It could be seen that General Custer was thoroughly indignant. But first he must ask about the wounded picket, who proved to be badly hurt, not fatally. Then he must change his night-gown for a more practical field costume. When he emerged from his tent, he was again ready for business.

“I’d like to know who those fellows are, and what they mean,” he denounced, furiously, among his officers. “We’ve done nothing, to make them attack us. Send out an interpreter, Moylan, and ask for a parley.”

The Indians were still collected, upon their ponies, about a mile distant. Their figures showed black in the dawn brightening across the vast, boundless prairie. Where in the far east prairie met sky was a strip of glowing pink.

The interpreter, a squaw-man from Fort McPherson, with a Sioux wife, rode out and on the river bank made circles with his horse. This signalled: “We want to talk.” One of the Indians answered with the same sign, and a part of them came forward.

“Tell them that seven of us will meet seven of them, at the river, for a talk,” directed the general to the interpreter.

Riding forward again the interpreter cried across the space to the Indians, and the matter was quickly arranged.

“Captain Hamilton, you will assume command here,” directed the general. “Keep the men under arms, and be ready to move forward to us at the first signal by the trumpeter. Dr. Coates, you’d better come along with the rest of us; you’re anxious to know the Indians. Moylan, Thompson, Tom Custer, Yates, Johnson. Change your revolvers from your holsters to your belts, gentlemen. Then you can get at them, in case of need. Those fellows (and he jerked his head toward the Indians) are not to be trusted, evidently.”

They rode away, Ned of course accompanying. From the opposite direction were approaching to meet them the seven chiefs. The river was the conference point, for it lay about in the middle between the two parties. Just before reaching it the general halted, and dismounted. Dismounted all except Ned.

“Hold these horses, orderly,” instructed the general, to Ned; “and watch sharp. Watch the Indians, especially, and at the least trouble or any sign of treachery you blow the ‘advance.’”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ned.

Surrounded by the seven horses he sat, their lines in his hands, while the general and the other officers proceeded on, down to the edge of the water.

The banks on this side were smooth and grassy; on the other they were cut by arroyos or ravines and grown with willows. So the officers waited, for the Indians to cross to the open side. The chiefs also dismounted, and began to take off their leggins, to wade. Through the shallow current they boldly splashed, holding high their moccasins and guns, out of the wet.

“Huh!” from his horse suddenly ejaculated Ned, scarce believing his eyes. For the leading chief was Pawnee Killer himself!

But Pawnee Killer did not appear at all abashed, nor confused by the fact that after having visited the general in camp at Fort McPherson and having promised to be peaceable, he had tried here to steal the column’s horses and to rush the camp.

“How?” he grunted, shaking hands with the officers. And “How?” grunted in turn all his squad.

They were well armed. Usually in a conference weapons are left behind; but this was a conference with the weapons ready. Ned sat intent, gazing hard, to catch every movement of the seven chiefs and also of the main party, at the distance. He could not hear much of what was being said. He learned afterward that the general did not say anything about the attack on the camp, but wanted to know about the village; and that Pawnee Killer did not say anything about the village, but wanted to know where the cavalry were going. And neither side found out much about the other!

While Ned was peering, and waiting, alert, he saw another Indian suddenly step forth from among the willows, and cross as had the chiefs. This was a younger Indian, fully armed. He shook hands all around, saying “How?” Scarcely had he finished, and the talk was continuing, when yet another Indian crossed, in exactly the same manner.

Ned fidgeted. That was a great scheme: for the Sioux warriors to steal up, through the ravines and the willows, and one by one cross. Pawnee Killer could not think very highly of General Custer’s smartness, if he supposed that these additions, one at a time, were not noticed. Because the general was young and new to Indian fighting, and had been lied to, and still was being deceived, apparently, Pawnee Killer must consider that he did not amount to much.

Presently two more Indians had crossed, so that now there were eleven, to the seven whites. Ned’s heart beat rapidly. The situation was getting serious. He shifted the lines of the horses, so as to use his right hand to raise the bugle to his lips. The “Advance” repeated itself over and over in his brain. But listen! General Custer’s voice rose emphatic.

“Tell this chief that if another man of his crosses the river, my men will all advance ready to fight. Tell him that bugler is watching, ready to blow the signal.”

When this was translated to Pawnee Killer (who had understood by the tone) he made some sort of a reply, but he waved his hand at his party, signing them to stay back. He had found out that the young white chief with the yellow hair was not such a fool, after all.

