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Updated: June 28, 2025
The oldest Indian fighters in the one thousand of rank and file agreed that it had been the narrowest escape on record, and achieved only by the skill of Scouts Frank Gruard and Big Bat Pourier, the good sense of Lieutenant Sibley, and the obedience of the men. General Crook was away, on a hunt. Lieutenant-Colonel William B. Royall of the Third Cavalry was temporarily in command.
They all rode out at noon; made thirteen miles and camped to rest the horses for a night march. Scout Gruard thought that they would not have to go far to find Indians. Two or three nights before he and Big Bat had reconnoitered forward twenty miles and had seen several parties of Sioux, only that distance from the main camp. Evidently General Crook was being watched.
That had been a close call; Gruard and Big Bat had known what they were talking about. No one could help but shiver at the thought of having stayed down there, with the horses. "They'll search a while. That means we're safe for a bit," panted Frank. "Now come on. We'd better lose no time in putting more rocks between them and us."
Die in your tracks, for these Indians will show no mercy." The bronzed countenances of a few of the men paled a trifle; but as soldiers they were ready to do their best, obey orders and trust in their leaders. "All right, sir." That was all they said. "Mount." Away they trotted at a smart pace, Scout Gruard guiding, west by north, directly for the nearest slope of the first range.
"Take all your ammunition from your saddle-bags," he said quickly. "We're going to abandon what horses we have left. The Indians are getting all around us; our only chance, Gruard thinks, is to make back through the timber while we can, on foot." Scout Gruard and his partner, Big Bat, were waiting impatiently.
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