The moon just appearing over distant hills sent its rays over a wildly troubled half mile square.
The second band of Indians came sweeping down upon the Sioux, who swung to their saddles to meet the foe. But when they did so they became the targets of Buffalo Bill’s party, who did not hesitate to turn in a withering fire.
Attacked from two sides at once and scattered as they were, the Sioux wheeled their ponies and dashed away to the southward.
Buffalo Bill’s party made all possible speed toward town with their injured, but before a half hour had passed the Crow warriors rode up and one chief came near.
“Pa-e-has-ka!” he called.
“Ai,” answered the scout.
“White-man-runs-him remember the knife. It is well.”
The Crows rode away, and the party of whites entered the town.
The people of Bozeman gave a banquet in honor of Buffalo Bill and his pards, and rejoiced that the influence of Price and those who followed his lead would be no longer felt.