The sun shone, but the weather remained biting cold. However, it was thought that the Indians would come in on the morrow, which was the eleventh. In the morning Pawnee Killer sent word that he had started with his people for the fort, when they had discovered a large herd of buffalo; so they had stopped to get meat. This excuse did not please General Hancock or any of the officers; and even Major Wyncoop was hard put to explain why buffalo should be more important than a council engagement. “They don’t mean to come in, gentlemen,” declared Wild Bill, to General Hancock and Custer and others. “They’re playing for time; that’s all. The first thing you know, they’ll have cleared out. It’s no part of their intentions to hold any sort of a pow-wow. This snow’ll fetch along the grass; and after that, look out!” “If they don’t come to us, we’ll go to them,” announced General Hancock. “We’ll give them twenty-four hours more to keep their promise.” The general was as good as his word. On the evening of the next day orders went forth through the camp to prepare for an early march on the following morning. This evening several Dog Soldier chiefs, led by Tall Bull, a Cheyenne, did come riding in, out of the sunset glow, for supper and the little Cheyenne boy. A young man named Edmond Guerrier acted as interpreter. His father had been a French-Canadian trapper at old Fort Laramie on the Platte, and his mother had been a Cheyenne woman. Like his father, he had married a Cheyenne, and he lived with the Cheyennes whenever he wished to. The commander at Fort Larned and Major Wyncoop recommended him as a first class interpreter. The talk did not amount to anything, because the chiefs said nothing of importance. But they spent the night as guests of General Hancock, in a tent put up for them. Early in the morning the visiting chiefs left, taking with them the little Cheyenne boy, who hung back and whimpered. “He’s white, now,” commented Wild Bill, watching. “In a month he’ll be red, and in six Cheyenne’ll be the only tongue he knows.” “Fust thing they’ll do’ll be to peel those store clothes off’n him, an’ put him into blanket an’ leggins,” spoke California Joe. “Tomorrer you wouldn’t recognize him.” Now all was ready for the march onward to the village. Soon after the Indians had left the clear notes of the “General” rang from bugles of cavalry, infantry and artillery. Down, in a twinkling, fell flat every tent. The canvas was quickly roped into square packs, and passed into the wagons. Speedily ranks were formed, the cavalry mounted, and on up Pawnee Fork of the Arkansas, from Fort Larned marched the troops. The route followed the river, which, willow and alder bordered, wound crookedly. The scouts rode ahead and on either side—Fall Leaf and his braves being especially vigilant, for all the Western Indians were their enemies.