Fort Rice was located ten miles above the mouth of the Cannon-Ball River and twenty miles below the new town of Bismarck. Around-about the slate-colored frame buildings stretched the sagey Dakota plains, seemingly vaster and barer even than the rolling buffalo plains of Kansas. Butte and coulée or dry wash broke them; the only trees were along the water courses. The winds were fresh and strong, the short summers hot, the long winters cold. It was a country that bred strong, hardy, robust men and women, and such were the Sioux—the proud Dakota nation. The Northern Pacific Railroad from St. Paul had reached Bismarck, and was determined to push on across Dakota and Montana, as the Union Pacific had pushed on across Nebraska and Wyoming. Scarcely had the Seventh Cavalry been welcomed at Fort Rice, when they prepared to take the long trail again, as escort to protect the engineers surveying a route westward for the railroad. So when the Northern Pacific Railroad engineers started upon their survey westward still, their escort numbered almost 2000 soldiers: of the Seventh Cavalry, of infantry, of artillery, and of Indian scouts, all under Major-General D. S. Stanley, with General Custer the “Long Hair” in command of the ten companies of the Seventh. It was to be a march clear across western Dakota to the Yellowstone River of Montana. Few white men had seen this country. The Indian scouts were not the faithful Osages or Kaws. They were Arikaras; a war-like tribe of smaller numbers than the southern Indians; their head scout was Bloody Knife. They hated the Sioux, and so did the Crows of Montana. The Sioux long had fought the Arikaras, and nowadays were constantly invading the country of the Crows, for scalps and horses. With the Seventh were Dr. James Honzinger, the fat, bald-headed old veterinary surgeon of the regiment, and Mr. Baliran who was the post sutler. They were not enlisted men but were civilian employees, and accompanied the expedition as an outing. The general took Mary the black cook, for his mess. It required a month of marching before, July 19, the Yellowstone River in Montana was reached. It had seemed much like old times, with the general leading on Dandy or Vic, in his fringed buckskins, his fringed gauntlets, his broad-brimmed hat, his blue shirt and crimson tie, and high, red-topped boots; the hounds galloping right and left, and plenty of hunting. The engineer party, and the scientists who were along, must move slowly, taking many notes. Dr. Honzinger and Mr. Baliran insisted upon straggling and riding apart from the column, picking up specimens. They were warned that this was dangerous practice, but they did not heed, and refused even to carry any weapons.