"I won't let it fall, sir. Thank you for the honor, said First Sergeant, James Butler. He saluted Lieutenant Colonel George Armstrong Custer. He placed the flag pole into his stirrup and nudged his horse to his honored position next to the colonel. The flag was difficult to control, but he had big hands and a strong grip. The sergeant gazed proudly at Old Glory as it snapped in the Montana wind. Custer sat astride his horse and raised his binoculars observing the quiet Sioux village that was positioned across the Rosebud River. He knew he was outnumbered, but thought he his force could overcome the odds.

Custer said, "Okay, sergeant stick with me. Our men need to know where their commander is at all times."

"Yes, sir."

The colonel waved his column of 210 men forward toward the Sioux village. As they approached, echoes of gunfire rang across the valley. Custer halted the column and then called, "Bugler, sound charge."

The men snapped to action whipping their swords from their scabbards, the morning sun glinting off the blades as they urged their horses to a full gallop. The Sioux lying in wait along with their allies the Cheyenne easily saw dust rise as Custer and his men charged toward the village. Sergeant Butler, bracing the flag against his leg galloped along with his leader. The Indians seeing the broadside of the racing column sped across the Rosebud River and smashed into the unsuspecting troops.

Custer spun his horse around and called for the bugler to sound retreat. The column broke. Several of the troopers panicked and scattered. The Indians eliminated those who ran one by one.

The colonel signaled Butler to bring the flag to a high ridge to the north, hoping to rally the men on high ground. In the meantime, unbeknownst to him, an Indian force under the leadership of the Sioux chief, Crazy Horse swung his men in a sweeping arc and surrounded the desperate colonel.

Custer rode to the top of the rise, reigned in his horse and jumped from the saddle. He could see the Indians surrounding his position.

"Plant that flag, sergeant. Our boys need to see where we will make our stand."

Sergeant Butler flipped off his horse and tried to plant the flag, however the ground was too hard. He stood and waved the flag. Arrows and bullets filled the air. Butler's horse was shot and fell to the ground. He hunkered down next to the fallen horse's bleeding belly, still holding tight to the flag.

Custer screamed to the retreating men, "Shoot your horses, boys. Used their carcasses to form a wall."

Bevies of arrows and bullets shredded the troopers. The horse wall afforded little protection. Butler fired his army colt revolver with one hand and held the flag with the other. Nevertheless, he succumbed as three arrows penetrated his chest. In less than an hour, the entire column was dead.

When the Indians reached the scene of carnage, they stripped and mutilated the dead bodies so those who attacked them would be condemned to walk the earth for eternity. Except for First Sergeant, James Butler, who still held the flag aloft in his lifeless hands. In their eyes, he was a hero. He did his job in the face of death. They did not mutilate him or scalp him; instead, they stripped him and cleaned his body, believing that his soul would ascend into heaven, the destiny of a heroic warrior.