rchers advancing upon them. Crash went their wild volley, downing
both friend and foe, for the first shots tore straight through the
huddle of women, and their shrieks followed swift on the deadly clamor
of the guns.

And then for a moment there was dire confusion. In the space of a
second, it seemed, the red line had leaped to its feet, then dashed
through the smoke of its volley, straight for the cowering forms of old
men, women, and children. Another second and, sheltered by the skirts
of their squaws, the warriors were blazing away at the astonished
soldiery. "Good God, boys, we can't fire on women and children!"
shouted one brave young sergeant. "Down on your faces! Down!" And
"down" was his last word, as down on his bullet-riven face he plunged,
shot dead through the brain.

Almost at the same moment McCrea's galloping steed stumbled heavily
forward and rolled stiffening on the frozen earth, his gallant rider
flung headlong beyond him. Another moment and Geordie and Connell,
leaping from saddle, had run to his aid, even as the crash of a volley,
at the word of command, told that the troopers had answered the furious
challenge. Another moment still, and a young surgeon sprang to the
relief of the signalling officers; and then, leaving their senseless
friend to his care, all athrill with the fury of battle, Graham and
Connell, "Badger" and "Coyote," whipping out their revolvers, rushed on
down the slope to join the blue line just springing afoot to the
charge.

Of the moment that followed, the wild cheer and onward dash, the race
over blood-stained snow-patches, the stumble over falling forms (some
friend, some foe), the ripping and slashing at fire-spitting lodges, in
which some of the band had sought refuge, the agonized screaming of
children, the appalling shrieks of the squaws--of all this it was
difficult later to give clear account. Geordie only knew that he, and
those nearest him in the rush through the smoke, lost many a shot
rather than risk killing fleeing women and babes, spared warriors who
would never spare them, for down went first one comrade, down went
another, and all on a sudden something bit, stung, and tore through his
thigh, and down on his outflung arms, with Con sobbing over him, went
Geordie Montrose Graham, first captain the year agone, fireman in July,
and now junior lieutenant of Company "E."

Many a Christmas holiday was spoiled that winter by the news from
Wounded Knee. "Bud" Graham