It was a big storm for the ninth of April. All day the flakes fell furiously, while the cold increased. By night the snow was eight inches deep. Long before night the officers and men had piled on all the extra clothes that they could find, and were huddled about wrapped in overcoats and blankets, handkerchiefs bent over their ears. California Joe made a comical figure, his wide-brimmed sombrero tied down with a rope into a coal-scuttle shape, so that its brim on either side touched his shoulders. Around his neck was a red tippet that looked as if it once might have encircled an Indian’s waist. The tail of his cavalry overcoat was singed by camp-fires. On his feet were gunny-sacks wrapped tightly about, to make a bundle, and his hands were deeply buried in his overcoat pockets while under the scoop of his hat issued volumes of smoke from his black pipe. He looked funny, did California Joe; but not all things were funny. Of course, there were no tents or fires for the horses. They were tied along a picket rope stretched from stake to stake; and here they turned tail to the cutting wind and shivered and shrank, as the snow piled upon their backs. Yes, and undoubtedly they would have perished, if General Custer had not ordered that they be given double rations of oats, and that the guards pass up and down, up and down, during the night, whipping them to make them move. Twice Ned stole away to inspect Buckie; and found him doing as well as possible. V IN BATTLE ARRAY With stiff lips Ned at sunrise time blew first call for a cavalry camp pretty well frozen up; and the cheery notes of reveille failed to awaken much enthusiasm among the soldiers. At assembly for roll-call the men fell in wrapped to their noses, their overcoat-collars turned high and clothes tied down over their ears. However, the snow had ceased, the sun was peeping out, and evidently the storm had passed. Now the April sun would soon lay bare the plains. General Custer had not seemed to mind the storm; and out of it had gained some fun, as usual. Ned heard him telling a joke, with great peals of laughter, to his brother Colonel Tom Custer and several other officers. “Ha-ha-ha!” How they all roared and chuckled, none more loudly than the general himself. Nobody expected that the Indians would come in to-day, which was the tenth, for the snow and the cold would keep them housed. Two soldiers rode away with a dispatch-bag crammed with letters from officers and men, for Riley and the East; and the general’s letter to Mrs. Custer, which Ned delivered at the very last moment, must have been the fattest of all. No dispatch bearer went from march or camp without, as appeared, a letter from the general for Mrs. Custer. He kept a regular diary.