The yellow hair and quick voice of the general were everywhere, as with prompt eyes and mind he oversaw the post preparations. For now was it known that this was to be an important march, wherever it led; with infantry and artillery as well as cavalry, and with Major-General Winfield Scott Hancock himself accompanying. The purpose, it seemed, was to have a talk with the Indians, and to show them that the United States was ready with soldiers to protect the white people on the plains. General Hancock was the commander of the Military Department of the Missouri. His headquarters were Fort Leavenworth, on the Missouri River at the eastern border of Kansas. From Fort Leavenworth were coming the artillery and most of the infantry. In all there would be about 1400 men, thought Odell. The expedition gave to Fort Riley a war-like appearance. First the scouts began to collect. Wild Bill was there anyway; and came in, among others, a young scout named Cody—Bill Cody. He had been at Riley, off and on, before. With his flowing dark hair, his wide black eyes, his silky moustache and goatee and his buckskins and weapons, he looked indeed entitled to considerable respect. “Do you know that man?” had asked Odell, of Ned. “No.” “He’s a good wan. He’s Pony Express Bill. That’s what they used to call him. Was the youngest pony express rider on the line. Faith, he rode when he wasn’t any older than you, my lad, carryin’ the mail across the plains. Now he ranks up with Wild Bill and the rist o’ the scouts. And they do say he’s the best buffalo hunter, white or red, west o’ Leavenworth.” There also was a squat little Mexican, swart and pock-marked and very homely, whom everybody styled Romeo because his name was Romero. And at the last sauntered in a big-nosed bluish-eyed man, with much brick-red hair and whiskers mingling, whose title was California Joe. California Joe never was seen without his greasy black slouch hat on his abundant hair, and his short, black briar pipe between his whiskered lips. Baggy trousers were tucked deep into dusty boots, and a venerable cavalry overcoat was draped over several layers of other garments. He rode a large mule, which he declared beat a horse “all hollow.” As he lounged about, he was ready to talk to anybody. By his numerous quaint remarks he plainly was an odd character. The arrival of the troops from Fort Leavenworth brought a squad of Delaware Indians, as more scouts. They were from their reservation near to Fort Leavenworth. The chief was Fall Leaf, a well-built, fierce-looking old man, war chief of the Delaware tribe, and a great fighter. Of the train he grunted: “Heap good! Went whiz! Beat buffalo and pony.” Of the telegraph he said: “No understand, but heap good. Heap swift! Like arrow or bullet between wide places; but heap better.” His nephew General Jackson was another member of the squad. General Jackson was slender and small, but brave.