One of these was that his scouts had brought word that the large Indian village, whose presence in the vicinity had been strongly suspected, was only a short distance ahead; the other that a single horseman was sighted coming along their back trail at a furious gallop. Custer had suspected this latter might be a bearer of dispatches from his commander, General Terry, from whom he had separated at the mouth of the Rosebud, the commander going up the river on the supply steamer _Far West_, to ferry Gibbons' troops over the water. When, however, the horseman came closer, it was discovered that he was no blue coat, but a greasy leather-clad ranger. The individual rode directly up to the officers, and his quick gray eye picking out Custer, he extended a horny palm. "Can I believe my eyes?" exclaimed the general; "gentlemen, let me make you acquainted with my old friend, Pandy Ellis, the best Indian fighter that ever raised a rifle, and one whom I am proud to shake hands with." "Come, come, general, don't butter it too thick. Yer sarvint, gentlemen. I'm on hand ter see ther fun, wich air all I keer 'bout. Don't mind me no more than ef I warn't in these hyar diggin's," protested Pandy, modestly. "We shall do no such thing, old friend. Colonel Cooke, we will now move onward to the assault," and Custer touched his spurs to his steed. A few notes from the trumpeters, and the regiment was again in motion. Onward at a gallop went the troops. The valley of the Little Horn was reached, and where the great trail entered it, another halt was made. Now the immense village was in sight: large bands of warriors made their appearance on all sides, some of them mounted, others on foot. That there was serious business before them every man in that regiment saw by intuition; bloody work that would ring from one end of the land to the other, and yet how few of them suspected in what a terrible way it would end. Custer was reckless; every military man has agreed upon that. He possessed a willful trait in his character that at times showed itself, and when the occasion presented, as it was fated to do before this day was over, merged into an indomitable stubborn nature. This one serious fault was generally hidden beneath his dashing spirit, and it would be a difficult thing to have met a more social companion than this hero of the last Indian war. There was something wrong about him on this day when he committed his fatal error. United in a solid body, the regiment might have cut its way through the Indian camp, and in the end come out victorious. Custer either considered his force stronger than it really was, or else underestimated the fighting powers of the enemy. He was too confident, and, in order that the Indians should not escape, ordered Major Reno, with three companies, to enter the valley where the trail struck it.