On a foggy morning some time ago an old trooper from the 7th Cavalry rode into our camp.  He could not remember exactly how it was that he got away from the Little Bighorn with his scalp, but his memory of other events that day was clear.  Now he had been ridin a long time and was right well tuckered out.  After a stiff shot of rye whiskey he recovered enough to tell us what really happened "when Mister Custer saw them Injuns a comin'." Seems Custer and his staff had sort of relaxed for a moment to soak in some sunshine when hideous war whoops and the thunder of distant hooves seized their attention.  Custer came bolt upright in his saddle and briefly surveyed the oncoming horde.  Then, turning with dignity to his staff, he delivered his historic estimate of the situation

How did it go???   > > > > >