Recalled by one of the aides, the scouts had slowly ridden back, the Delawares especially being reluctant to leave the fore. As they passed, General Custer called out, to Wild Bill: “Is it a fight, Bill?”
“Looks peculiar,” answered Wild Bill, jogging on. He was not a man of many words. But California Joe neglected no opportunity to talk, and obligingly pausing, in front of the cavalry, from his mule he took up the conversation.
“If we do fight it’s goin’ to be the gol-durndest fracas ever you got into. Those Injuns seem to think they can whip the hull Yewnited States army. An Injun’ll beat a white man runnin’, every time, so I ’spect our best holt is fittin’; but marcy on us, look at ’em! Thar ain’t ’nough of us to go half round. It’s a big thing, I tell ’ee, an’ if we lick those varmints we got to get up an’ dust. Mebbe it won’t be fittin’; mebbe it’ll be jest wipin’ ’em out. But they got a powerful lot o’ weepons, furnished ’em by the Injun department to kill soldiers with. See those rifles, will[90] ye? They’ll outshoot these hyar sawed-off carbines o’ yourn. Well, reckon I’ll jine the infantry,” and still maundering on California Joe leisurely rode through an interval, and posted himself elsewhere. His voice, amiably addressing all around him, never ceased; but nobody longer paid attention to him. The crisis was too acute, when two such lines, of the red and of the white, in battle array faced one another.
The plains back of the Indians’ line was dotted with more Indians, in bunches, like reserves, and in little squads, as if for courier duty. The chiefs had faced about, watchful of the soldiers’ line; and for a moment intense silence reigned. Each line eyed the other, waiting for the first movement.
General Hancock, accompanied by Guerrier the interpreter, and Wild Bill the chief of scouts, and by several officers of his staff, boldly rode forward, halting when midway. Guerrier called with a loud voice, in Cheyenne, and made sign, for a conference. Thereupon out from the ranks of the Indians rode a party of chiefs, holding aloft, on a lance butt, a white rag. At a signal from General Hancock, and the start of an aide, General Custer advanced to take part in the interview.
California Joe, poking forward again, coolly took his place before the cavalry line, and proceeded to talk, as usual.
“Now thar’ll be more palaver,” he announced, to all hearers, “an’ meanwhile the village is packin’ up[91] an’ skadoodlin’. Know those ’er chiefs? The big feller with the flag o’ truce is Roman Nose, Cheyenne—an’ he ain’t no slouch, boys, either. T’others o’ the Cheyennes are Bull Bear, White Horse, Gray Beard an’ Medicine Wolf; rest are Sioux, bein’ that rascal Pawnee Killer, Bad Wound, Left Hand, Little Bear, Little Bull, an’ Tall Bear That Walks Under the Ground. Shakin’ hands, are they? Wall, reckon we don’t fight to-day. Mebbe next time. Guess I’ll go see. Giddap!” And away cantered California Joe, backward in nothing, to overhear the conference.
The talk appeared to be satisfactory, for presently the chiefs returned to their line, and the staff officers dispersed upon various errands. General Custer rejoined his command. The Indian line had wheeled about, and was riding away in a jostling, disorderly mass. The first orders issued up and down the battle front of the whites indicated that the march was to be resumed.
Now in column again, the expedition followed the warriors.
General Hancock seemed tired of the delays. No halt was made, little was said (except by California Joe, who ambled along as he pleased, discoursing right and left, and to himself); the scouts, in compact body, and the general and staff, led; the troops plodded behind; and at last, toward sunset, in a curve of the stream, before, appeared the crossed poles of many white lodges, welling evening smoke.
[92]
“Thar’s yore village,” yelled California Joe, to the cavalry which he evidently had adopted. “Three hundred lodges, half Cheyenne, half Sioux. Fine place, too, ain’t it? Plenty wood an’ water an’ grass, an’ those thar bluffs on north an’ west to fend off the wind. Trust an Injun to make a good camp.”
An aide came galloping to General Custer.
“The compliments of the commanding general, sir, and he directs that the cavalry go into camp on the right, half a mile before reaching the village. Guards will be posted to prevent any communication between the soldiers and the village. It is the general’s desire that the Indians shall not be annoyed by visitors.”
“Huh!” grunted California Joe. “Now, if that ain’t the most con-siderate gen’ral I ever see. Mustn’t annoy the pore Injun, hey? Wall, I’ll be horn-swoggled!”