Then the conference broke up. As the general and the other officers started away, Pawnee Killer stretched out his hand, demanding something. The general spoke abruptly:

“No. I should say not. Not until he moves his village in close to a post, as he promised.” And returned to mount his horse, the general still was grumbling, half enraged, half amused. “Sugar, coffee and ammunition! He’s the most consummate rascal I ever met. He wants us to feed him so that he can follow us, and equip him so that he can kill us. He ought to have saved some of the ammunition that he used on us so recklessly this morning!”

Pawnee Killer and his chiefs and warriors had gone galloping off, and soon the whole party were retreating across the plains. General Custer angrily ordered “Boots and Saddles,” for a pursuit, to see where the village lay. But Pawnee Killer was again too cunning for the yellow haired general. Away went the Sioux, racing freely; after them pressed the cavalry, the general in the lead. Had all the cavalry horses been like Phil Sheridan the troops might at least have kept the Indians in sight; as it was, the lightly laden ponies and their easy riders dwindled and dwindled, and soon disappeared in the horizon. So the cavalry must quit, before getting too far from camp.

Now more Indians were sighted, in another direction.

“My compliments to Captain Hamilton, and tell him to take his troop and see what those other fellows are up to,” ordered the general, promptly, to Adjutant Moylan.

Away gladly trotted the troop of young Captain Hamilton, whose first lieutenant was Colonel Tom Custer. With two such officers, this was a crack troop of fighters. Besides, there went the active Doctor Coates, also. The general smiled.

“The doctor’s bound to get as close to the Indians as he can. First thing we know he’ll join a tribe! Now,” he added, gravely, his face showing anxious lines, “I wish we knew that Elliot was all right, and was getting through to Sedgwick. There’s the chance that the Indians don’t know he’s gone. His escort is so small he can travel fast. That’s one comfort. Cook and Robbins can take care of themselves, pretty well, as long as their escort stays together.”

Captain Hamilton’s troop had been swallowed up among the swales to the north; and while the general and his staff discussed ways and means, many eyes were directed northward, and many ears were strained, to catch any token of a fight or of further pursuit.

Nothing came back, drifting in from the northward. The general and the adjutant and other officers talked, and the men sat more at ease, and the minutes passed. The sun was high in the east; a strong breeze blew across the plains, waving the longer grasses. Then, on a sudden, there was thud of rapid hoofs, a panting and a snorting, and almost before anybody could turn about, into the camp had rushed, at top speed of his horse, Doctor Coates. Scarcely drawing rein he fell off, rather than dismounted, and lay gasping, trying to speak.

To him rushed officers and men.

“What’s the matter, doctor?”

“Hurt?”

“Speak, man!”

“Can’t you talk?”

“Where’s Hamilton?”

“Attacked?”

The doctor nodded violently.

“Boots and saddles, there!” ordered the general, sharply. “Hurry, men!”

Smartly Ned blew the call. The men ran hither, thither, tugging their horses into line. Now the doctor was able to speak.

“Indians! Over yonder! Got him—surrounded. Almost got me—too.”

“How far?”

“About five miles.”

The general’s voice pealed louder than Ned’s trumpet.

“Prepare to mount—mount! Fours right, trot—march!”

Out from camp sallied, at brisk trot, the remnants of the squadrons, to the rescue of Captain Hamilton and Lieutenant Tom Custer and their troop. The doctor, on his blown horse, acted as guide.

There was no sound of firing; but as the column pushed on, trying to make best speed and yet save strength for the fight, the doctor explained.

“Indians tolled us on, then separated. Hamilton took after one party, Tom after other. I went with Tom, until I dropped out at one side, somehow, while I was looking about. Next thing I knew I was lost. Pretty soon I heard a lot of firing, and when I reconnoitered I saw Hamilton’s detachment, only half a mile away, with Indians all around them. Thought I’d ride right through and help him; but the Indians saw me first, and away they came, six or eight of ’em, making for me. Almost got me, too, I tell you! Closed up within arrow range, and if my horse hadn’t been as frightened as I was, and if camp hadn’t appeared just when it did, my scalp would have been gone. I’m afraid Hamilton is in a bad box. They out-numbered him, and had plenty of ammunition.”

“Tom may join him.”

“Yes, if Tom isn’t in the same fix. Country is full of Indians, I believe.”

Two of the five miles had been put behind. It was scarce to be expected that carbine shots could yet be heard; but nevertheless the silence seemed ominous, as if the battle might be over; and with victory to which side?

Trot, trot; jingle, jingle; across the grassy plain, with every man leaning forward in his saddle, as if to get there sooner. Then Fall Leaf, the Delaware, signaled back, from a little rise: “People in sight.” The general and Adjutant Moylan clapped their glasses to their eyes, and forthwith the general threw up his gauntleted hand in gesture of relief.

“There they come,” he said. “Good! I see the troop guidon.”

