midnight
Two of the horses carried three , and one bore two , and the last horse , one -- a dying boy , whispering into my ear a message for his mother , as I held his hand . Behind us came the sergeants with the remainder , for rear-guard . And so we passed , mile after mile , winding in and out , to find some sheltering spot where , sinking in exhaustion , we might sleep . The midnight winds grew chill , and the tense strain of that slow march was maddening , but not a groan came from the wounded men . The vanguards of the plains knew how to take perilous trails and hold their peace . When the sun rose on the second day the hills about us swarmed with savages , whose demoniac yells rent the air . Leonidas had his back against a rock at old Thermopylae , but our Kansas plainsmen fought in a ring of fire .