The winter of 1874–1875 settled down upon Fort Lincoln, just as had settled the long, cold snowy winter of the year preceding. Now again was it buffalo shoes and mittens and fur caps; short drills, and time hanging rather heavy. The Sioux under Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse remained out somewhere in the depths of the vast reservation. They refused to come into the agencies as did the other Indians; and any supplies that they got were carried out to them by their friends. The Sioux called General Custer’s trail into the Black Hills the “Thieves’ Trail.” They had made many protests against it. But white adventurers were much excited, and were openly planning to go there prospecting for gold. Already one party had gone out, in defiance of the Government and of the Indians, and were somewhere in the Hills. Soldiers sent after them failed to find them.

However, this was not the main excitement at Fort Lincoln. When December was drawing to a close orders were suddenly issued for Captain Yates to take three officers and one hundred men, and proceed out upon a scout. Lieutenant Tom Custer was one of the officers; and as trumpeter of Lieutenant Tom’s troop Ned was detailed for the march.

This seemed pretty tough, at holiday time; for the weather was piercing cold, with a keen wind blowing. But it was a change, anyway, from the rather dull garrison routine.

Nobody in the ranks seemed to know where the column were going, or why they were going. Charley Reynolds was guide.

Southward led the route, down along the Missouri, with the officers and troopers muffled to their noses in warmest clothing, regulation or not. Fort Rice, twenty miles, was passed; and twenty more miles lay behind ere, at a brief halt, the officers appeared to be consulting some orders that Captain Yates had opened. He and Lieutenant Tom and the other two officers murmured and nodded. At “For’rd—march!” the column of fours moved on.

Ahead, thirty miles, or seventy miles below Fort Abraham Lincoln, was the Standing Rock Agency for the Unkpapa and Yanktonais Sioux. On the third day of the march the agency buildings rose in sight. Just outside the agency grounds the column made temporary camp, to spend the night.

There were many Sioux about, for it was ration time, and from their village ten miles down-river they were gathering to get their beef and other supplies.

Now was it reported through the camp that the expedition had been made for the purpose of capturing some Sioux who had killed a white man on the Red River of the North, the summer before. That would seem correct; for after breakfast forty of the troopers were led off, south, to the village, where, rumor said, the murderers might be. This appeared rather a foolish piece of work by Captain Yates and Lieutenant Tom. Of course the other Sioux would see the soldiers arrive and would warn the murderers to hide.

However, “Boots and Saddles” was it, for all the camp. After the detachment had trotted away, Captain Yates took the remainder of the company to the agency. They were halted a short distance from the post store.

It was full of Indians, trading. In and out they stalked, wrapped all in buffalo robes or Government blankets of red, blue and gray. Scarcely a face was to be seen. Lieutenant Tom dismounted, and beckoning to five of his soldiers leisurely entered. He stayed inside, as if chatting with the trader.

“At ease,” ordered Captain Yates, to the sergeant of the troop outside. So the remainder of the column might dismount, and stretch legs, and swing arms, and watch curiously the many shrouded Indians. Even this was poky work. Yet something was in the air. Evidently Captain Yates and Lieutenant Tom had a scheme up their sleeves.

Three hours passed—and now on a sudden arose a great commotion. From the store issued quick scuffle of feet, and sharp commands. High swelled angry voices, in guttural Sioux; Indians outside began to run.

“Comp’ny—’ten’shun! Mount!” shouted Captain Yates. “Right into line—march! For’r’d—march! Trot—march! Comp’ny—halt!”

In line they had drawn up before the agency door. An Indian within was loudly speaking, as if calling to arms. At least five hundred Indians came running, with their rifles; and out through the doorway was being hustled between two of the soldiers another Indian, arms bound behind him, blanket fallen from his proud, handsome, stolid face. Only his eyes flashed defiance. Two soldiers opened the way; Lieutenant Tom and the fifth soldier followed.