Captain Hamilton’s troop it was, with all the men uninjured, and with only one horse wounded. Captain Hamilton reported that he had killed two warriors and had driven the other Indians away, without any assistance from Lieutenant Tom Custer. Lieutenant Tom had pursued the second knot of Indians, until after they had drawn him far enough they had given him the slip. These Sioux were clever.

Blood had been shed. This was war. The Indians now would be hot for revenge. And Major Elliot was still out, and so was the wagon train for Fort Wallace. Returning with the wagon-train would come Mrs. Custer. That was now the main thought in the camp. The Indians surely would not miss a chance at such a prize as wagons of supplies. Why had the general been so foolish as to send for Mrs. Custer, when it was well known that Indians were abroad?

The general grew haggard all in an hour. Before night he had sent a squadron under command of Major (who was a lieutenant-colonel) Myers, to push right through and meet the train.

Then there was nothing to do but to wait. Three days passed, and in rode the little party of Major Elliot, with the dispatches from Fort Sedgwick. On the next day, hurrah! Here approached, weaving across the plain like a huge snake, the white-topped army wagons and the escort troops.

Out rode the general, to meet them; and particularly to meet Mrs. Custer. The wagons all were there—twenty of them; the column of troops looked intact; but from the wagons or from horse no handkerchief waved greeting, and Ned, on Buckie thudding along behind the general, felt a sudden cold chill. What if anything had happened to the sweet Mrs. Custer, or to Diana of the dancing curls?

Major (who was also colonel) West was in command of the column, for he was the senior officer.

“All right, colonel?” demanded the general, his eyes roving anxiously along the winding line.

“All right, general. But we had quite a brush. That is, Cook and Robbins did. Myers and I arrived just in time to see the enemy disappear.”

“Mrs. Custer here?” queried the general, sharply.

“No, general. She didn’t leave Hays, fortunately. Cook can tell you about it.”

Didn’t leave Hays! The general seemed to heave a great sigh of relief. Camp and trail were no places for a white woman, even so plucky a one as Mrs. Custer, or as pretty Diana. He dashed along the column, seeking Lieutenant Cook.

“Well, Cook! Had a fight, I hear.”

“Yes, sir. They attacked us pretty severely, on our way out from Wallace, before West and Myers joined us. We saw them coming, and formed with the men on foot and the wagons and horses in the middle. Then we kept right on moving forward, but they circled us savagely. There were between six and seven hundred of them, weren’t there, Comstock?”

“Fully so,” agreed Scout Will Comstock, who was riding near. “But there ain’t as many now, gen’ral. We toppled five of ’em for keeps, an’ there’s more red hides that’s got troublesome holes in ’em. But it looked for a time as though our scalps was goin’ to pay. Six or seven hundred Injuns warn’t goin’ to let fifty men stop ’em from gettin’ at the sugar an’ coffee in those wagons.”

“Mrs. Custer didn’t start, then?” asked the general, of Lieutenant Cook.

“No, sir. Thank God she didn’t. She was ready to, had her baggage tied up, and General Hancock forbade. I don’t think she liked that very well. I have a letter for you from her.”

General Custer took the letter, and read it in the saddle.

From the talk it appeared that the wagon-train had fought hard and well, for three hours. The wagons were scarred with bullets; in them were several wounded men; and throughout the column were a number of wounded horses and mules. Ned heard a conversation between Lieutenant Cook and another officer, that showed how serious had been the situation.

“Would you have done it, Cook?” asked the officer, keenly.

Lieutenant Cook firmly nodded.

“I should. When the attack developed I said to myself, at once: ‘If Mrs. Custer were here, in my charge, the first thing I must do would be to ride to her ambulance and mercifully shoot her. That is my solemn promise to the general.’”

“Whew!” sighed the other officer, gravely. “That would be horrible. But not so horrible,” he added, “as to let her or any other white woman fall alive into the hands of the Indians.”

“We promised the general, in regard to Mrs. Custer,” said the lieutenant. “He made us promise, and he knows that we intended to keep our word.”

“You’d have waited, a little?” pursued the officer.

Lieutenant Cook shook his head.

“No, sir. Not a moment. I love Mrs. Custer like a sister; and the thought that she was dependent on me, and helpless in the ambulance, would have driven me distracted. I should have obeyed orders—and you know what they are. Then I should have fought to the last, and should not have expected to face the general. My course, first and last, was clear. But it didn’t come necessary.”

A Canadian was Lieutenant William Cook, with long black side-whiskers and handsome kindly face. He had served through the Civil War, and was accounted one of the best officers in the Seventh. By reason of his birth they called him “Queen’s Own” Cook.