Today was June 25th, a Sunday, cloudless and hot.

Custer's Crow Scout spotted the village from a distant hilltop.

They called Custer up to have a look.

Even with a telescope, he was unable to see much more than a white blur on the valley floor.

His only concern was that he had already been spotted,

that unless he attacked right away,

the Indians would split up and flee in so many different bands

that he could never stop them.

Custer had never yet encountered an Indian band that wouldn't run when the cavalry attacked.

So he pushed to an attack as quickly as it could be mounted.

Dreadful mistake on his part because his men were exhausted.

He should have bivouacked, given them a night's sleep, sent out some scouts to find out how far that

village extends in this direction and that, because much of it was hidden by woods along

the little bighorn.

He knew nothing of the terrain, could not tell how many Indians awaited him.

But it had been a surprise attack that had allowed him to destroy black kettle Cheyenne on the Washita eight years earlier.

A victory here seemed just as likely.

Custer hurried toward the little big horn.

He saw dust rising over a ridge just ahead of him. The Indians, he thought, were already

on the move to escape. It was now or never. Some 40 warriors appeared, then began racing back

toward their camp. Custer sent Major Marcus Reno in three companies,

140 men in pursuit, promising to support them.

...