“Major Reno says he counted sign of three hundred and eighty lodges, didn’t he?” answered Ned. “Charley Reynolds says that means about fourteen hundred in all; four or five hundred warriors, if we include the boys. Indian boys over fourteen can fight as hard as the men. They did down on the Washita.” “Bloody Knife and the Rees are scared already,” declared “Autie.” “They’re making medicine. But Half-Yellow-Face and Curly and the other Crows aren’t scared. (Some Crow Indians had joined the Arikari scouts, to fight against the enemy Sioux.) I like them the best, anyway. They’re as jolly as any of us.” “Yes,” agreed Ned, wisely; “they’re about the best Indians I’ve ever seen.” “Sioux can whip ’em,” grunted a voice. It was that of Isaiah, the black squaw-man scout. “Sioux best fighters on plains.” “They can’t whip us, though,” retorted “Autie.” “Is that Sitting Bull’s trail we’re going to follow, Ike?” “No, guess not. Band goin’ to Settin’ Bull’s village, mebbe. But don’t you worry, boy. We find Settin’ Bull, plenty quick; or he find us. Crazy Hoss, too. Gall, Lame Deer, Black Moon, Two Moon, He Dog, Hump, Big Road, Crow King—they all be there, with their Minniconjous, an’ Oglalas, an’ Cheyennes, an’ Sans Arc, an’ Brules, an’ Hunkpapas, an’ Blackfeet, jest sp’ilin’ for a fight if we only fetch it to ’em in the right place.” “And Rain-in-the-Face,” suggested “Autie.” “Yep; Rain-in-the-Face. He be there.” “We don’t care,” scoffed “Autie,” true to the Seventh. “General Terry offered Uncle Autie the gatling guns and some of the Second Cavalry; but Uncle Autie says the Seventh is enough. We don’t need anybody to help us; do we, Ned!” “No,” asserted Ned. “We can take care of all the Sioux that come. There aren’t more than three thousand of them off the reservation, according to the Indian Department report; and only six or eight hundred of these are warriors. The Seventh Cavalry can whip _them_.” “You see,” grunted Isaiah. “There as many Sioux off reservation as on. My squaw Sioux. She know.” “We don’t care,” again scoffed “Autie.” When the Seventh started, the next noon, they started in style. They passed in review before General Terry and General Gibbon and General Custer. The general, and Captain Tom and Adjutant Cook and Captain Keogh wore their buckskin suits; all the regiment were natty and businesslike; the band played “Garryowen”—but they were to be left behind, this time, were the band. General Terry smiled and saluted each troop as in platoons they swung past. On prancing Dandy the general sat straight and proud, for this was his crack regiment.