In the vicinity of the Little Bighorn Cemetery, those shadows took on the forms of men, running, crouching, sprinting forward. They were right on the periphery of his vision. As soon as he turned his head to see them properly, they faded from view.
Mrs Davies heard nor saw any of this. She was already halfway down the hill, assuming that her husband was directly behind her. She turned to see him ashen-faced, staring wildly around himself.
Rushing back up, she spoke to him and it was like a switch was flicked in the scene. Jason no longer saw any of it. Still shaken, he brushed the experience off. He gushed out an excuse. Perhaps the surroundings had triggered some latent memory from Viet Nam.
But secretly, he wasn't so sure. Musing on it occupied him for the rest of the night.
The following day, the couple ventured down to where Major Reno had led his troops across the Little Bighorn River. Passing through the woodland heading into the valley, both husband and wife felt a sense of dread.
Something spooked Mrs Davies. She would not speak of it then, nor has she spoken of it to this day. She stopped on the track and refused to go down to the river.
Mr Davies had had time to assimilate the strange idea that a haunting was taking place. All of his instincts rang to leave, but it had occurred to him that he might see things that the history books left out.
He could hear the gun-shots and the screams. He distinctly made out the war-cry whoops of the Lakota and the thundering of hooves. He hurried on, until he could see the river itself.
There was a US soldier standing on the opposite bank. A sorrow faced man with a shock of red hair and a beard. He stared right back at Jason Davies, but never said a word. After a while, the apparition faded from view and Jason went back to his wife.
All discussion of what happened that day still distresses Mrs Davies. The couple don't talk about it anymore.