coming tide.
A fire flames up on the skirt of the hills; in every
deep ravine
The savages yell, like the fiends of hell, behind a
smoky screen.
"Where's Reno?" said Custer. "Why don't he
charge? It isn't a time to dally!"
And he waves his hat, this way and that, as he
looks across the valley.
There's a wild stampede of horses; every man in