quietly proceeded to reload the empty chambers of the one he had taken from the holsters of Custer's saddle.
When this was done, he felt content, and arose to his feet.
Although he could see in the immediate vicinity, all appeared dark and gloomy a hundred yards away, and the bluffs could only be distinguished because they were outlined against the star-bedecked sky after the manner of a silhouette.
Which way to go was a puzzler.
Beyond the ravine he could hear the murmur of the river, and knew that on the other shore was the camp of the Sioux.
Once clear of this slaughter-pen and his ideas would flow more naturally, for it was impossible to think calmly while the mutilated bodies of friends lay around on every side.
To say a thing was to do it with Custer's boy friend.
He seemed to know that the general must be near by, and was led instinctively to his body.
A horse had fallen upon Custer's lower limbs, but the heavy weight had given him no pain, for he had been beyond that when the animal was shot.