They were climbing the hither flank of the ridge around which Major Reno now had disappeared. The moments seemed hours. With thud of rapid hoof came galloping from the rear a trooper; he was a corporal, Major Reno’s orderly. By the general’s side he pulled short to his horse’s haunches and saluted. “The Major’s compliments, sir, and says he is at the river and has everything in front of him and they are strong.” “Very well, sir,” answered the general. His voice was brusque, tense with energy. “Adjutant, you’d better send somebody back with orders for that pack-train and ammunition to hurry along.” And Adjutant Cook sent a sergeant from the non-commissioned staff. Ned had forgotten his name. Away he dashed. They continued to climb, diagonaling the slope. At any moment they would hear the shouts and shots of the Reno men, the whoops and shots of the Sioux. “We’re going to have a big fight, I guess,” again ventured “Autie,” dropping back a few paces to ride with Ned. His voice was tremulous, his brown face was paled, but his eyes were snapping. Ned gravely nodded. The general had spurred impatiently; and in a little squad making for a high knoll ahead, they gradually left the column. The general first reached the top of the knoll. He had been craning anxiously, searching for the view beyond. Now he hauled short on Vic, as if surprised. Adjutant Cook immediately joined him. They intently peered. So did “Autie.” Ned pressed forward, to see. On the left, before and below, lay the valley of the Greasy Grass and the Sioux village. An irregular line of green willows and cottonwoods marked the course of a very crooked stream flowing evidently between high banks, amidst rolling bluffs. High, dark mountains rose far southward, shutting in a level plateau. But of these Ned took only a glimpse, for something of more importance was closer at hand. The valley of the crooked stream was a mile and a half away, yet, partially concealed by another and lower ridge. But over the ridge was floating brown dust, from some commotion; and yonder along the stream was floating more dust. The white lodges of the Sioux gleamed through it, as they clustered for a mile and more of length! A tremendous village, this! Ant-like figures were moving hither-thither; the pony herds (which made the dust) were grazing on the plateau beyond the tipis; shrill cries of squaws, and the barking of dogs, wafted faintly through the still, sunny air. Ned looked to see Major Reno’s column, but they were not yet visible. “A big one!” exclaimed the general, his face glowing. “Good! Send another order back to Benteen, Cook. We must have those packs with their ammunition at once, and more men.” Lieutenant Cook jerked out his field note-book, and with his pencil stub hastily scrawled, resting the book upon his buckskin knee. As he wrote, digging hard in his earnestness, he read: “Benteen, come on. Big village. Be quick. Bring packs.”