With this in view to start the attack, and reap its fruits of success, Red Hatchet during the night had instructed the young warriors in the duty each was to perform.
A few were to seize the horses of the cavalry men, others were to kill the officers in their first volley, and more were to make a rush for the soldiers' tents, while the reserve of women and children were to rush up from among the tepees and thus complete the panic that had been started.
But Red Hatchet had smarted under the hesitation of the braves; they did not act promptly, and he saw victory slipping from his grasp, when K troop cut the warriors off from their tepees, and were sent to search the Indian camp for arms.
This must not be, the Sioux must be forced to strike the blow, even if it came late, and so the daring chief grasped his hands full of dirt, threw it upon the soldiers, a sign he knew that the braves must understand, and, understanding, act, and then raising his rifle he selected his victim and fired.
The result is known, and Red Hatchet was rejoiced to see the first volley tell upon the soldiers.
But then came the rebound, a boomerang that recoiled upon himself, for the gallant soldiers of the Seventh were not to be driven like frightened buffalo before the hunter, were not to be slaughtered like sheep in a fold, for they rallied at once, and far above the din came the ringing words from the lips of Kit Carey:
"Men of the Seventh! remember the gallant Custer! Men of the Seventh, avenge Custer!"
Ringing cheers answered this appeal to the memory of the battle of the Big Horn, and the soldiers of the Seventh swept down over the field, while, with a cry of fury and hatred, Red Hatchet sprang upon an officer's horse and fled from the fatal field.
The trail of Red Hatchet was followed at a pace which Lieutenant Kit Carey hoped would bring him up with the Sioux chief, and then and there Captain Wallace and the other gallant soldiers of the Seventh would have been avenged, or another one would have fallen a victim to the cunning and desperate fugitive.
But Red Hatchet had been bent upon escaping, for the blow he had struck must be followed up quickly and cruelly. So he rode at a pace that defied pursuit with the start he had of several miles.