“How many Injuns will there be, do you think?” invited “Autie” Reed, excitedly, of Ned. This was the evening of June 21. The expedition had been out from Fort Lincoln over a month. Now they were in camp at the mouth of the Rosebud River, on the south side of the Yellowstone River in southeastern Montana—just beyond the Tongue River where in the summer of 1873 General Custer had first met the Sioux in battle and had almost been cut off, and Doctor Honzinger and Sutler Baliran had been killed by Rain-in-the-Face.
No Indians had been met. Many of the officers and men were of the opinion that none would be found, and that all would escape. But when here the searchers were, at last, right in the enemy’s home, it looked as though a fight was likely to occur soon. General Gibbon’s “Montana column” was encamped across the Yellowstone. They had marched from the west down the north bank, and had reported that no Sioux had traveled north, but that they had seen hostile Indians watching them from the south bank. Therefore[275] in the opinion of General Gibbon the Sioux were still south of the Yellowstone, in the wild hunting-grounds of the Big Horn and the Powder Rivers.
General Crook the Gray Fox was down there, with his soldiers. He had not been heard from, but it was expected that as he approached he would be driving the Sioux before him. Nobody knew that on June 17 General Crook had been met on the upper Rosebud by Sitting Bull’s warriors and had been forced back. The red general had out-matched the white general. The Sioux were better warriors than the Apaches.
Major Reno had been ordered by General Terry to take his portion of the Seventh and scout southward, to examine the country for Indian signs and perhaps to sight General Crook. He had not sighted General Crook, who was a hundred miles distant, shut off by a wide stretch of rough, perilous country. But swinging in a circle back he had come, with news that on the Rosebud River he had struck a large trail, trending up-river, made by many Sioux. This was news indeed, and welcome news.
Steamboats ran on the Yellowstone. The Government supply boat Far West, Captain Grant Marsh, had arrived from the Missouri. General Terry and General Gibbon and General Custer had consulted, aboard her where she was tied to the shore unloading her supplies; and the results were known.
The “Montana column” were to be crossed to the south bank; and they, and the infantry, under General[276] Terry and General Gibbon, were to proceed south up the Big Horn River, which was the next river beyond the Rosebud. The Far West was to accompany as far as it could. But the whole Seventh Cavalry were to march up the Rosebud, to the Indian trail, and see where the trail went to. Then, if the Indians tried to escape by the east or the southeast, the Seventh would turn them; and if they tried to escape north down the Big Horn, the other column would turn them.
Every soldier was now much interested, but none more interested than “Autie.” So he had sought out Ned the veteran, to confer with him. “Autie,” being the general’s nephew, always was chock-full of inside information that he picked up among the officers. So together they made a good team.
“How many Injuns will there be, do you think?” asked “Autie,” by the camp-fire.
“Major Reno says he counted sign of three hundred and eighty lodges, didn’t he?” answered Ned. “Charley Reynolds says that means about fourteen hundred in all; four or five hundred warriors, if we include the boys. Indian boys over fourteen can fight as hard as the men. They did down on the Washita.”
“Bloody Knife and the Rees are scared already,” declared “Autie.” “They’re making medicine. But Half-Yellow-Face and Curly and the other Crows aren’t scared. (Some Crow Indians had joined the Arikari scouts, to fight against the enemy Sioux.)[277] I like them the best, anyway. They’re as jolly as any of us.”
“Yes,” agreed Ned, wisely; “they’re about the best Indians I’ve ever seen.”
“Sioux can whip ’em,” grunted a voice. It was that of Isaiah, the black squaw-man scout. “Sioux best fighters on plains.”
“They can’t whip us, though,” retorted “Autie.” “Is that Sitting Bull’s trail we’re going to follow, Ike?”
“No, guess not. Band goin’ to Settin’ Bull’s village, mebbe. But don’t you worry, boy. We find Settin’ Bull, plenty quick; or he find us. Crazy Hoss, too. Gall, Lame Deer, Black Moon, Two Moon, He Dog, Hump, Big Road, Crow King—they all be there, with their Minniconjous, an’ Oglalas, an’ Cheyennes, an’ Sans Arc, an’ Brules, an’ Hunkpapas, an’ Blackfeet, jest sp’ilin’ for a fight if we only fetch it to ’em in the right place.”
“And Rain-in-the-Face,” suggested “Autie.”
“Yep; Rain-in-the-Face. He be there.”
“We don’t care,” scoffed “Autie,” true to the Seventh. “General Terry offered Uncle Autie the gatling guns and some of the Second Cavalry; but Uncle Autie says the Seventh is enough. We don’t need anybody to help us; do we, Ned!”