“Rain-in-the-Face!” aside said somebody, in the ranks; and the name traveled right and left. That was Rain-in-the-Face, a prominent Unkpapa warrior, who had been arrested by Lieutenant Tom.

“Advance—carbines!” shouted Captain Yates, above the tumult; and butts of carbines were promptly placed upon thigh, muzzles up. This was a “ready,” for quick action.

The Indian orator was still shrieking and urging; the other Indians were jostling and clamoring, and from all directions the crowd was being increased. It looked bad for the little company of cavalry.

Rain-in-the-Face made no resistance. He was hoisted upon a horse, and ringed by a guard of soldiers, who gave not an inch before the scowls and threats around-about.

Gradually, as through the post interpreter Captain Yates now talked to the Indians, the tumult died. They knew that in a stand-up fight on the spot many of them would be killed; and they knew that Rain-in-the-Face had been arrested for good cause. So presently away they began to rush, to their village, to pow-wow and maybe get reinforcements.

“Fours right—march! Column right—march!” ordered Captain Yates; and with Rain-in-the-Face in the middle, out from the agency moved the compact cavalry column.

When halt was made at the temporary camp just outside, speedily was it known to all why Rain-in-the-Face had been arrested. A couple of weeks before, the Sioux gathered at the agency had a great dance, during which the warriors had recited their biggest deeds. They spoke in Sioux, but Charley Reynolds the scout was sitting near, watching. He understood Sioux. When Rain-in-the-Face had entered the circle, and boasted of his career, suddenly Charley pricked his ears, but gave no sign that he heard; for Rain-in-the-Face was vaunting how, a year and a half before, he had killed two white men.

One was a fat man with no hair; him he had shot from his horse and had finished with the war-club. The other was a younger man, the fat man’s companion, who had taken refuge in a clump of trees. He had signed for peace, and had offered his hat; but he also had been shot, with bullet and arrow. No scalps were taken, because the fat man had been bald and the other man had very short hair.

Then Charley Reynolds knew that he had found one of the murderers of Veterinary Surgeon Honzinger and Sutler Baliran, killed when inoffensive and unarmed, on the Yellowstone expedition of the summer of 1873. Out slipped Charley, as soon as he could, and hastened with the news to General Custer at Fort Lincoln.

General Custer had kept the news quiet, lest the Sioux should be alarmed and send word to Rain-in-the-Face. He was accounted a mighty warrior, for he had made a record by hanging four hours, in a Sun Dance ceremony, by ropes fastened to splints thrust through his chest and back. He had five well-known brothers—Bear’s Face, Red Thunder, Iron Horn, Little Bear, and Shave Head: warriors all. So whatever was to be done must be done cunningly. And so it had been done.

Waiting there in the agency store, until the Indians should give glimpses of their features, when Rain-in-the-Face finally had dropped his blanket a little Lieutenant Tom, with a leap from behind, had clasped him about both arms.

At Fort Lincoln Rain-in-the-Face confessed to the murders. He evidently expected to be hanged at once, for he dressed himself in black. His brother Iron Horn, and other leading Sioux, tried to comfort him, and in council with the general they pleaded for him. But all actions and talk were conducted in a solemn dignified manner, as befitting the great Sioux nation.

While the general waited specific orders from the War Department, Rain-in-the-Face must be confined in the guard-house. Here he stayed for almost four months. He remained ever calm, ever proud, looking at nobody when he was permitted to walk back and forth, chained to another prisoner, for exercise.

Early in the morning of April spread an alarm, from sentry to officers. Through a hole made in the wooden wall by white prisoners Rain-in-the-Face had stolen away. He did not appear at the agency. He was not found in the nearby camps. However, soon, by mouth to mouth, Sioux to Sioux, from Sitting Bull’s band of hostiles far up the Yellowstone River in Montana he sent word. Charley Reynolds himself was authority.

“Rain-in-the-Face says,” reported Charley, “to tell the Long Hair and the Long Hair’s brother that he will cut their hearts out because they put a great warrior in prison.”