However, there were few sick men, on this day when the Seventh Cavalry was to march. The remainder of the garrison calls, such as guard-mount and fatigue, were assigned to the colored infantry bugler, for the infantry now succeeded to the routine at old Fort Riley. The cavalry had something better. While on an errand to the general’s house, Ned heard the preparations there. Before the steps of the veranda stood the General’s horse Phil Sheridan. Within, the general was saying good-by to Mrs. Custer. Ned could hear him assuring the “old lady” (which was Mrs. Custer’s pet title, aside from Libbie) that it was to be a short campaign; that the Indians would be afraid to make trouble, and that he would be back very soon. “Sho’ he will, Miss Libbie; he’ll be back ’foh we know it,” comforted Eliza. “Anyway, this campaignin’ on the plains ain’t wuss’n campaignin’ in Virginny. You know that, don’t you?” Out came the general, clanking in his spurs and sabre. Not now was he wearing his buckskin coat; he was clad in the full fatigue uniform of a lieutenant-colonel of cavalry. He still wore his black slouch hat, with gold cord and tassel. His dogs raced before him, overjoyed at the prospect of a gallop. Evidently they were to go. From headquarters issued Adjutant Moylan, ready to mount. Equipped with his own sabre and revolver, like any trumpeter, Ned stiffened to attention. “Sound boots and saddles,” ordered the adjutant. Ned put to his lips his bugle, and blew loud and clear the spirited bar of “Boots and Saddles.” Hither and thither scurried the soldiers, for the stables, to saddle and bridle; and it looked as if some of them had already done so. The teamsters clapped the final harness on their mules and led them at a trot for the traces. General Custer, blue-eyed, golden-locked, bronze-faced, slender but wiry, stood on the veranda of his house, tugging at his gauntlets as he watched the bustle. Mrs. Custer stole out, with the pretty Diana (suspiciously red-eyed, Ned imagined) and pressed beside him. He placed his arm about her. From the door behind peered the black face, turbaned with a red bandanna, of Eliza. “To horse,” bade the adjutant, of Ned. Ned sounded “To Horse.” Out from the stables jostled the troopers, leading their horses to form the company lines. The general stooped hastily and kissed Mrs. Custer. Down the steps he clanked, his slouch hat at a cavalier angle, his officer’s cloak, yellow lined, floating and beneath it showing his crimson tie. He took the reins from the negro boy and vaulted upon Phil Sheridan. Adjutant Moylan mounted, and Ned swung aboard his special horse Buckie, at a trot to follow across the parade-ground. The companies were formed and waiting, each man at the head of his horse. The infantry drums and bugles also had been sounding; all the tents had been struck, and the lines of blue and white were standing at a carry, in a “right dress.” “Prepare to mount!” shouted General Custer, drawing sabre.