“No,” asserted Ned. “We can take care of all the Sioux that come. There aren’t more than three[278] thousand of them off the reservation, according to the Indian Department report; and only six or eight hundred of these are warriors. The Seventh Cavalry can whip them.”
“You see,” grunted Isaiah. “There as many Sioux off reservation as on. My squaw Sioux. She know.”
“We don’t care,” again scoffed “Autie.”
When the Seventh started, the next noon, they started in style. They passed in review before General Terry and General Gibbon and General Custer. The general, and Captain Tom and Adjutant Cook and Captain Keogh wore their buckskin suits; all the regiment were natty and businesslike; the band played “Garryowen”—but they were to be left behind, this time, were the band. General Terry smiled and saluted each troop as in platoons they swung past. On prancing Dandy the general sat straight and proud, for this was his crack regiment.
That evening “Autie” reported upon the officers’ council which was held at the general’s tent. “Uncle Autie” had said that the regiment were to follow the Sioux even if the trail led clear to the Nebraska agencies; and it must be done on the fifteen days’ rations. That sounded exactly like the general. Just as General Sheridan had once declared, when he wanted a thing done quickly he sent Custer.
The Rosebud was a small but rapid stream, flowing north through a bluffy, bare country. The Indian[279] trail was struck the next day. There were lodge-pole marks and pony tracks, and little brush wicki-ups that looked as if dogs had slept under them. The Ree and Crow scouts, and Charley Reynolds and Isaiah and other scouts not Indians, rode in the advance, closely examining all the signs. They thought that the trail was about ten days old.
Over to the right was the Big Horn River, running northeast parallel with the Rosebud. But between was the Little Big Horn, which flowing northwest emptied into the Big Horn. The theory was, that the Sitting Bull or Crazy Horse village, or both, were in on the Little Horn or the Big Horn. The Seventh was to swing in a curve and meet the infantry and the Gibbon column about where the Little Horn joined the Big Horn.
That Indians were over there somewhere seemed certain; for to-day, Saturday, June 24, Curly the Crow scout reported through Mitch Bouyer the interpreter that they had found fresh Indian tracks; and they saw signal smokes on the west, or the right. The main trail was very broad and beaten to dust by the hoofs of many, many ponies.
“Ike says the dust we’re making will be seen by the Sioux, sure,” complained “Autie,” much concerned, at noon camp finding Ned. “The Little Big Horn is called by the Sioux ‘Greasy Grass River.’ It’s just beyond those hills. They’re the Wolf Mountains. The[280] Injuns might be on top, spying down on us. Maybe we won’t catch ’em.”
However, General Custer knew as much as Isaiah. The companies were ordered to march at wider intervals, so as to make as little dust as possible; and that night the camp was pitched under a flanking bluff, and fires were extinguished as soon as supper had been cooked. The trail had turned off from the valley of the Rosebud. It headed for the west, as if to cross over to the Little Big Horn. The first sergeants spread the word among the companies for the men to be ready to march again at eleven-thirty. After taps there seemed to be another officers’ council, by candle-light at headquarters. Lying in his blanket, amidst the dark, while officers on their way to the general’s stepped over him, Ned could tell that something was up. The air was full of mystery and expectation.
As young “Autie” was sound asleep in his own blanket, Ned, like other men in the ranks, did not know precisely what the officers had talked about. But at 11.30 the silent reveille—which was touch of hand and low word by the sergeants and corporals—was “sounded,” and by column of fours the regiment rode out through the dusty dusk; the train of pack mules followed.
It was slow going. Long after midnight the command to halt was passed down the column; and presently was it known that the scouts claimed they could[281] not guide them any further across the divide until daylight.
Everybody waited. Daylight was near. In about an hour the east began to brighten; in another hour there was light enough for making coffee. Carrying a message, from Captain Benteen, Ned had another glimpse of “Autie,” who was going back to the horse herd.
“Hello,” hailed “Autie.” “You ought to have been there! Uncle Autie and the Injun scouts have been talking, and Bloody Knife said to the others: ‘We’ll find enough Sioux to keep us all fighting two or three days.’ And Uncle Autie just smiled and said: ‘Oh, I guess we’ll get through with them in one day!’ Those Rees are awful scared. It’s going to be a big battle, I bet. I wonder if we’ll fight on Sunday. I’ve got to tend to my horses. Good-by.”
The sun was well up. It was a glorious June day; and it was the 25th, or Sunday, as “Autie” had remarked. Pretty soon, while the troops were still waiting and resting and wondering, the general came riding down ............