Near where the Powder River empties into the Yellowstone the general took Captain Moylan’s company and Lieutenant Tom’s company, and Bloody Knife the Arikara scout, to explore the route ahead. No Indians had yet been sighted; but now, after a mile or two, Bloody Knife, stopping short, examining the ground, signed: “Indians have passed here.” So they had: nineteen Sioux, by the fresh sign. They must have been reconnoitering the camp, and had traveled on to inform the main company of warriors. Nevertheless, on rode the little squadron, until from the bluffs along the Yellowstone, green before them lay the beautiful valley of the Tongue River flowing up from the south. The general gave orders to make camp in a clump of cottonwood trees, and to wait for the column. With horses unsaddled and unbitted and staked out, and pickets posted, the command stretched out upon the ground for a rest. Most of the officers loosened their clothing and prepared to nap. Ned was nodding, half asleep, when breaking the perfect calm, starting everybody with a jump, spoke the “Bang! Bang!” of the pickets’ carbines. “Indians!” were shouting the pickets’ voices. The camp was on its feet, peering and blinking. The pickets were kneeling and aiming; and beyond them, across the open valley were riding for the tethered horses a short line of painted horsemen. “To your horses, men! Quick! To your horses! Run!” The command of the general was as sharp as the crack of a whip. Shoeless and hatless and coatless he stood, rifle in hand. There were only half a dozen Indians in sight. Evidently they had intended to stampede the mounts; but they had reckoned without their host. The Seventh Cavalry had met Indians before. Out rushed the troopers, to grasp the lariats of the horses, and to reinforce the picket-line. And stopping short, the squad of Indians only raced back and forth, beyond range, gesturing as if inviting the soldiers to come and get them. Sioux they were, by their war-dress and action, said Bloody Knife, his eyes flaming hatred and disdain. Now was it “Boots and Saddles” and “Mount.” The general took Adjutant Calhoun and Lieutenant Tom and twenty men, including Ned the trumpeter, and galloped forth boldly; Captain Moylan was to follow. The six Sioux easily kept out of reach. As anybody ought to know, they were only trying cunningly to lead the white chief on, into an ambuscade. So continued the chase, up the grassy green valley. “I’ll take my orderly and ride ahead, Tom,” presently called the general. “Perhaps that will develop those rascals’ plan. You follow at about two hundred yards interval, ready to rush in.” The general was on his Kentucky horse Vic. Sergeant Butler his orderly had a good horse, too. But the Indians would not let even them close in, with the other soldiers so near at hand. They were smart, these six Sioux, and knew what they were about.