Before taps it was understood throughout the camp (for gossip traveled fast, especially when California Joe was about to carry news among the fires) that Pawnee Killer and White Horse were to spend the night as guests of General Hancock; and that in the morning all the chiefs of the village should assemble in the camp for the council. Therefore early in the morning—but not until after he had heartily breakfasted—Pawnee Killer rode out, to bring, he said, the other chiefs. The camp waited. Nine o’clock, or when the sun was three hours high, was the hour set for the council. Nine o’clock came and passed, but Pawnee Killer and the other chiefs did not come. Then it was that a new chief arrived, riding briskly in from the direction of the village. Bull Bear was his name, according to California Joe; a Cheyenne. Met by Wild Bill, he was conducted straight to General Hancock’s headquarters, and another of the many talks was held. California Joe, loafing near the Custer tent, where stood on duty Ned the orderly bugler of the Seventh Cavalry, laughed in his shaggy whiskers. “Those thar Injuns never mean to meet the soldiers in ary council whatsomever,” he asserted. “Fust thing we know, they’ll all be gone, skedaddled. An’ I’ll bet my ol’ mule agin a pound o’ baccy that the women an’ children are leavin’ already. If we want to ketch that village, we got to get thar mighty quick.” Evidently this was General Hancock’s opinion. He had been trifled with long enough. Bull Bear, with a stolid but well-fed expression, rode away as had Pawnee Killer and other chiefs. And presently General Custer, striding quickly back from the conference, bade, in satisfied tone, to Adjutant Moylan: “We’re off. Strike the tents.” The infantry bugles were ringing the “General,” and Ned hastened to join for the cavalry. Down came the tents. And with “Boots and Saddles” and “To Horse” the Seventh Cavalry was prepared for the march or for battle. Again the expedition was put in motion, and went clanking and creaking and rumbling across country, ascending along the Pawnee Fork as if this time bound right through to the village. Now the formation indicated that General Hancock, likewise, was prepared for peace or war. The infantry took the advance, with the artillery and engineers close behind, the river protecting the left flank, and the cavalry protecting the right. The scouts rode ahead, for they were the eyes of the column. And well did the doughty General Hancock use caution; when only a few miles had been covered, back came galloping Wild Bill, with hand high, as signal to halt. At the same moment, almost, rounding a turn in the route the heads of the columns emerged into a wondrous, startling sight.