text: The next morning, Grit and Little Elk made their camp behind a granite outcropping that hid them from river travelers from the north, but gave them a view from the top of the outcropping of the trail along the Cheyenne as the travelers passed.
  
  "This is the perfect spot right here, Little Elk," Grit said. "I'll keep watch. You go ahead and hunt."
  
  "Hokay," he said as he swung aboard his bay horse.
  
  Grit lay on his belly on top of the outcropping and watched the trail through the field glasses from early morning until Little Elk returned shortly before noon with a deer hide full of meat.
  
  As he dismounted, he said, "Hokay, we eat!"
  
  "Good," Grit said from atop the granite as he continued to watch.
  
  Little Elk built up the fire and soon had two chunks of venison roasting over the fire on sharpened sticks. The smell of meat cooking made Grit's stomach rumble and his mouth water. He took one last look with his field glasses and backed himself off the granite shelf and onto the ground.
  
  "You no see?" Little Elk asked as he handed Grit a chunk of cooked venison.
  
  Grit shook his head. He took a bite of the meat, swallowed it and said, "Thanks for this." He held up the meat on a stick before taking another bite. The venison tasted delicious, especially so since he'd had little meat for a week except bacon because he'd done no hunting, fearing the gunshots might alert the deserters or the Sioux.
  
  "Soon's I eat, I'm thinkin' of ridin' up the river and seein' what I can find," Grit said.
  
  "No, wait," Little Elk said. "They come."
  
  Grit had no idea how Little Elk was so certain, but sure enough that afternoon, as he lay on the top of the granite outcrop, Grit saw four riders in the far distance, but even with his field glasses, he couldn't make out whether one might be a woman. Even so, Grit's heart quickened, his eyes glued to the field glasses praying that he'd finally found his Colleen.
  
  His hands were rock steady holding the field glasses, but his eyes were misted with tears at the thought that it might be his wife. He pulled the field glasses aside and wiped his eyes, then looked once more and saw his beautiful Colleen, her face bruised and dirty. He gripped the field glasses even tighter as he slid from the granite shelf, anger causing hot bile in his throat.
  
  "You were right," Grit said. "That's them."
  
  "What you do?" Little Elk asked.
  
  "I don't know yet," Grit said. He stood at the side of the granite outcrop and looked again with the field glasses. One of the troopers had a rope hooked to his saddle. Grit wondered where he'd gotten it because cavalry troopers never carried ropes. He focused on Atlock who was in the lead, followed by Colleen and then the two troopers.
  
  Turning to Little Elk, Grit asked, "Where can I intercept them with the least danger to my wife."
  
  "Come," Little Elk said. "Follow me." He began running with his Winchester in his right hand and Grit followed. He ran fast and led the way to a thickly wooded spot by the river.
  
  "When come, can shoot from here," Little Elk said.
  
  "No, I can't endanger my wife."
  
  "Then we walk across river." Little Elk led the way down into the river, which was no more than 20 feet wide and three or four feet deep. When they got to the other side, Little Elk said, "I cover behind. You take man in front." Grit nodded.
  
  Through the bushes and small trees, Grit watched as Atlock led the little party ahead. Soon he heard the horses' shod hooves hitting the ground, and when he did, he walked out in front of Atlock, who jerked back on the reins of his horse, some 20 feet away from Grit.
  
  Holding the rifle to the shoulder and aimed right at Atlock, Grit said, "Get off the horse!"
  
  "How... how in hell... how did you get ahead of us?" Atlock asked.
  
  Grit fired the rifle and hit Atlock in the shoulder. He jacked in another shell. "I said, 'get off the horse!'"
  
  Atlock was in anguish, holding onto his shoulder. He held out his hand, "Okay, okay, I'll get down."
  
  Grit fired again and hit Atlock in the other shoulder, knocking him from the horse. Atlock screamed as his body plunged to the hard-packed earth.
  
  Then he heard another shot. Grit looked up and saw one of the other troopers on the ground, and Little Elk had the corporal covered with his rifle.
  
  Atlock was moaning as Grit took all his weapons and tossed them aside. He walked back to where Colleen was sitting on the horse, and tears ran down his face as he looked at the blackened eyes, cut lips and bruised face of his sweet wife. Somebody had beaten her severely.
  
  "Oh, Grit, knowing you would come is the only thing that kept me going," she said hoarsely as she fell from the horse into his arms and wept. He held Colleen as she sobbed and sobbed. When her tears finally ceased, she looked up at him through her nearly closed eyes. "What are we gonna do?"
  
  "First, we're gonna get you settled and comfortable around the fire, then I'll take care of these men," he said.
  
  "I don't wanna know," she said.
  
  "No, you don't," he said. "It's something I have to do."
  
  She nodded.
  
  Turning to Little Elk, Grit asked, "Is that trooper dead?" Little Elk nodded. "Let's tie up the other two."
  
  As Atlock screamed and cursed, Grit tied him up and then tied the corporal before staking out the three horses so that they could forage. Grit lifted Colleen back onto her horse and said, "We'll take you to our camp and get you some food. This man helping me is Little Elk of the Crow tribe. He's one of Custer's scouts."
  
  Atlock screamed, "One of Custer's scouts? You're one of us, and you're dead when I report you to the Army."
  
  Little Elk smiled, made his fist into a pistol with his index finger pointed at Atlock, and lowered his thumb. Grit smiled, "That'll give Atlock something to think about," he whispered to himself.