Custer now at about midnight told Curley to strip himself and crawl
out among the Indians, and if possible, get out through the lines and
tell Terry of their position. Several of Custer’s men had tried to
reach water, but none came back.

Curley got through the lines—his boldness in mixing with the Indians
and his red skin saving him. He took a long way round and ran to tell
Terry the seriousness of the situation.

Terry was advancing, but was hampered and harassed by Indians for
twenty miles. They fired at him from gullies, ridges, rocks, prairie-dog
mounds, and then retreated. He had to move with caution. Instead of
arriving at daylight as he expected, Terry was three hours behind. The
Indians surrounding Custer saw the dust from the advancing troop.

They hesitated to charge Custer boldly as he lay on the hilltop,
entrenched by little ditches dug in the night with knives, tin cups
and bleeding fingers.

It was easy to destroy Custer, but it meant a dead Sioux for every
white soldier.

The Indians made sham charges to draw Custer’s fire, and then
withdrew.

They circled closer. The squaws came up with sticks and stones and
menaced wildly.

Custer’s fire grew less and less. He was running out of ammunition.