“- the aftermath of the Custer Massacre Chapter 137-8 July 1876 That Friday afternoon the Sibley patrol was fifty miles from rescue. Their only hope was to help themselves. It seemed the soldiers understood that—every last yard they bounded down that hill, across a small, open glade before they entered thicker timber where old, leaning trees interlocked with those younger lodgepole pine still standing and an extensive patch of burned trunks testifying to an ancient forest fire, the whole maze co...nspiring to slow their flight. From that point on the men began to stumble over deadfall, tripping on rocks hidden in the grass, their soles slipping as they tried to clamber over fallen trees. Yet not a single murmur rose from the lieutenant’s soldiers as they scrambled back to their feet and kept on running down, down, on down through the timber. The air filled only with the rasps of their burning, swollen lungs as the Tongue River came in sight below them at last. Sweating beneath his heavy coat that he had refused to take off, Seamus caught up with Pourier.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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