Little occurred, in camp, during the evening, except that Roman Nose (who indeed was a fine-looking Indian, tall and powerful, broad-chested, and beak-nosed), Grey Bear and Medicine Wolf of the Cheyennes came in, and soon two of them left, mounted on cavalry horses. From the conversation between the general and Lieutenant Moylan, Ned learned that the squaws and children had run from the village, because they feared so many white soldiers; or, at least, thus had claimed the chiefs; and now two of the chiefs had been sent to overtake them and bring them back.
[93]
The night settled crisp and dark, with the moon hidden by drifting clouds. Not a sound issued from the direction of the Indian village, where dimly gleamed the white skin lodges of the Cheyennes and the Sioux. Ned blew “Tattoo,” and “Taps” for lights out; and the cavalry camp as well as the infantry and artillery camp, went to bed. General Custer’s tent had been pitched by itself, near to General Hancock’s. The little “pup” tent of Ned was beside the tent of the adjutant, Lieutenant Moylan. And all was still.
Ned had been sound asleep, in his blankets, when suddenly he was wakened by a voice, speaking low but distinct.
“Moylan! Moylan! Oh, Moylan!”
“What is it?” and Lieutenant Moylan stirred.
“It’s I—Custer. Open up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lieutenant Moylan hastily arose, and fumbled at the flaps, untying them. Ned peered out, the dim figure of General Custer was just visible.
“Don’t make a light,” he said. “The regiment is ordered to move out, at once. Guerrier has come in from the village and reports all the warriors saddling to leave in a hurry. The general wants us to surround the village and nip that movement in the bud. The best way will be for us to notify the company commanders, one at a time, and they can tell the first sergeants. You take one battalion and I’ll take the[94] other. Fletcher will follow me. No noise, mind. Have the men saddle up and fall in without bugle signals or any other signals, if possible. Sabres held to prevent clanking.”
The general was not kept waiting long, where he stood by the tent flaps; speedily Lieutenant Moylan was treading with silent, hasty foot, in the one direction, and Ned was following his leader in the other.
Amidst the serried canvases occurred a resurrection as the captains sought the first sergeants, and the first sergeants passed rapidly from tent to tent, whispering through to the men. With astonishingly little confusion or noise the horses were saddled, the companies were mounted, and all was ready.
A slight bustle from the remainder of the camp indicated that the infantry and artillery also had been awakened and were being put under arms.
This was exciting; and as off they rode, at a walk, in long column, through the still night, Ned, behind the general and Adjutant Moylan and Guerrier the interpreter, thrilled with it. They were going to surround the Indian village; and there might be a fight.
Every sabre was tucked between leg and saddle-flap, so that it would not clink. All in silence proceeded the shadowy column. Orders were given in a whisper, and by whisper passed from troop to troop. The moon was almost full, but luckily the clouds concealed[95] it constantly. In the distance before flickered the red light of a camp fire, at the village; it was made the guide.
The column swung in an oblique change of direction, to strike the village from above. This was a good move, for if the Indians tried to escape, they would be forced to run right into the infantry, at the camp.
“Do you think they suspect we’re coming, Guerrier?” in low tone asked the general.
“I do not think so,” answered Guerrier.
“We’ll have to watch sharp for an ambuscade, Moylan,” prompted the general. “Our visit may not please the red gentlemen.”
Now the column was near. The moon peeped out between clouds, and then could be seen the glimmer of the white buffalo-hide lodges amidst the grove of willows and cottonwoods by the river.
“Have each rear troop deploy, in succession, as skirmishers, forming a continuous line facing inward, around the village,” ordered the general, to the adjutant. “But quietly, remember.” And back rode Lieutenant Moylan, carrying the instructions.
Skillfully the great circle was formed; for when, suddenly, out from the clouds burst the moon, shining like a light-house on an island of the sky, it revealed the cavalrymen sitting motionless on their motionless horses, in a great fringe; and in the center was the[96] ghostly village. Just a little breeze sighed softly through the cottonwoods, while the stream flowing through grove and village murmured music.
A horseman rode from down the line. It was the regimental surgeon, Dr. Coates—a jolly man, always eager for adventure.
“By thunder! Believe they’re all asleep yet,” he whispered, excited.
“What do you think, Guerri............